Christmas Past

2014 was a rough year.  At the end of it, I was not particularly in a jolly mood or looking forward to Christmas.  I usually enjoy creating Christmas cards, picking out my favorite pictures from the year and writing a witty little note telling everyone about our adventures.  I try not to write a "brag and drag" letter, telling everyone how brilliant my children are or discuss the amazing good news of the year.  Nor do I want to write a letter telling everyone, "Man, this year was hard.  I barely got through it.  Maybe next year you'll get a letter from me as a single mom.  Maybe not.  Maybe Jack will get his workaholism under control and things will be better.  I have no idea what the future holds."

In addition to skipping Christmas cards, I also skipped getting anyone outside of my immediate family a gift.  My kids a few things to keep them occupied on the plane to New Zealand (i.e., puzzle books, new earbuds for Claire Adele, etc.) and trinkets to open on Christmas morning.  The strong message was "Your Christmas present is a trip to New Zealand.  Seriously.  That is it."  As we were seeing my friend Carla and her family on Christmas, I bought each of the kids a Mixel set from Lego, as those sets were the easiest to pack since they are small and come in a bag not a box.  I did not get gifts for any of my nieces or nephews.  I usually take my kids shopping and have them help select gifts.  This year, I didn't even bother to spend half a morning shopping online and having things wrapped and delivered.  I didn't even bother to send a check or a gift card.  I wasn't simply lazy -- I was uninvolved.  I couldn't get enough energy to care.

There is an expression that I heard ages ago:  Grief waits.  It means if you put off and ignore emotional pain, it sits and waits until you have time to give to attention.  It doesn't go away by virtue of ignoring it.  

Christmas waits.  It is the middle of January, I wake up thinking of what to get people for Christmas.  I feel like since I skipped all of these major Christmas rituals, they are waiting around to be completed in my mind.  I am mentally stuck back in December of 2014.  This is not to be confused with guilt or shame.  I think once in a while it is healthy to skip the hoopla of the holidays and decide what really matters.  I needed this season off.  Most of the holidays are dumped on the laps of women to manage, keep and create traditions.  This past year was hard, and it was difficult to celebrate.  While much of the holidays are obligations, a lot of it reminds us of what matters.  Christmas cards keep us in touch with people we like but don't get to see very often.  Gifts to nieces and nephews say I am still part of your family and I think of you, even though we live two or three time zones away.

So Christmas waits.  It really can't be the Super Bowl tomorrow because I haven't finished my Christmas cards yet.  Back in December, should I have slogged through toy stores looking for nice things for my nieces and nephews?  Should I have at least gotten out my checkbook and mailed everyone money?  Should I have sucked it up and sent family and friends "happy" pictures of my family form what was decidedly not a happy year?  Or, should have found those few moments which were bearable in an otherwise very messy year, and celebrated those?  No.  Can I really go forward and pretend it is Christmas almost in February?  No.  I did what I needed to do. I just wish the power that rituals and tradition has over my mind would give me a break.  

Thirty-Six Questions

The column "To Fall in Love with Anyone, Do This" from the New York Times "Modern Love" series has gone viral.  The essay was by a woman who participated in a study by psychologist Arthur Aron that suggests the intimacy between two people can be accelerated by staring into someone's eyes for four minutes and answering a series of thirty-six personal questions.  Earlier this month, Daniel Jones, the editor of the series, published the list of questions:

http://www.nytimes.com/2015/01/11/fashion/no-37-big-wedding-or-small.html?smid=fb-share&_r=0

While I think there is merit that people can feel closer to another person by sharing details, I am not sure I buy that this guarantees falling in love.  Perhaps I am the most skeptical, least romantic person in North America.   If I were to answer these questions with my parents, brother or kids, would I fall in love with them?  (Ick, by the way.)  No offense to members of my immediate family, but I sure hope not.

What if I were to take this test with someone I was completely incompatible with, let's say someone from another state who views domestic violence as a reasonable way of controlling a partner?  Could I fall in love with a Neanderthal?  I hope not.

What if I were to take this test with a husband of my friends?  Would I pack it up and leave Jack for a neighbor after a long dinner conversation?  Could this test cause someone to fall out of love with their spouse and in love with someone they just met?  Maybe it does, and that could be scary.  Could this be the magic love potion the world is looking for, or is this snake oil?  Or, it is a combination of the two?  (Maybe this is what poor Taylor Swift needs, to sit down with some reasonable, available young man and become vulnerable.  I saw on her Instagram account that she wants to meet 500 guys and is giving away meet and greet tickets.  That is one way to find a soulmate -- have a contest.  I digress.)

What if I were to answer these questions on my blog?  Would everyone who reads my blog fall in love with me as I share my deepest thoughts and feelings?  Would I want to?  Who would care?  If people don't fall in love after answering these questions, does love exist?

Here goes.  I'll start.   Question 1.:  Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?

