Christchurch: What Fell, What Stayed

We visited Christchurch today.  We are staying at my friend Carla's house for one night before we head off to Queenstown tomorrow.  We saw Carla and her family for a few days in Pohara.  I've known Carla for years in Seattle and her husband took a job down here.  It was good seeing her, as I imagined it would be.  It has been about a year since I've seen her.  It seemed as if almost no time had passed since I saw her last.  The hard part was thinking about when I might see her again.

Back to Christchurch.  They had a massive earthquake in 2011.  Carla's husband said it was one of the most violent earthquakes ever, even though it was only 6 on the Ritcher scale.  It was a shallow earthquake, near the surface, and caused a lot of damage.  Much has been cleaned up in the past few years, but I did see a few lots covered in rubble from broken down buildings.  One thing we did miss was watching the rebuilding.  We met a woman in Hanmer Springs who told us the tradesmen have two weeks off around Christmas and New Year's.  It was relatively easy for us to get around.

Carla told us about the container mall downtown.  Almost all of downtown was destroyed, including the shopping.  Several retailers created shops out of shipping containers, like the ones that come in on ships going back and forth from China.

After we visited the Container Mall, we went to the Christchurch Botanic Garden.  I love botanical gardens, from the Missouri Botanic Gardens in St. Louis, to Kew Gardens outside of London.  In Christchurch, the gardens are adjacent to downtown.  It was interesting to see and compared what stayed and what fell.

It struck me that so many trees and plants survived such a horrible earthquake.  I am sure some might have fallen, but many didn't.  Maybe they were lucky to be in the other side of the fault line, or maybe their roots kept them safe.  These trees have likely survived many previous earthquakes. Maybe like when a broken bone heals, trees might also get stronger after an injury.

As they are rebuilding, there is a sense of hope.  I was surprised and happy to see some energy into this devastated part of a town.  And this wasn't the outlying areas -- this was the heart of downtown.  Centers of business, hotels, restaurants, shopping--all gone.  Art brightens the disaster zone.  Like a bud on a flower, these works tell the world the city will bloom again.

Sparkle Toes 2

Here are my sparkling toes on the beach in NZ.

Adventure Bites

I have a friend who would make her kids trying everything she served for dinner.  They didn't have to eat a large portion, but they had to take an "adventure bite."  Our first night in Auckland, we were looking for a place for dinner.  The Boy did not want to eat in a "hole in the wall."  Small carry out places line Queen Street, and he didn't want to eat in one of those.  We found a place called Mezze, a Mediterranean tapas restaurant.  We told the Boy it was small plates, and he was reluctant until we told him that we'd order several.  He thought he would only have an appetizer for dinner.

Turns out, he loved the place.  He was up for his adventure bites.  His favorite was the shrimp baked in garlic and chili.

I think about the times I traveled when I was a kid.  Thankfully, my father was religious about taking vacations and we went someplace every year.  But I was not of the "adventure bite" crowd.  I didn't try Mexican food until I was in college, and my son is eating tapas in Auckland.  I think of this as he looks at the food with trepidation.  He is far braver than I was at the same age.

Beast of Burden Bag

When my family used to take trips when I was younger, my mom used to carry along a giant purse.  She carried everything in this bag -- books, toilet paper, sunscreen, and anything we might possibly need.  She would also find things also the ways -- souvenirs, if you will-- and put them in the bag.  By the end of the trip, the purse usually weighed ten pounds.

The peak was when we were in Washington, D.C. and my mom found a rock the size a large potato on the street.  "Oh, look! A rock!" and she put it in her bag.  It was a city rock, not some rare specimen found in some exotic mountain with wide assortment of minerals.  This was a leftover construction, concrete rock.  My brother teased her mercilessly.  He coined the phrase "Beast of Burden Bag."

Thirty years later, I have my own Beast of Burden Bag.  Contents:  wallet, passports, sunglasses, travel books, pens, note pad, and extra shopping bags, plus whatever else I find along the way.

My Beast of Burden Bag.

