My Cousin, Mary

The post before this one, about "Let Not this Life Slip Away Unnoticed" was written on a day when I felt uneasy - nothing to put one's finger on, just a feeling.  It was the day after Mary's 100th birthday and she was to die within the following 3 days.  Not that this was something to feel uneasy about, so perhaps it was just a feeling of awareness.

Mary as a young girl

Mary Matthews nee Prendeville, was born on 11.11.1911 and died just after 11.11.2011.  Her mother and my grandmother were sisters.  They all lived til into their 90s so it's no wonder Mary just continued with the strong genes and made her century.  According to her 'children', themselves grandparents, Mary was keen to receive the Queen's telegram.  Although it's no longer a telegram these days, but a card.  Friend suggested it could even have been a quick text from HRH.

Mary was my father's first cousin, and from thereon in, we descend to second cousins, once removed, twice removed etc.  I caught up with my second cousin, once, maybe twice removed, Mary's son, about 11 years ago when we agreed I should write the book "Waiorongomai, the Land and the People".  Which I did.  It took 9 years to write, collecting information, interviewing people, putting it all together, but it was worth it.  I interviewed Mary several times, taping her conversations and writing up her reminiscences.  Over 100 years, that's a lot of reminiscing. 

The Waio church

The funeral was at the Waio church.  The one that the Matthews' forebears, Raymond (RW) and his brothers had built in memory of their own parents, Alfred and Hannah.  The church has had a facelift, whitewashed inside and out, and looked very pretty in the warm sunshine.  It wasn't until I was standing outside with Jack Luttrell (who has become a fast friend with all his own wonderful reminiscing) that it occurred to me I was standing 'in' history.  A real feeling of standing on land that had been the same land for hundreds of years and cared for by the same Matthews family since they set foot in New Zealand.  You don't get a sensation of history so much in our country - it's still too new for that - but standing there with a small village of people around me and knowing that any one of them would be related in some way to my own family in the past, gave me the first sense of 'being' and knowing who I am, that I've ever had.

Jack said,  "most of these trees around here don't seem any bigger than when I was here."  We looked up at the towering rimu, the wide-spreading totara and the karaka tree with its dark glossy leaves.  It's all in the persepective, whether you're young, or old, short or tall, I guess. "Those karaka trees," said Jack, "cattle, deer, sheep can all eat the berries, but the kernels are poisonous to us humans.  The Maori ate them, boiled them first; they'd come for miles to get the berries."

I said to Jack, "how far are you from your 100th?" and he replied, "Ohh, another 15 years."  Then he said,  "I had a piece of advice from an old friend who died when he was 103.  He said to me, 'Jack, when I was 90, I could still do pretty much everything, I could walk, play a little golf, drive, have a drink at the pub, read a good book, but', he said, 'after 90, it's pretty much downhill all the way.'"

Jack and I doubled over with laughter at the thought...

Let Not This Life

Let not this life slip away unnoticed

Uncherished and unfulfilled
Do not shy away from close encounters

Nor shun the limelight when it shines

Be proud of your own achievements
No matter how insignificant they may seem

Raise your voice to be heard when needed

Listen when others yearn to share their words

Above all live life true to your natural self

So that others who know you well will say

You did not let life slip away unnoticed

Your life was cherished and fulfilled

(Author unknown, to me at any rate)

Concierto de Aranjuez

Concierto de Aranjuez - what's not to like about this wonderful, evocative piece of music?  Composed by Joaquin Rodrigo, a Spanish composer, in 1939.  Although Rodrigo was a pianist and blind since the age of 3, he composed for classical guitar and orchestra.  He was inspired by things around him, by his wife and their love, by nature itself. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CBHfPh5Ibsk&NR=1  This is a wonderful rendition by John Williams.

 

What's so intriguing for me is that this piece was composed at the start of WWII.  It's doubly haunting when you realise that.

It's been played so many times, by so many people; used in films, television dramas, that it's easily recognisable.  It's been sung, by blind singer Andrea Bocelli, and accompanied by a solo violin, but somehow the sharpness and cutting edge of the classical guitar does more justice to the music, I think.