This doesn't give me a number of people, so I will take license and pick a few.  Martin Luther King, Jr., Abraham Lincoln, Jesus, Nelson Mandela and Gandhi, all in their prime, and Hitler when he is about 23 years old.  Topic:  Why genocide is a bad idea.  Perhaps we could avoid the Holocaust.  Just a thought.

Let me know when you start to love me.

Adele v. Taylor

The other day, I was listening to Taylor Swift's new song, "Blank Space."  I thought I heard her sing "I've got a Starbuck's lover..."  Why was she singing about Starbucks?  I wondered, so I googled the lyrics.  The actual lyrics are "I've got a long list of ex-lovers, who'll tell you I'm insane..."  

"Who'll tell you I'm insane?"  Unlike other young artists, Taylor Swift writes her own songs, which is fine.  She is known for writing about her ex-boyfriends.  I started paying attention to the rest of lyrics, and have concluded that Taylor Swift will be this generation's Woody Allen and Michael Jackson -- the confessional artists who are telling us unpleasant things about themselves, if we only pay attention and listen.  Slate has a great article about Michael Jackson years ago, outlining his music videos and showing his troubled side.  "I'm Bad" could have been about him being hip, or it could have been about him being a pedophile.  Another Slate article (I think it was Slate) outlined numerous lines from Woody Allen movies that suggested his interest in girls who are way too young.  In her most recent song, Swift sings about her exes, and tells us they might be right to have skipped out:  "I'm a nightmare dressed as a daydream" is one of her lines that makes me cringe.  "Boys only want love if it's torture" is another lyric.  Last I checked, guys don't like psychos.  If these lyrics are based on her personal feelings, her honesty is bone chilling.  

Taylor Swift is known for writing about her ex-boyfriends, but then so is Adele.  Adele seems far more reasonable:  "Sometimes it lasts in love, sometimes it hurts instead" sounds like practical advice you'd get from a good friend or an aunt.  Adele seems to respect her ex: "I wish nothing but the best for you, too."  Adele's song was written by a grown-up who sounds mature enough to have a respectful relationship.  Swift's song is scary.

One could argue the Swift is young, but so is Adele.  Adele's famous "Someone Like You" was written when she was 21.  Swift is now 25, and the diva doesn't get it.  Will she grow-up, or will she a nightmare forever?

Sad Songs

I was reading in The Utne Reader that sad music can bring happy thoughts.*  Liila Taruffi and Stephan Koelsch from the Free University of Berlin found that listening to sad music even when you are sad can make people feel positive emotions, including nostalgia, peacefulness, tenderness, transcendence, and wonder.  

I would say that rings true for me.  "O Mio Bambino Caro" isn't in English, and while it is sad, it brings a sense of peace and calm.  "You Give Love a Bad Name" by Bon Jovi is lots of fun, as is Joan Jett's "I Hate Myself for Loving You."  Those are regular rock anthems, designed to make you pump your fist in righteous indignation.  There is Adele, giving everyone a cathartic cry.  

I wonder about happy songs: can they make you miserable?  I think of John Legend's popular "All of Me" song this summer.  "All of Me" is a wedding song, how all of him loves all of her.   Every time I heard that song, I bawled my eyes out.  I've gotten better about it now.

Does the same hold true for sad writing?  If you are already sad, does reading something sad make you feel better, or worse?  Or is laughter the best medicine?  What about film?  Does the medium matter when it comes to changing our emotions?  Hospitals used to have "Chuckle Channels" with comedic programming to make people feel better.  I don't recommend they show Terms of Endearment on the cancer ward, but Bambi?

* I can't find the link to this article.  I found the article the old fashioned way -- in print.  (Reported by Soli Salgado, Winter 2014, page 89.)

Ferns and Flora

My friend Diane is a big fan of ferns.  I thought of her in New Zealand as ferns are everywhere.  My mom used to have ferns in the house when I was little.  She said ferns were supposed to clean the air in the house.

Here is the silver fern (I think), which is the national fern of New Zealand.  The place actually has a national fern.  They are hard to find because the underside is silver.  Unless you go around peaking underneath the ferns, you can't find them.  We happened to find one that had been flipped over.

Tree ferns

These ferns grow tall like trees.

A tree that looks like a person holding their arms up.

I like this tree trunk. 

Look at that massive plant near the bridge.  Cool, eh?

Are these a type of fern?  They have spores on the underside of their leaves.

Blank Page Day

Yesterday, I had three meetings.  I had to be at my son's school at 8:00 a.m.  I had a meeting from 1:00 to 3:00 p.m. south of downtown, and I had to be back at the Boy's school at 4:00.  There was a fourth meeting at 7:00 p.m., but Jack was working so I skipped.  Just a day in the life of a PTSA President.

Unlike yesterday, today is blank page day.  I have no meetings or appointments, except for one after school.  The time I have to myself today belongs only to me.  I checked my email this morning and there was only spam and newsletters, nothing I personally had to reply to.