Sleeping Under Different Stars: Nelson and Pohara

So I am cranking through blog posts here to catch up on the trip.  Jack and the kids are at the beach while I am at our motel waiting for the laundry to finish.  I am torn between being outside and reading a book, but inside is cool and I can hear the birds.  Lots of birds.  I thought I saw a very large bird fly outside the living room window here around dusk, but it was gone before I could get a good look.  I was also a little scared to see a massive bird.

I'll have to post pictures later.  The wifi here is a little slow, and I don't want to clog it up for the other guests.  The town of Pohara is very small and out of the way.  We had to drive up and then back down a winding mountain road to get here, which is bad enough except Jack had to drive on the left side of the road.  The roads here don't have much shoulder (in some cases, almost none), and he would err on the side of not crossing the center line.  I feared the car rolling into the ditch, or worst, down a mountain.  But we survived.  He just drove slowly, which is fine by me.  His first experience was in a town called Nelson, which reminds me of a much larger version of Roslyn, Washington.  It has lots of shops -- no big boxes insight.  The streets were crowded with people getting lunch, shopping and stopping in bakeries.  Even though everyone speaks English and the food is recognizable, I felt very foreign.  Big cities are fine -- they expect tourists.  In a small town, I felt like we stuck out.  Plus, we didn't know who to drive or where to go.  Sure, Jack knows the rules of the road, but that is different than the local practices of who should go first when you come to a four way stop.  What about pedestrians?  In Seattle, the law is they have the right of way.  Here, it looks like people walk quickly and cars won't hit you.  But I will prefer to wait when I am ped.

One thing I was worried about was lack of solitude on this trip.  One day into it, I started to panic:  I will have zero alone time for the next two weeks.  But here I am, doing laundry.  Doing laundry is a break from the amazing beauty that surrounds me.  New Zealand is far better than I thought it would be, and I had pretty high expectations.  In the past few months, we've watched the Lord of the Rings movies.  Even when I couldn't follow the plot, I would just watch it for the scenery.  But New Zealand is far more diverse than what is in the movies.  The Hobbits stayed on the farm, they didn't head out to the beaches.

Two more things.  Jack noticed that the sun stays in the northern sky.  In the northern hemisphere, a room with a southern exposure gets more sunlight.  Here, it is the opposite.  And last night, I stayed up late enough to see the night sky poking through the curtains.  Here I was, sleeping under different stars.

Waiheke Island

Auckland is not considered one of the highlights of New Zealand, mainly because everything else is so nice.  It is small compared to Chicago or San Francisco, but it has nice views.  I was looking in a book on what to do on our second day in Auckland.  The day before, we watched the ferries leave the harbor, so I decided to look into in.  At worst, we'd get a nice view of the harbor and see some of the scenery.  I figured a trip to Waiheke Island would be like going to Bainbridge, except I have never been to Bainbridge even after living in Seattle for ten years.  (Oh well.)

Downtown Auckland from the ferry.

View from the ferry.

View from the ferry.

The Boy said "Fox would love it here.  He would think this is paradise."  Translating things into what Fox would think is one way the Boy says what he is thinking.   Here we are, on a random trip, and we see a beach that is just as nice as ones in Hawaii, in a city similar to Vancouver, B.C..  We found a restaurant that had a great view of the Oneroa Beach.  People would drive their boats into the cove, take a little boat to shore, and hang out for the afternoon.  "I want to live here," said the Boy.  And this was a 35 minute ferry ride to downtown Auckland.  It would have been a reasonable commute.

Oneroa Beach

 We hung out at the beach, and then took a bus to another part of the island.  We ate in a restaurant that overlooked the beach.  On the bus ride back to the ferry, the Boy said,  "I am just so happy and I don't know why."

Auckland is a working port.  While natural views are often amazing, sometimes industrial scenery can be beautiful.  See West Seattle.