What I didn't realise was that he died in 1999, aged 98.  What an amazing life.

Echo - June 2009 to July 2011

We miss you so much.

Earthquakes

When I was small, the biggest thing I feared (other than witches) was earthquakes.  There was something so inherently powerful and shocking, even to a small child, that there was a complete sense of being 'taken over'.  I remember plenty of earthquakes: in Wellington, in our small concrete flat where a child's scream for her mother took precedence over that mother's own fear; once in Wanganui where the look of utter shock on my aunt's rapidly paling face just reinforced my young belief that this was something even adults couldn't fix.

In 1963 there were several earthquakes in Westport where we had gone to live for a few years, quakes that shifted walls, brought down chimneys and closed schools for weeks at a time.  We didn't mind those ones for we were on holiday in Wellington anyway, and a week away from school was an unexpected pleasure, even though we did correspondence school during the mornings.  But even there, we experienced another bump in the middle of the night.  A warning, I thought, to tell me I wasn't safe on holiday, after all.

I distinctly remember when I was working as a junior secretary on the 6th floor of a high-rise building, again in Wellington, and I'd just gone to the bathroom when this one struck.  I can't tell you what haste I was in to get out of there!  I promised myself I would never work in a building higher than 2 stories after that.

There were plenty more quakes - when we lived in the centre of the North Island; even a very small one I detected one night in Canberra, Australia, and there wasn't a day that went past without a conscious thought of the Big One.  Everyone thought it would be Wellington.  No one suspected Christchurch.  That beautiful garden city has been battered and bashed by quakes this year, and just this week there were two huge aftershocks (6.3 on the R. scale) within two hours, right at lunch time.  The inner city was still closed due to the debris and uninhabitable buildings, but that didn't stop new damage being done.  In the past 7 days there have been 206 earthquakes.  You can see it all here: http://www.christchurchquakemap.co.nz/

I know there are all sorts of explanations for the quakes - new fault lines discovered and so on.  But when you look at Banks Peninsula which is at the head of Lyttleton, the target of most of the quakes, it makes you wonder about the fact that this was a major volcanic area, so why would there not be violent quakes as well?

Dubai Stopover

Stopping in Dubai on a long-haul flight is great fun.  It's such a neat city, built on the back of the mighty oil dollar, but cast aside politics etc for the moment and look at what it really is... a fantastic city with every opportunity for fun, built on the edge of a vast desert.  It's amazing, really.  I mean, look, forget poverty for the moment, and just enjoy what's on offer.  It's a bit like Vegas, you don't want to scratch the surface, just take time out for pleasure and fun.  The shopping malls are unbelievable, they're incredibly large and each seems to vie for the biggest attraction - ski slope, skating rink, huge acquarium, not to mention the label shops. 

I wanted to see the sand dunes and, according to local wisdom, the only way to do this was by going on one of the zillions of sand dune cruises, ending up with a meal and entertainment under the stars.  Well, I'd say after 10 minutes, you've got the hang of going hell for leather up and down sand dunes, gripping onto the seat in front of you, and trying to calm your lurching stomach.  But it goes on for a good half hour, if not more.  Way too much.  But you do stop to admire the view, take photos and count all the other white jeeps doing exactly the same as you.

The meal was interesting - set in the desert like three sides of a square, laid out on trestle tables with the sand covered by huge mats and carpets.  Dates, humus, tagines, salads, really nice food too.  The entertainment was whirling dervish type dancers - astounding, really - and belly dancing - intriguing.  

Ok, so you know it's really touristy, but there are times when even to get a flavour of a place in the short amount of time you have, you just go 'tourist' and get on with it.  I'd much rather explore by myself and come across the real Dubai - who knows, in future, I may have every chance to do so as I much prefer flying this way than going via the States.

I'm a published author!!