So what do I do?  I can do anything I want, or I could do nothing.  I could be bored.  I could save the world.  I could start a business, or paint my house.  I could call a friend and chat while I fold the laundry, but more and more of my friends are returning to the workforce, leaving me fewer people to call.  Not that I mind.  I am equally not available at times, like yesterday when I was booked.

Here is a list I came up with:

1. Clean all the things -- Just like Allie Brosch in my favorite blog, Hyperbole and a Half.  Like Allie, I am not very good at cleaning all the things.  I did sort the shoe pile into "Fits" and "Does Not Fit." I also vacuumed.  I did not fold five loads of clean laundry sitting my bedroom.  I have more clean socks in the basket than in my sock drawer.  Need to fix this so Claire Adele stops poaching my socks.
2. Ponder the meaning of forgiveness.  (Done.)
3. Call one of my friends from high school who I haven't talked to in seven months.  (Left a voice mail.)
4. Buy a new planner for 2015. (Done.)
5. Work on quilt I've just started.
6. Sign up for the Irish Folk Music class.  Learn to play the fiddle. 
7. Go to a quilt shop or fabric store and poke around.
8. Go to that super fancy coffee shop in Pike Place Market that was written up in the Seattle Times.  They charge $5 for a mocha, but you are not buying coffee there: you are renting a soft, comfortable chair with a spectacular view of the Puget Sound and the Olympic Mountains.
9. Go to Bakery Nouveau down by Swedish Hospital.
10. Look for a job.
11. Call someone to network so I can get a job.
12. Email people about lego team party date change. (Done.)
13. Figure out what I want to do when I grow up.
14. Finish the book about my brother's battle with schizophrenia and/or send what is already done to an agent.
15. Shower.
16. Redo botched nail polish from yesterday.
17. Write a blog post called "Ferns and Flora," only to realize it has no point or insights other than "Ferns are neat!" and that doesn't even come across well.  Oh well.  There is a reason this blog is called Rough Draft.  (Done, but it is still flat.)

And yet, on those days when I am full of meetings, I yearn for those empty, blank page days, where I can do whatever I want.

Coffee Mania

I can't drink regular coffee.  I become hyper.  Most people don't believe me when I tell them coffee winds me up.  I went to breakfast once with my friend Diane and the restaurant didn't have decaf.  I thought I'd try a regular mocha.

First, you must understand they my usual rate of talking is about twice as fast as a typical person.  I used to work with this one guy Darwin.  "How much coffee have you had today?" he asked me one particularly manic morning.

"Whatdoyoumean?IhadsomeorangejuiceforbreakfastIdon'tdrinkcoffeeIliketea...." was my response.

"Ohhhhh..." he said.

I've only met one or two people who talk faster than I do, and it was frightening.  This one woman had just move to St. Louis and was telling me about the seven health clubs she visited before making her decision.  Wow, I thought.  If I talk half as fast as this woman, I must be scary.

Back to breakfast with Diane.  "I am sure you'll be fine," she said, rolling her eyes.  So I drank the regular mocha.  "I will never let you drink regular coffee again," she said a half hour later.

I had a regular cup of coffee when I had the flu once.  I got a ton of stuff done for someone who was sick.  Best illness I've ever had! I thought as I was dancing to cranked up iTunes while emptying the dishwasher.  The caffeine wore off, and I crashed.

As when I had the flu, there have been a few moments of desperation.  Yesterday was one of them.  The Boy has to leave the house shortly after 7:00 a.m., so that means I get up at 6:30 to help get him moving.  As I cannot drink coffee because of the aforementioned reasons, I need eight to nine hours of sleep a night to be functional.  When I go to bed around 11:00, that doesn't happen.  Vitamins help, but not enough. Yesterday, I was sluggish.  I thought I could take a nap or have a cup of regular.  I decided against the nap.  I some how think it isn't fair that my son has to slog through the day while I was conked out.

I had half of a twelve ounce mocha and was off to the races for the rest of the day.  Coffee doesn't give me energy--it makes me manic.  Those unfinished house projects?  Done.  Get rid of the holiday greenery and turn it to compost.  Whack back the overgrown ivy, clean the gutters, and sweep the twenty two steps to our house that collect pounds of conifer debris.  I called my poor friend Mary from Philly had to listen to me brainstorm the same six ideas over and over again.

"Uh, Lauren, I gotta go..."  she said, sensing that I would not run out of steam any time soon.  Friends don't let friend drunk dial.  I thought about calling her back with new ideas, but though the better of it.

So, should I enjoy the coffee mania?  Use it as the drug that it is to get stuff done?  Or, should it be considered a dangerous substance that should be used sparingly?  My sense is if I plan to be alone and avoid human contact, but plan to paint three rooms of my house, I am fine to drink away.  If I plan to be in polite society, I need to skip the hard stuff.

Laundromat versus US Senate, Part I

As we have changed the calendar and are embarking on a new year, I am pondering what this new year holds for me.  I am hoping to join the ranks of the gainfully employed.  But what to do?  I have been sporadically looking for a job for the past few years, but nothing has materialized.