Auckland -- Day 1

We survived our first day in New Zealand, which is good.  I wasn't worried about New Zealand being hard or difficult, but rather the aftereffects of a twenty-one hour day of travel.  We left Friday at 6:00 a.m. Seattle time, and arrived at our hotel in Auckland around midnight.  The next morning, everyone was up bright and early at 7:00 a.m.  Jack went out and got pastries for breakfast, and we spent the morning poking around downtown Auckland.  We continued to eat pastries down Queens Street and shop.  Shopping is not one of my favorite vacation activities, but my neighbor recommended buying something I need on vacation.  I told him I needed a rain coat and he said, "Get one on your trip!"  So I did.  Jack said this guarantees that it will not rain for the rest of the trip.  Fine by me.

Second or third breakfast.

Here we are lounging on some very comfortable chairs by the harbor.  It was good to rest.  I nearly fell asleep.  I wish airplane seats were as comfy.

Claire Adele taking a selfie, her favorite hobby.

In the afternoon, we saw "The Hobbit: The Battle of Five Armies."  This was The Boy's geek out moment, watching a movie about Middle Earth in Middle Earth.  Peter Jackson, the director, made a little thank you video to the people of New Zealand which was shown before the main feature.  The man has a lot of pride in his country, as he should.  My sense is these movies are a source of national pride, although I am sure there are some folks who are sick of hobbits, dwarves, elves and orcs.

The poster at the top says something like "See it here first."  This movie opened in NZ before it opened anywhere else.

Inside the theater.

Our first day in NZ was also the summer solstice.  I was asleep by 8:30 p.m. and the sun was still up. It was strange to see so many Christmas decorations and a busker singing "Let It Snow" at the beginning of summer.  Christmas and Hannukah are clearly northern hemisphere holidays.

Here are some pictures of downtown Auckland.

Here are some pictures of Albert Park.

A silly picture of a tree, a building and a flower nearly the same size.

A beautiful, old, massive tree.  There are lots like this around Auckland.

Sky Tower

A statue of Queen Victoria reminds me of British Columbia.

Layover

We had a stop in Honolulu before we got on the nine hour flight to Auckland.

Best.  Layover.  Ever.

We didn't get to leave the airport, but we were able to go outside and enjoy the fantastic weather.  Much appreciated between long flights.

Okay, it looks slightly like a posh minimum security prison.  If I had to go prison, I'd want to be in Hawaii.

Feeling Tookish

Off to Middle Earth.  Feeling a little Tookish.

Sparkle!

I should listen to the women who sell makeup at Sephora, but it is hard to seriously take the advice of a woman 20 years (or more) younger than me wearing red eye shadow.  (And I mean red.  As in stop sign red, red tape red.)

I was in the shop last week as I was out of makeup.  I am going on a trip, so I thought I'd refresh.  Every middle-aged woman in northeast Seattle had the same idea, as the place was full of women over forty on a Tuesday morning.

A year or two ago, one of the makeup artists recommended I try this new brand of base.  I was skeptical at first.  I brought it home, and it was magical.  My skin felt soft and smooth.  I went back last week to buy another tube of the same stuff.  They three colors: beige, tan and "illuminating."  Given this is winter in Seattle, I thought I'd need something to brighten my skin.  The illuminating hue was also a paler shade, which better matched my skin that seen sunlight since, oh, September.

I tried a dab on my hand, and I thought it was fine.  The sale girl took a look and said, "No, get the beige."

"But I like this one," I said.

"Really, get the beige," she said.  "The illuminating one has crushed pearls in it to help your skin glow."

Crushed pearls for glowing skin?  "Sounds good to me," I said.

"We don't have the illuminating in stock.  If you really want it, I can order it and have it shipped to you with free shipping.  If you need it now, you should get the beige..."

I thought she was trying to secure a purchase, but maybe not.  "I have time.  You can ship it to me," I said, and she did.

In the shop, I was wearing my glasses.  I have a hard time seeing things up close while I am wearing my glasses.  The little dab of makeup on my hand looked fine.

When the makeup came, I tried it on my whole face.  "Crushed pearls" is a euphemism for "glitter."  I skin sparkled, and not in a good way.  This poor woman couldn't spill the truth in the store:  "Middle aged woman shouldn't wear glitter makeup."

Before I left, I got to pick out a few samples, so I got some nail polish.  I didn't see the sales girl sigh when I picked this one out.  She must have figured I was helpless.