When I was a little girl, my family used to holiday with my grandmother in the Wairarapa, and every summer we would go to visit relatives at Waiorongomai.  I remember it well, particularly the raised concrete swimming pool, the large circular lawn and the various sheds that held vague promises of forbidden adventures.  Three of us, to be seen, not heard, would be allowed into the sitting room to say hello to all the rellies, take one thing from the afternoon-tea trolley, and be banished to the outside once again to amuse ourselves.  If we'd been extra good, and we could beg hard enough, on the way home we would have fish & chips to eat in the car.  Perfection!

Many years later, I saw my cousin, Raymond, at a Martinborough Wine & Food festival and chatted to him about the times we spent at Waio where he still farmed.  He said he'd wanted to write the book of Waio for years now, but hadn't been able to get a writer.  I found myself saying I'd do it.  Not having an inkling of what was ahead of me, I plunged in.  Almost 8 years later, the book was published - it was such a long journey as I did this only part-time.  But, as Raymond said, there was no hurry, Waio would still be there.  And I hope it still will be - it is, we think, the only farm that has been continuously farmed by the same family for 7 generations.  That's a long time for New Zealand.

The launch was on Friday evening at the Featherston pub - a long-time watering hole for the southern Wairarapa, including the Matthews' family in previous generations.  Everyone who'd had dirt under his fingernails was there, and probably all related in one way or another.  It was great fun to be the centre of attention, and to be sitting at the book sales table, signing books!  What a hoot!  I wish my journalist Dad were alive to see the latent development of his daughter.

A family wedding

Everyone says, "you were lucky with the weather!!"  It's March, for us the most stable month, weather-wise when it's still warm, the trade winds aren't blowing, and usually it's fairly dry.  Today, however, it isn't dry - far from it; the rain deluged the place last night and again today... so, yes, I guess that last week, we were lucky with the weather!  It was a beautiful, bright, sunny day, with a bit of a breeze, but not too much.  They married on the Friday, but the festivities started the previous Sunday, with the arrival of the Marriagable Daughter who came a week early, "to help".  Yeah, right ;-)  Next day, the Swain arrived, followed the day afterwards by two of the four Bridesmaids, and then the Aunt of the Bride (my sister).  The whole week was taken up with a kind of stop-start clean-the-house, and beautify-outside regime.  The stop-start happened as one of us would start on a job, only to be diverted by someone else, or the Marriagable Daughter whisking away her Bridesmaids to be beautified, or else we would all stop for lunch, start the inevitable reminiscing, and nothing would get done.  It did, though, in the end.

At least a quarter of the guests came from the UK, all friends and relatives of the Swain, and this provided enormous entertainment as they got used to us, and we to them.  Having four groomsmen and an MC who all knew each other from uni flatting days, could only mean one thing - a great reunion for them all.  On the day of the wedding, the house was filled with make-up specialists, flowers, and food.  The make-up artists took from 9am to 2pm beautifying us all.  It was painstaking work.  I'm used to just a lick and a promise on the face - and that's just from the dog - so sitting still while being titted around was a bit of a novelty.  I felt as though I should be auditioning for panto by the end of it all.

The Marriagable Daughter looked so beautiful, as did the bridesmaids, the Swain and the best men.  But the M.D. was perfect.  I've never seen her looking happier, and the look on the Swain's face as he saw her enter the church, was wonderful.  The Dress was divine, the flowers perfect, and the little country church was full to brimming.  Afterwards, an old bus took the guests to one of the local vineyards where we celebrated, ate, danced, and drank.  The F.O.B gave a great speech, as did the new husband, his best men, and the chief BM. 

Next day, Saturday, everyone descended on our home - weather was good, yes, and there was enough food to feed the 500.  Well it seemed like 500 by the end of the day when many of the guests stayed on to be fed at night, and the following day, most of the new family relatives, and newlyweds arrived back for lunch. 

For the next few weeks, if not years, the F.O.B. and M.O.B. are on hard rations...

Japan, Japan ...

What has happened is unbelievable - never, ever have I seen anything like the devastation caused by the tsunami that followed the huge quake yesterday (Friday 11 March).  No one can be prepared for that.  To see it rolling in, not just one huge 10metre wave, but three in succession, just taking all with it, was something you expect to see only in horror movies.  How many people have lost their lives?  How many who have survived, have lost their livelihoods, families, friends, colleagues?  How will the country recover from this terrifying disaster?  I'm sure in time, the country will recover, it has suffered a very long history of devastating earthquakes and recovered each time.