I called a friend and former elected official, and asked him what I should do.

"Lauren, you can do whatever you want," he said.

That vote of confidence is nice coming from someone I respect.  I explained that I've tried looking for jobs, and have been told I have too much experience for a junior level job, but not specific enough experience for a senior level one.  I am stuck in a vortex, spinning in a circle and not moving forward.

"I also don't have experience in a field that I can go back to,"  I told my friend.  "I was in consulting and project management--which I loved--but spending three days a week in Los Angeles was not compatible with motherhood and husband who is a physician."  I have met another mother who was struggling with the "cool job before motherhood that can't be done with kids" scenario.  She was a music promoter, and traveled the world with bands when they went on tour.  This was awesome job for someone in their twenties and thirties, but nearly impossible as a mom unless you want your kids raised by full-time nannies.

My friend continued.  "You aren't going to get a job with a salary right out of the gate after not having held a paid job for years.  My wife went through this when she returned to work.  You are going to have to take contract or part-time work, and build a portfolio of experience before someone will hire you."

I had to let that sink it.  It wasn't my imagination that looking for a job felt like I was beating my head against a wall.  Talking to my friend helped me realize that going the traditional/conventional route might not work.  Let me phrase:  this will not work.  This is hard, because I consider myself painfully conventional at times.  When I am solving problems for other people, I am a think-out-of-the-box, just-get-it-done kind of person.  When it comes to my own life, I stick to the middle.  I ponder, I weigh things.

So what next?  Sticking to the middle isn't going to work.  I need a goal.  I am partially thinking about running my own business, perhaps something like a laundromat that does not require an excess amount of brain cells to operate but could bring in a small income.  I could have flexibility to drive the carpool to soccer, and mind space to write.

My other idea is to run for the U.S. Senate.  Murray was the famous "mom in tennis shoes" who got into government.  Maria Cantwell has Midwestern roots, born in Indiana and went to college at Miami of Ohio.  I am both a mom in tennis shoes and from the Midwest!  Woohoo!  Patty Murray is 64, and imagine she has a few more years ahead of her.  Maria Cantwell is 56 probably has more years ahead of her, too.  So, this will be a back burner idea, but maybe I could start positioning myself now so I would be a viable candidate in five to six years.

Laundromat v. US Sentate: Could I do both?  Become a beacon for small businesses in the government, while also advocating for children and the mentally ill?


Postscript
Or, should I start quilting and selling stuff on etsy, as my daughter recommended.  "That stuff on etsy is expensive," she said.  "You should sell your stuff there."  I've made four quilt-type things, plus a few pillows, which does not bode well for a career on easy.  How does Claire-Adele know about easy?  I know she reads the internet, but etsy?  Etsy is for middle-aged women, not teens.  Hey, I stay out of SnapChat.  What is she doing poking around vintage dresses, quilts and other artsy things?

How was New Zealand? Sweet As

Now that I am back, people are asking me about the trip.  "It was great.  It is really nice.  It was good.  It's beautiful.  You should go."  Blah.  I need something better.  You can look at the nice pictures in my previous posts.  Here are the practical, nitty-gritty, tips for getting around NZ with kids.

Traveling There: It is a long trip to travel, but it really isn't that bad.  We have to take connecting flights to Ohio, so my kids are used to long travel days.  When I was a kid, I loved connecting flights because it meant two plane trips.  Now, I loathe them.  A layover in Hawaii, though, it quite special.

Time Change: The time difference between the West Coast and New Zealand is three hours this time of year.  We don't have the flipping of days and nights like when going to Europe or further afield in Asia.

Foreignness: In the "duh" category, people speak English there and the food is fairly western.  The currency is close enough to the value of a dollar (80%) that we didn't have to do too many calculations, like dividing the cost everything we were buying by 5 or 28 or something.

Currency and Cultural Differences:  Food seems more expensive in NZ, but it really isn't.  Tax is included in the cost and you don't have to tip in a restaurant.  In NZ, a hamburger might be $15NZ, which sounds outrageous.  Let's say you buy a $10 hamburger in the US.  The you have 10% tax and 20% tip, for total cost of $13.  The currency rate is about .80 US dollars to 1 NZ dollar, making the $15 hamburger $12.  See?  Not so awful as it first appears.

Total Cost of Trip:  Don't ask.  You don't want to know.  Let's say it would be cheaper sans enfant, but we had to bring the kids.  Will they remember this trip when they are 80 years old?  Yes.  As the MasterCard ad goes...Tickets to see "The Hobbit: Battle of Five Armies" in Auckland:  $40.  Tickets to Hobbiton:  $180.  The expression on your son's face when he sees actual Hobbit holes: Priceless.

Restaurants:  Except for fancy restaurants, you get your own water.  NZ has a labor shortage, so they don't have extra folks to bus tables and pour water at your regular bar and grill.  Also, in many cases you go to the cashier, order your food, they give you a number and bring your food out.  This is at reasonably nice restaurants, not just fast food places.