Nail polish for a six year old girl or hooker?  It is sad there is such a fine line between the two.  (No offense to working girls.)

Sick

Jack has planned a ginormous trip for us coming up soon.  He hasn't taken a two week vacation since 1998, and this one will span three weekends.  Not one.  Not two.  Three.

Okay, I know I not supposed to tell the internet where I am going or when.  Our home will be protected by a vicious lap dog and his keeper while we are gone.

Actually, small dogs like Fox can be kind of snarly.  My daughter, Claire Adele, told me small dogs bite people more often than larger dogs.  Who knew?

The goals of this trip are

a)  Jack will disengage from work and rejoin the family, and then 

b)  I will decide to stay married to Jack.

I will also get to visit my friend Carla in her new home.  Yay!

We will have a long flight, and change a few time zones.  (Okay, we are going to New Zealand.  OMG!  Seriously, New Zealand.  We are going to see lots of sheep and beautiful countryside and hopefully no Orcs.)  

What has got me worried about visiting a land that has super friendly people and no predatory animals?  Yes, they drive on the wrong side of the road.  That is a little spooky.  I am mostly worried that there are lots of nasty and tenacious germs floating around Seattle.  My daughter's high school has 40 cases of whooping cough.  I know three families that have had pneumonia.  I've heard of kids having fevers for a week. 

All of this is not cool as we are prepping for a trip of a lifetime.  I do not want anyone in my family to get before we go or while we are there.  I've taken enough vitamins to strengthen my immunity that my pee is a flourescent shade of yellow that glows in the dark.

I am torn between wishing I was sick so I could get it over with (5% of me), and wanting to avoid all contact with humanity until we depart (95% of me).  Okay, I am not torn.  I just don't want to get sick.  If I have to, I want it to be clean and swift and over as soon as possible.

Pray for me.  Or pray for the ill and suffering.  That is probably a nicer thing to do.

Fini!

I've been working on a few quilting projects lately and they are done!  Hooray!

This is a holiday blanket.  I bought a "cake stack" which is a stack of matching fabric in 9.5'' x 9.5'' squares.

I love the hot chocolate squares the best.  I wanted to make a second quilt with hot chocolate squares in a checker board pattern with "peppermint" in between.  I was thinking I could use the white with red stripes fabric (four up from the bottom and two to the left) to make peppermints.  I could quarter the fabric and rotate the squares.  Claire Adele thought I could cut the large square into triangle shaped eighths.  Right.  I have the sewing skills of a 5th grader.  That was not going to happen.  I was kind of excited that I figured out a design for a quilt all by myself.  I was kind of bummed when I found out the fabric is discontinued.

"But wait!" I hear you say.  "Google it!  I am sure someone somewhere on the internet is selling remnants!"  I tried.  I was really excited when I found a few yards, until I went to order it and discovered the seller was in Australia.  I wasn't sure I wanted to get the fabric in February.  Oh well.

Here is the back of the quilt.  It has a fancy border because I bought the only red flannel at Pacific Fabrics.  I should have known red flannel would be hard to come by in December.  Anyhow,  I came up short for the back, so I used the leftover squares.

And here is a patchwork pillow I made, finished on the same day I finished the blanket.

I used a charm pack here, which is like a layer cake except the pieces are 2.5'' x 2.5."  An artist creates and then assembles a series of fabrics, and I used them all in the same piece.  I thought about giving it to my Aunt Pat, but I have two more charm packs that I think she might like better.  I am slightly hesitant to give her a pillow, more for my own sake.  I image the conversation when someone visits her home.

"Interesting pillow," says the guest (assuming they notice it.)

"Thanks," my Aunt might reply.  "My niece made it."

"Wow.  How old is she?  Twelve?  Fifteen?"

"Forty-five."

Silence.

Part of me thinks if I have time to crank out little quilts, it means I should probably start looking for a day job.

Oh well.