This disaster, because it happened in our lifetime, is possibly the worst we may ever know, but in 1703 an earthquake and tsunami in Genroku killed well over 100,000 people, and four years later, an earthquake killed 5,000.  In 1854, on December 23 and 24, two quakes of 8.4 killed well over 100,000;  1855 saw over 6,000 killed.  In 1896, a quake of 8.5 caused a tsunami of 82 ft, and 27,000 were killed.  The list goes on; 140,000 people killed in 1923.  Earthquakes continued every few years with hundreds being killed.  It is noticeable after 1995, in spite of huge quakes, the death toll dropped dramatically with very few deaths.  It must have been the new building technology that Japan is now world renowned for.  The quake on Friday that measured 8.9, was 8.000 times more powerful than the quake that hit Christchurch.  I can't imagine that.  The aftershocks alone, have been between 6.8 to 7.1.  Christchurch measured 6.3 - granted, it was fairly shallow, but can you imagine what it would have been like if they'd had the shock that Japan has just had?

Kia kaha, Japan.  Our hearts are with you.

What have they done to Jimmy Nail?

I love Jimmy Nail... I loved him as Oz in "Auf Wiedersehen Pet", all three series and now I love him as a singer.    As Oz, he was such a wonderful character - and apparently he'd had no acting experience at all - he was no looker, with his huge snoz and beefy looks.  The entire cast was brilliant with each person having his own character and most of them going on to star in other tv or film.  The other brilliant actor there was Timothy Spall.  But Timothy can't sing, as far as I know.

"Big River" is a beautiful ballad and the story is so interesting. Don't you just love that slightly gravelly voice?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jCWCE-41fbY&feature=list_related&playnext=1&list=MLGxdCwVVULXfZ9aYywADhc2_c6NDcRAiR

So, our Jimmy isn't the prettiest bloke on the block, but that's what he was like.  Then all of a sudden we see a different Jimmy Nail as seen by the PR people, and doesn't he look pretty now...

Christchurch

The day of the second earthquake, Tuesday, 22 February, was earthquake weather all day: hot, humid, sultry, and windless.  The thought of earthquakes is never far from my mind as they are always a possibility at any time, anywhere. I hate them; I hate the horror of nature taking over and the feeling of total disempowerment.  I have not been through an earthquake more than about 5 on the richter scale so to trying to imagine what it was like in Christchurch, is something I can only just begin to comprehend. 

The 4 September 2010 earthquake, 7.1, was higher on the richter scale, but this one at 6.3 was shallower and way more destructive.  No one died in September, but this time because it happened at lunchtime (just before 1pm) there were so many people out and about.  Buildings have collapsed on cars and buses, killing those in them, rubble from bricks have buried shoppers, and the beautiful old cathedral in the Square has fallen to its knees.

People interviewed by tv have been surprisingly calm, no tears, no histrionics, just a kind of unnerving, shocking calm, as though they can't believe they've been hauled out of wrecked buildings, or witnessed bodies buried in rubble.  They all seem so relieved to be alive.  The Mayor has been extraordinarily calm; hasn't stopped talking, in fact, but having gone through the September one, he's really taken charge, as have the police, fire, ambulance and the rescuers who are just people in the street, all helping.  Emergency accommodation has been put up in Hagley Park - tents mostly, and slats of timber for beds. 

The television coverage has been unceasing, and, at times, unnerving.  Quakes still continue to rock the city every day and night.  Night would be the worst time.

Days have gone by since I started this blog and people are talking about how to rebuild the city.  A friend sent me an old photo of me sitting on a bench in front of the Cathedral.  The top two stories of the spire are no longer there, and a huge hole ripped into the nave of the church.

The amazing thing is that no one knew about the fault line underneath the city.  For as long as NZ has been settled, Christchurch was never considered to be prone to quakes. 