Ownership:  People who own places also work there.  We went to the Kiwi Birdlife Refuge, and the woman who co-owned the place was working the cash register.  Her husband was helping people in the gift shop.  He might have also been feeding and tending to the birds.  You will see a middle aged woman working in a cafe or gift shop, acting like she owns the place.  She probably does.  She will also be taking orders, delivering food, making sure everything is okay.  Division of labor seems to be less than in the US, where people have defined roles and rarely cross the boundaries.  The woman taking the orders and running the cash register will help bus tables while someone else has shifted into those other roles.

Leftovers:  In the US, I usually have leftovers when I go to a restaurant.  In NZ, the portion sizes are reasonable.  I didn't overeat nor was I starving.  The downside of taking an eleven year old and a fourteen year old is that they both eat like regular adults.  One day at lunch, the Boy finished his adult size plate of chicken wings (roasted, not fried), and then finished half of my fish and chips.  No leftovers.

Activities:  This is an outdoor, hiking and camping type of place.  My friend Carla warned me that people will appear in public (i.e., at a movie theater, in the grocery store) in their bare feet.  The style of dress is pretty casual as people are outside so much.  This is not a shopping, visit art museums or learn about history vacation.  I've been to France and learned about the French Revolution.  I've been to Virginia and learned about the Civil War.  This is a learn about nature and natural history vacation: When did the Maori move to NZ?  How were fiords formed?  (They were formed during ice age.) What is a Haast's eagle?  (A very scary bird.  Read this.  I have a link to it in my previous past, but in case you missed it, here it is again.  Hilarious.  Jack was laughing so hard he couldn't breathe.)

Transportation:  This was in some ways a road trip.  The roads between NZ towns are winding, not direct and two lane.  They are not fast roads, and it time it can take to be between Point A and Point B on any given day might vary by 100%.  This isn't so bad because the scenery is usually amazing.  If you get someplace early, there is more time to look at the sheep, get coffee, take pictures or chill.  Given New Zealand is about the length of California divided between two islands, we decided to fly between Auckland and Nelson, Christchurch and Queenstown, and Queenstown and Auckland.  Flying domestically in NZ is a piece of cake.  In some airports, there was no security.  In Queenstown you could see the tarmac through terminal from the parking lot with nothing between the tarmac and the parking lot.  I am not trying to violate any security secrets, but the point here is flying within NZ is not a hassle from our experience.  I got off the plane in Nelson, and I went to the bathroom while Jack talked to the rental car people.  When I was out of the bathroom, I walked over and got our luggage.  As I was picking up the luggage, Jack got the keys to the car.  We walked maybe 100 feet to the car, and drove off.  The time between getting off the plan and driving away in the car was ten minutes.  It might have been closer to seven minutes.  Easy-peasy.

Seattle-ness:  Yes, it is like Seattle in some ways.  Yes, we have mountains and lakes and lots of green all over the place.  As the Boy said, "This place feels familiar."  Yeah, it is like Cascades and the Puget Sound.  But there are other ways it is not.  There are warm, San Diego/Hawaii like beaches.  There are rolling hills and sheep grazing.  Seattle does not have fiords or caves, or Hobbiton, which is very cool.  But parts of the Pacific Northwest are amazing, so going to NZ is like seeing even more amazing stuff.  Let's say Seattle is Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice.  New Zealand is like Gabriel Garcia-Marquez's Love in the Time of Cholera.  Both are good.  Different, but good.

Laid Backness:  You are on vacation.  Chill.  The signs at the Auckland airport will tell you the same.  "Flight 469 to Honolulu: Gate 6.  Status:  Relax."

Natural Beauty:  Sweet As.  Sweet As.

The Eighth Day

On the eighth day, God created New Zealand.  After resting on the seventh, she decided to have fun and make a place using all of her favorite things: mountains, lakes, rolling plains, beaches, fjords, islands, trees and birds.

"I like people and all," she thought, "but it think it would be nice to leave this place unpopulated and unspoiled for a long time.  I'll make it far away from the larger continents.  When things get a bit messed up everywhere else, people can escape there.

"I'll make it relatively small compared to other places.  North America has so many of these things like mountains, beaches and rolling countryside, but they are so spread apart.  New Zealand will be small and cozy and everything will be close together.  I don't have room for mesas and deserts like the southwest, but oh well.  Australia has plenty of that type of geography.  (Sorry about, Aussies.  I went a wee bit overboard on the deserts.  My bad.)

"Let's make it safe for all kinds of birds," she thought.  "I love birds.  This place will need some music and there won't be any people here for 80 million years.  Penguins are adorable, and those kiwis need a place to rest.  Parrots?  Of course!  I wonder how big a bird could get without any predators...  Emus and moas.  Hmmm.  What about that Haast's eagle with a 2.5 meter wingspan?  It might be overkill, but hey.  It really isn't an eagle as much as a underdeveloped velociraptor.  Yes, it is a badass.  That is why I didn't put people on NZ to start.  That would have been mean to have them live with the Haast's eagle flying overhead.  Too bad the Haast's eagle and the moas went extinct in the 1600s.