Depressing Thought of the Day: All Marriages End Badly

When I was in graduate school, one of my classmate's father was a doctor.  I don't remember what type, but whatever he did, he had long and unpredictable hours.  I met Julie's mom at graduation.  Jack and I had just gotten married a few months earlier.  When Julie's mom heard I was marrying a doctor, she looked me straight in the eye and said without sarcasm, "Good luck," as if I were embarking on a long and dangerous journey.  I remember this vividly.  I took her warning seriously but thought I was strong enough to handle it.  It is going to be harder than you think, her stare said.  I wonder if I would give the same advice to a young person marrying a physician.  Looking back, I can see what she meant.  Love is blind, baby.  We don't see the shit until it smacks us in the face.  We don't know what problems and challenges we will face, and if as a couple we will have the tools and resources to overcome them.  Maybe, maybe not.

I wouldn't say all doctors are difficult to be married to.  Some, though, are.  I've heard horror stories about some marriages to surgeons who have long hours and an innate sense of superiority.  I've also heard of some beautiful partnerships.  I think it depends on the type of doctor and the temperament of both spouses.  And it goes both ways by gender, too.  Some women doctors are hard to be married to.  Sometimes it is the role as much as the job.  Three out of four of the people I know who held a similar position to Jack's current role have been divorced.  While the sample size is freakishly small, it is still a 75% divorce rate.

I digress.  I was thinking about this and thought that all marriages end badly, by definition.  Even in a solid and stable marriage like the one in my previous post, it ended in death of one of the people.  Beth is writing about the loss of her beloved husband and letting go.  Other marriages might end in divorce.  While divorce is sometimes a good solution to a bad problem, it is still not a pleasant experience from what I am told.  I suppose a couple could die together in a plane or car crash, but that would be a bad ending as well as the deaths would be untimely.

We all kind of know this, but we don't really say it.  We celebrate the beginning, the start.  We have the big white wedding or elope to someplace warm and tropical.  There is a multi-billion dollar industry supporting the starts of marriages, the big party at the front.  I don't know what is bigger -- the divorce industry or the wedding industry.  It would be interesting to compare notes.   I can't look at the funeral industry, because everyone gets some sort of a send off, married or not.

Nevertheless, I can't think of a case where a marriage might end well.  Some might end better than others, but still the end will always be hard, no matter what form it takes.

Just a thought.

Stars and Moons and Comets, and Letting Go

I was reading "Stars and Moons and Comets" by Beth Alvarado in The Sun magazine.  Beth's husband of forty years was dying of cancer, and she writes about the time before and after his death, as well as about their life together.  Notice the use of the singular: life.  They shared one.

When Beth's mother was dying, she worried that she was a bad daughter.

"Shhh," Fernando would tell me, even though he knew I hated to be shushed.  "She knows you love her."  His hand on my back let me fall asleep.  This is the one reason we get married: to have someone who can help us bear what we think we cannot.

To have someone who can help us bear what we think we cannot.

What happens when the person you are married to betrays you?  How can they be the person who helps you bear what you think you cannot, when he and what he did is what I cannot bear?

(I am terribly sorry for that confusing sentence.)

What about Jack's long absences for work?  How can he help me bear that when he is not here?  How can he help me bear my loneliness when he is gone?  What about when he is home, but absorbed in things other than the family?  This weekend, he spend installing a tile backsplash in the kitchen.  It looks beautiful.  Six months ago, he would hide in the garage working on his bike, keeping secrets from me.  How can I tell the difference from then and now?

I had a hard time reading about this woman's anguish over her dying husband, the loss she felt after he was gone.  I haven't yet finished the story, though I want to.  It really is a beautiful tale, one that I thought Jack or I would have lived to tell, the story of a couple who is with each other until the end.  I think of my great Aunt Kay and the suffering she felt after my Uncle Tom died.  They never had kids--it was just the two of them for fifty plus years.  I remember visiting her and helping her plant flowers in her yard.  Afterwards, we sat in her kitchen and drank some water.  She broke into tears, crying over Uncle Tom who died a few years earlier.  I was quiet, and she composed herself.

I imagined that someday I would be like my Aunt Kay, that my marriage would be like hers.