We know nothing, really.

The goat has died

Late last year, Goat arrived.  Unannounced and uninvited, Goat made the crossing from the neighbour's paddock ("we thought we heard a goat - no, not ours!  Shoot him!") he made a beeline for the two donkeys who were slightly surprised at the newcomer.  They've not met a goat before, but, being donkeys, they were quite quizzy about this little white Billy, so they kind of adopted him and tolerated his company.   Goat was very timid and the minute he heard either of us coming down the pathway, he bolted, lowering his head so his horns acted a bit like rails, he could easily slide through the wire fence and make his way down the gully out of sight.

We don't have much land, just enough for 4 cattle and the two donkeys - who can live off the smell of an oily rag, practically - so as far as Goat was concerned, he was a waste of rations, but so long as he remained in the gully, we didn't mind.  However, time came for the donks to be shifted to a different paddock, and Goat got lonely.  He followed the donks, but went via the garden.  Not a good move.  But he didn't appear to have gone into the sacred vegetable plot, so he was forgiven, or rather, ignored.  I did notice he had a real liking for succulent plants, though, and especially enjoyed the tender tips of shrubs.  I didn't point this out.

Every farmer within cooee was asked if they'd lost a goat.  (a) no farmer would keep one billygoat and (b) no one could catch the damn thing anyhow, and (c) who cared about a goat - shoot him, they said.  But we didn't.  We just ignored him, as he ignored us, and life went on.

Yesterday, I went down to feed the chooks and saw Goat lying quietly by the shed.  He looked as though he were asleep.  All the same, I was surprised he didn't hear me coming, and my heart sank as I opened the gate and he still didn't move.  Exit Goat.  Poor little old Billy.  I don't know if he was old - he didn't look too old - or sick, or just ill. 

Not really the bee's knees

So, it came to the point of deciding whether to have an arthroscopy and debridement (ie fancy names for dusting and tidying up around the knee), before looking at the issue of a knee replacement.  At first I felt a bit of a fraud because there were days when The Knee was performing ok, and days when it got a bit antsy about going downhill, down steps, or just walking around town.  It certainly objected to having to wear heels no matter how low to the ground they were, and preferred bare feet or, at a pinch, good old rubber jandals.  I was going to say rubber thongs, but that was not what The Knee needed.

The Knee went to a private hospital on the premise that the insurance would pay, and was done and dusted in a day.  It was checked, labelled with a green felt-tip pen and initialled by the surgeon, just in case Other Knee got done instead - which it now needs anyway, and painted bright pink.  It was wheeled into surgery where I was given an injection and a mild feeling of final panic as the mask came down over my face.  My last thought was, I wonder if the vision of the anaethetist's masked face and hatted head would be the last thing I would take with me.

I woke and saw a nurse who asked me how I was feeling.  I asked her whether this was a dream, and she confirmed that it was.  No, she didn't.  She said that it wasn't a dream and that I'd had my operation.  Know what I said next?  I said, "How did you know I was awake?".  And her reply?  "You opened your eyes."
Anaesthetic does funny things to one.  I was actually expecting to have a Great Experience while The Knee was out to it.  But I didn't.  Nothing like the last time when I had all sorts of messages from Beyond.

So, having come to, I was on a great high.  One, I was alive, and two, The Knee may have been fixed.  I was wheeled back to the recovery room where I slept and dozed for a bit before being offered a nice cup of tea and some club sandwiches (yeah, club sandwiches).  The Knee was feeling fine and I assumed the anaesthetic might have worn off enough to let me eat, so I enjoyed the sandwiches and tea, while the sunshine streamed in the window and did nice warm things to The Knee.

The Husband then came and picked me up and I hobbled to the car aided by the nurse and two sick buckets "just in case".  The drive home was just fine and the sick buckets were certainly not necessary.  The Knee and I remained on good terms, but it required a lot of attention with high up pillows and was not keen on walking let alone supporting any weight.  After three days, Knee was feeling much better, so I took it for a short walk, just down the corridor.  Back was not ok with that, and immediately went 'out'.  That made me feel very sorry for myself.  Somehow Back causes more pain than Knee which is a bit remote and out on a limb.  But Back is needy, self-obsessed, and attention-seeking, and won't let me alone.