Moa bones found in a cave.

"Lakes, rivers and waterfalls, those are all good.  I like those fiords in Scandinavia.  I'll add some of those.  Beaches are always good, too.  I did a nice job with Maui.

"I don't have room for Mammoth Cave, but I've give them small caves with glowworms for an extra treat.

(Caves are really hard to photograph.)

"I like some plains and rolling hills, but I also love mountains.  Green and blue are a great color combo -- white fluffy clouds are a nice accent.

"And for those creationists out there, I'll leave them the missing link between dinosaurs and reptiles, the tuatara.  By time they find it, the tuatara will be 235 million years old.  They were around during the late Triassic period along with the early tyrannosaurus, allosaurus, and velociraptor.  Man, I loved those dinosaurs.  I did such a great job on them.  Fucking meteorite.

Isn't it cute?

"And what is up with people thinking I created the world in seven days?  That is a metaphor, people.  Do they really think I can work that fast?  Seriously.  Do you know how long it takes to make a dinosaur, and then to have to start over with mammals, moving the continents around, ice ages, climate change and whatnot?  Really.

"Okay, maybe I was really hoping to get my dinosaurs to come back, re-evolve, you know?  They needed a quiet, faraway place.  Oh well.  Maybe next time.

"In the meantime, New Zealand is a nice place for people to visit."

More Things I didn't Photograph in New Zealand

• The Southern Cross constellation.  I saw it in Hanmer Springs.  Most nights, we went to bed before the sun went down.  Other nights were cloudy.  I got out my cell phone and looked up a star chart, which is the worst way to look up constellations, by the way.  My eyes had a hard time adjusting from the light of the screen to the darkness of the sky.  I remember going to the Adler Planetarium as a kid in Chicago.  We saw a presentation in the dome about the night sky in the southern hemisphere.  They said that very few of us would ever get to see this.  The twelve year old in me was very excited.  I know I am lucky to get to travel like this.  My inner twelve year old is grateful.

• The roar of waterfalls in the fiords and near the caves.  

• The South Islander newspaper in Manapouri near the fiords.   New Zealand has four million people spread out over the distance of California.  You wouldn't imagine Los Angeles having the same newspaper as San Francisco.  Likewise, this town in the south has its own newspaper, with few subscribers.  I read an article about some guy who was retiring from the government after 30 years.  The article covered half a page and discussed how he went to the US in the 1970s and fell in love with spareribs.  He wanted to bring them to New Zealand, and he told one of his chef friends.  The chef said there was no f--- way he was going to put pork ribs on the menu.  A few years later, ribs were on the menu.  I really enjoyed reading about this man.  The paper also had a nice spread about a star high school student.  Good stuff.

• A flock of what looked like reindeer on Dec. 26.  Perhaps they were starting vacation after they finished delivering the last round of presents to the West Coast of the U.S. 

• Birds of prey.  Gotta love watching these creatures soar, floating, looking for rats, mice and other pests.

• A small bird caught in a wind swirl at the top of Time Walk trail in Queenstown Hill.  This sparrow sized bird, try as he might, could not get over the hill.  It was flapping its wings hard, but it is looked like it was flying in place.  It lost the battle, and had to come down.

Here are some pictures from Queenstown Hill.

Lord of the Rings and Meetings

On this trip, I've started reading The Lord of the Rings.  I've seen the first two movies, and I've read all of The Hobbit aloud to the Boy when he was in fourth grade.  His teacher recommended I read it to him, so I did.  I loved Bilbo, the reluctant hero, who at times would rather have been at home drinking tea and sitting in front of a fire instead of on an adventure.  Me too.

I started reading The Lord of the Rings aloud to the Boy.  I didn't go fast enough, so he decided to read it himself.  Planning a trip to NZ made me pick it up again.

I am in The Fellowship of the Ring and I just finished the chapter "The Council of Elrond." I have to admit I was afraid to read this book because I am just not into things like Orcs and Wargs and whatnot.  I am too rooted in present, real day problems.  And then what does Tolkein pull out of his hat?  A chapter on a meeting.  Seriously.  A chapter where a dozen or so people sit around and talk about a decision to be made.  And what have I done for most of my profession and volunteer life?  Attend meetings.  I've been to a gazillion.  And here in one of the most read books ever written, an entire chapter was dedicated to a meeting.  I was delighted because meetings are often the stuff of drama, but few authors include them.  And by meeting I mean a committee meeting, not meetings like the one between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennett.  (Those meetings are good, too.)  In group meetings, people get mad, argue.  They are silent, or brood.  Eyes roll.  Alliances change.  Decisions are made.  Many of the meetings I've attended get a post-mortem.  "And then so-and-so said...  Can you believe it?"