But it is not, or at least I don't know the inner details of Aunt Kay and Uncle Tom's marriage.  Maybe there were betrayals.  Maybe there was forgiveness.  People don't talk about these things.  They take to the grave.  If there were betrayals and lies, they both hid it well.  I remember Aunt Kay and Uncle Tom laughing, telling jokes.  She looked at him admiringly, like she thought she was lucky to have him, even when he was an old man.  She was lucky.  He was a funny and fun guy.  He thought she was special.  Everyone else called her Kay, but he called her Katherine.

I am not sure which is worse, betrayal or death.  Right now, I cannot imagine what would happen if Jack would die.  I am sure I would miss him, but which him would I miss?  I would probably miss the old Jack, the one who was faithful and true.  I miss that Jack now.  I mourn the loss of my innocence, my naivety.

Both betrayal and death bring mourning over loss.  With a betrayal, it is the mourning of the loss of trust and recognizing that our relationship wasn't what I thought it was.  Death is final, there is no chance to go back and fix things.  I guess there is some hope that our marriage might be saved.

"You have to let me go," Fernando tells Beth in the first line of this short memoir.  He says it because he is about to die.  With this betrayal, I will eventually have to let go of something, whether it is my pain and forgive Jack, or letting go of Jack who caused my pain.

Patchwork Projects

I have finished making the patchwork part of one of my quilting projects.  I am going to take this square and make it into a pillow.  I bought a plain pillow and am making a zipper pillow case.

Sounds easy, right?

Before I started, I had no idea how to pull this together, and was terrified.  Instead of having my mom, aunts, sisters, cousins and grandmothers teach me how to do this, I have the internet, where I can watch someone else's mother, grandmother, aunt and sister show me how to make a zippered pillow case on YouTube.  This video has 11,606 views as of today.  At least three of those are my views.  Once I saw this video, I thought, "I can do this.  No problem."  Thankfully, I could watch the video several times to make sure I got it right, which was necessary.  Placing a zipper is some spacial reasoning task that I seem to fail when asked to do it alone.  I can figure it out right after I watch the video, but it escapes me two days later.

Pinning the zipper together.

I skipped the step where she casually mentions finishing the edges.  I have no clue how to do that.  I googled "finishing edges" and there is a guy--a dude--with what look like prison tats* on his hands showing how to finish an edge without a serger.

All of these folks have found a new use for the GoPro cameras.  Heck with skiing in the back country or going down some crazy double black.  Forget mountain biking over a cliff or hang gliding.  GoPros are awesome for sewing demonstrations.  I imagine these people sitting there with bike helmets on or some other attachment sewing and narrating away.  I digress.

What helped me get over my fear of pulling something together when I have no idea what I am doing?  Buying the stuff, and leaving it on the floor of my bedroom, the plain pillow in the plastic bag mocking me to finish.  The sock monkey fabric was too cute to let it collect dust until I have grandchildren in 20 years.  I had to finish.  When I was halfway done, I bought more material for my next project so I could start right away, ala Hemingway always leaving a sentence unfinished at the end of the day so he would have someplace to start when he sat back down to write again in the morning.  I could finish one project, and slide right into the next without interruption.

Thank goodness for YouTube.  I don't think I'd make it without the kind folks who share their wisdom through the electronic ether.  I am not on the plains of Nebraska in 1870 where there is no one to ask how to do this.  A city slicker like me learned how to bind a quilt from a woman in Missouri and another in South Dakota.  Am I the only one?  No.  Both videos have nearly 500,000 views.

Not that I have anything against books.  Quilting books are the best.  I have lots of books on quilting and sewing, which are fantastic for ideas on starting.  They are like quilt porn.

And I finished.  Hooray!

Fox and the finished zippered pillows.

Fox and the pink sock monkey quilt.

Sock monkey quilt for Fox for the chair in my office.

* I shouldn't tease, on so many levels.  I wouldn't tease a woman for wanting to be an engineer or in the military.  I'd say, "Go for it, sister!"  I also seriously doubt this guy was in prison.   If he were, wow, that is awesome that he has turned his life around such that he is teaching people to sew.  And those tattoos might be covering surgical scars.  Godspeed, Mr. Burly Sew!