Wouldn't it be nice if joints remained healthy for at least a long life-time.  Arthur Itis is not welcome around here.

Joe Hisaishi - Okuribito

I watched a film called Departures, the story of a old Japanese embalmer who, with the most extreme dignity takes care of the dead.  His offsider is a cellist who, jobless, applied for the position of "assisting with departures", having, of course, no idea what was in store for him.   He is taught the art of dressing and embalming, but his young wife doesn't like what he is doing, and not until she sees him preparing the body of her mother, does she understand the honesty of his work.

The film is very moving, and the music is superb.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JdhjHAGFQH8&feature=related

They're coming to take me away, ha-haaa

from: Dr. Demento's Delights


Remember when you ran away and I got on my knees and begged you not to leave
because I'd go berserk?? Well...

You left me anyhow and then the days got worse and worse and now you see
I've gone completely out of my mind.. And..

They're coming to take me away, ha-haaa!!
They're coming to take me away, ho-ho, hee-hee, ha-haaa
To the funny farm. Where life is beautiful all the time and I'll be
happy to see those nice young men in their clean white coats and

they're

coming to take me away, ha-haaa!!!!!


You thought it was a joke and so you laughed, you laughed when I had
said that loosing you would make me flip my lid.. RIGHT???
I know you laughed, I heard you laugh, you laughed you laughed and
laughed and then you left, but now you know I'm utterly mad... And..

They're coming to take me away, ha-haaa,
They're coming to take me away, ho-ho, hee-hee, ha-haaa.
To the happy home. With trees and flowers and chirping birds and
basket weavers who sit and smile and twiddle their thumbs and toes and

they're

coming to take me away, ha-haaa!!!

I cooked your food, I cleaned your house, and this is how you pay me
back for all my kind unselfish loving deeds.. Huh??
Well you just wait, they'll find you yet and when they do they'll put
you in the ASPCA, you mangy mutt!!! And...

They're coming to take me away, ha-haaa.
They're coming to take me away, ho-ho, hee-hee, ha-haaa.
To the funny farm, where life is beautiful all the time and I'll be
happy to see those nice young men in their clean white coats and

they're

coming to take me away, ha-haaa!!!

To the happy home, with trees and flowers and chirping birds and
basket weavers who sit and smile and twiddle their thumbs and toes and

they're

coming to take me away, ha-haa!!!To the funny farm, where life is beautiful all the time...

__________________________________________________________________

This was a brilliant song way back in the 60s

The dog is back

Echo decided, on hearing a barking invitation from another dog walking just below the bank, to join him and have a bit of a laugh.  The property at the lake is secluded and the edge goes down a fairly steep bank and joins public walkways.  Generally we don't hear people walking unless they are talking loudly, and so Echo's disappearance wasn't noticed at first.  When it was realised that he was no longer on the property, but had taken off on his own little accord, there was pandemonium.  I doubt whether more panic would have taken place had it been a child missing.

Everyone was put to work searching, driving around, calling for the dog.  Only one small shop in the vicinity, but a large notice-board, so a notice was written and taken down to the shop - to find that just minutes before, the dog-walking owners had put a notice there to contact them if anyone had lost a little black, long-tailed miniature poodle.

Such panic afforded by a small black dog!

I have just found Joshua Bell

I had been watching Ladies in Lavender, a film with Judi Dench and Maggie Smith, about a young musician who'd been shipwrecked and washed up in their little wild bay.  He didn't speak their language, but it became apparent he was a musician, a violinist.  When he played, it was so beautiful, so I looked for the credits and googled the violinist, Joshua Bell.
What a joy it is to listen to this young man's playing.  And it helps that he is beautiful to look at :)  Obviously many others think the same way and there are plenty of clips on You Tube, but my favourite is the theme music to Ladies in Lavender http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c4RIPjk6Jh4 It isn't a demanding piece for a violinist, but it is beautiful.