In the Council of Elrond, a group of peaceful people see an evil power rising.  The Council has something Sauron wants, but what to do?  How do they get rid of it?  Should they get rid of it?  Why?  What is the best way?  Who will do it?  Those are the questions.  And they are discussed in a meeting.   I am probably the only person in the world who liked this chapter because it was a meeting.  What other book has meetings like this?  There are courtroom dramas -- Twelve Angry Men and To Kill a Mockingbird are the first that come to mind, but a bona fide meeting?  This is great.

Granted, not all meetings are exciting.  Meetings that are "exciting" are often fraught with anxiety and challenges.  I've been on several committees where the problems don't have an easy or obvious solution.  If they did have an easy or obvious solution, there wouldn't need to be a meeting.  One solution might be great, but it costs too much.  Another solution might only solve half of the problem, so which do you choose?  Yes, this is the stuff of literature and drama.

City Mice on the Farm

Note:  Now that I am back from New Zealand, I am reflecting on the trip. 

One of our stops was in Cambridge, NZ, a small town on the North Island.  Cambridge is famous for breeding horses, but we stopped there because it is close to Hobbiton.  We stayed at a B&B called Earthstead.  The Earthstead's claim to fame is they hosted Ian McKellen when he was in town filming the Shire scenes for The Hobbit.  If this place was good enough for Gandalf, it was good enough for us.  

As we were driving to Cambridge, we were kind of bummed that we didn't get to do a farm stay on our trip.  Jack looked into staying on a farm, but given we were going to NZ during the busiest travel time of year there, everything he looked at was booked.  Claire Adele was really hoping to get a selfie with a sheep.  Oh well.  My friend Carla had stayed at a place that where a baby lamb had been born. Her sons fed the baby farm animal with a bottle.  Is there anything cuter than a lamb?  No.

Imagine our surprise when we got to Earthstead and our host asked if our kids would mind helping him milk the cows.  I don't think our City Mice have ever touched a cow.  Ridden public transportation?  Check.  Run to the coffee shop/grocery store around the corner on their own?  Check.    been to opening night productions at the theater?  Check.  Milk a cow?  Nope.  I was really exited we were getting a mini-farm stay.  The owner described himself as a hobby farmer versus a real one.  The families down the road had hundreds of cows.  He had about ten: three dairy, the rest for the freezer.

Paris and Harriet, if I recall correctly.

Kids following the farmer.  Yes, the sky is that blue.

Alistair shows Clair Adele how to milk a cow.  The Boy watches.  He wanted to shower after touching a cow.

We were offered a fresh glass of milk right after it came out of the cow.  That was probably the first and last time this will ever happen to me.  The city rat in me prefers skim milk (not whole) served at approximately 37 degrees F.  Straight out of the cow was something else.  First, it was warm.  Second, it was super rich.  Third, it tasted like whatever the cow had for breakfast that morning, which was grass.  I felt so out of touch with the earth, like I was few steps shy of becoming one of those people on the starship Axiom in the movie Wall-E who eat and drink only processed food.  I know I am not that bad.  I shop at the Farmer's Market and eat unsweetened yogurt, but I still felt like a philistine to the art of living close to the earth.  Milk this fresh?  I'll mark this one off as a new experience.  

Our host makes cheese out of the milk, and gave us a large plate of it on the first day with some homemade bread along with with some homemade marmalade and homemade butter.  

Me drinking milk straight out of a cow.  You can tell I am excited, right?  Would be be rude not to drink all of it? 
I tried, but couldn't.

They had pigs, too.  These are headed for the freezer.

Cob Cottage was built by the owner using and method from back in the day in England where they mix hay into the walls.

Getting to the Doubtful Sound

No, the Doubtful Sound is not a new rock band, though it would be a good name for a music group.  The Doubtful Sound is part of the Fiordland in southern New Zealand.  We booked a one day boat tour of the sound back in October.  It was going to be one of the highlights of the trip.  Part of traveling to another part of the world is to see things that are unique to an area, and we can't see fiords in the U.S.

The tricky part of this adventure would be getting to the Doubtful Sound in time to catch the boat.  For the whole trip, this set of logistics scared me the most.  We had to leave Queenstown and drive 165 km down to Manapouri.  The tricky part of traveling in New Zealand is figuring out how long it will take to get places.  "Leave plenty of time to get places," Carla's husband, a native New Zealander, told us.  "You don't want to get stuck behind a caravan."

The time to get some place on Googles maps could be off by a lot.  On the way to Pohara, we had to drive through the mountains.  The posted speed limit was 100 km/h, but the road was so twisty we were lucky to go faster than 50 km/h.  Traveling during the holidays could add time to a trip, as everyone else is leaving town at the same time.  The roads from town to town are often two lanes, and it is hard to pass because they are hilly and curvy.  On the way from Hanmer Springs to Christchurch, we saw miles of back out town.  We were glad to be traveling in the opposite direction.

The boat was supposed to leave Manapouri at 10:30 a.m., and we had to be there twenty minutes early.  According to google maps, it was supposed to take two hours and fifteen minutes to get there from Queenstown.  According to the books, it was apposed to take two hours and forty-five minutes.  We were traveling on New Year's Eve day.  We later found out that Queenstown got an extra 100,000 visitors on the night of New Year's Eve.  It was the Times Square of New Zealand.  We were lucky to be leaving, not driving in.

Also, this little cruise on the water was fairly expensive, even though it seemed like a good value.  We each could have ridden on a Hydroshark for 20 minutes in Queenstown for the same price.  This was going to be an eight hour trip with a boat ride across a lake, a drive through a rain forest, and then another boat ride through the fjords.

Jack wanted wheels on the road by 7:00 a.m.  I figured we should be out of the door by 6:45.  We would wake up and 6:00, eat and then leave.  Jack wasn't worried -- he said he wakes up at 6:00 a.m. anyway.  We left the curtains open, as the sun rises early in the summer here.  At 5:40 a.m., I heard the birds singing and I could see the sun.  Jack was snoring.  I drifted back asleep.  He was still snoring when the alarms on our phones went off at 6:00.

The kids were slow to move.  We had packed 90% of our stuff the night before, but we still had to eat, get dressed and brush teeth.  They were dragging.  At 6:55, we were ready to leave, but the Boy did not have his shoes on.  Jack's cell phone rings.  It was the hospital, and we all paused, worried why they were calling him.  It was a robocall about the hospital that is sent to all physicians.  Jack didn't answer the phone the second time they called.  He moved forward.

We got to the car in the garage.  When I got there, I thought I had forgotten our phone chargers, so I ran back to the room while Jack packed.  When I got back, Jack went to check out.  The reception area was full with a tour group checking out at the same time.  He made it back to the car, and we left.  As soon as we pulled out of the garage at 7:04, it started to pour.  There was a steep hill to get out of the garage.  (This hill is steeper than many hills in Seattle, which is saying a lot.)  Cars were parked along the edges, making it a one lane road.  Another car was coming down the hill, and we had to pull over.  When we got past that car, we had to wait for an elderly woman to climb the hill.  We pulled out of the hotel at 7:08.

When we were on the main road, I turned on the GPS.  In NZ, there are lots of roundabouts.  At the first roundabout, Jack made a wrong turn and we had to double back.  Once we were on the main road, we were following a tractor with a large lawn mower on the back.  I looked at the GPS: 165 km to go, and it was 7:12. After a few minutes, the tractor pulled off.  I figured it wouldn't be heading to Manapouri.

All through the trip, I was doing the math:  how fast did we need to go to make it in time?  I looked at the speedometer.  Jack was going about 85 km/h.  The maximum speed limit in NZ is 100 km/h.  I looked at him.  "The road is straight and flat here.  I would recommend going the sped limit."

"I thought you'd be worried I was going too fast," Jack said as he sped up.

The rain continued, and the road got curvier.  Once we passed the tractor, we didn't have a car in front of or behind us for miles.  Jack decided to take a bathroom break after an hour.  Before we left, he has been debating between drinking coffee and not, but decided he'd rather be awake for the drive.  I agreed with his decision and we pulled over.  (Small towns in NZ have public restrooms, which are very convenient for travelers.)

We got back on the main road, only to follow a tour bus and a gasoline tanker.  Argh!!!! We had been on the road for an hour, and still had 100 km left to go!  We had gone about 65 km in the past hour, and who knew what the road and traffic ahead would look like in the rain behind a tanker.  Would we make it in time?

The tanker kept up with the speed limit, thankfully.  It stayed on the main road, while we took another route.  We made it to Manapouri by 9:20, plenty of time.

The boat ride was stunning, the highlight of the trip so far.  I'll post pictures of the fiords and waterfalls when I get home.

Hospice

(Note:  This was written December 28.  We did not have internet access in paradise.  Oh well.  Tells you something about the internet, eh?)

My friend Eleanor had a nephew who was dying of cancer or leukemia.  He has made quite a bit of money in his life, and wanted to die comfortably, but not in a hospital.  Eleanor emailed her friends and asked for nice hotels in Seattle.  One of the things about living in a town is that you never stay in the hotels.  I did a google search, and recommended the Fairmont, amoung other places.  He went there, looked out over the Puget Sound for a few days, and then died.  Hospice nurses came in and out.  Both the hospice nurses and the Fairmont staff were familiar with the process.  I guess her nephew wasn't the first person to decide to skip the ICU and got to a luxury hotel.

If I am ever diagnosed with a terminal illness and I have a short time left, I want to spend it here.  This is the nicest hotel room I have ever stayed in.  This place is so nice, I don’t feel staying in the room.  The view is better here than other places.  This is an apartment with a kitchen, so we are going to cook diner in tonight.  Nothing fancy – some noodles with red sauce, bread and salad.

Remarkable Mountains in the background.  Lake Wakatipu in the front.

They filmed parts of Isengard from Lord of the Rings out here.