prophecy?

My family moved out of their house on Friday. This was the 'family home', where we had lived since 1994. This was my parents' dream house. They made a list of probably 40-odd features they wanted, and the architect fulfilled them all bar one; Mum wanted a bay window, but had to compromise with curved walls and a nearby couch. This house took five years to design and build, due to lots of rain halting construction, disputes with builders, the usual story. Plus, the house is curved like this -> ( , so it obviously took longer to make.

This house was designed around Mum's grand piano. The piano was bought with her inheritance from her mother, and is a most prized possession. However, being such a considerable size, such an item is not able to be shoved into a spare corner once everything else has been installed. Thus, the architect drew a bird's-eye view picture of a grand piano (to scale), and the house grew out from there. Additionally, the whole house was designed with the idea that when the piano was played, it could be heard from every room. And indeed it was, even downstairs in the garage. Many's the time that Mum would start playing some songs, and gradually the members of her family would be drawn into the lounge, singing along, playing their own instruments (flute, drums, percussion, guitar). (How bucolic)

On the last day that the piano was in the house, Mum played two special songs, as if to seal them into the walls which have absorbed so many notes in the past fourteen years. Those two songs were "Piano Man" by Billy Joel (Dad's favourite), and the hymn, "Great Is Thy Faithfulness" (Mum's favourite, and her Mum's [my Gran's] favourite).

There are so many specific design features I could mention, that made this house our home. Every room was designed to have at least two sources of natural light. In the lounge, there were no clocks, stereos (the speakers from the stereo in the family room were hidden up near the roof), televisions, or any distracting features, other than the fireplace and some photos of my siblings and I, and the grand piano, as well as an astonishingly beautiful view over the neighbouring bush-clad valley. My parents wanted this room to be somewhere peaceful. I think this was my favourite room of the entire house, as it was at the top of the stairs from the garage, with my parents' bedroom on one side, and the kitchen on the other - so you could always keep tabs on what was going on. Some of my most treasured memories are the times when it was raining, and I would drag my duvet off my bed, choose a favourite book, turn the big couch around so it was facing the window, and watch the pellets of water tumble down into the hectares of bush outside. Never in any other space since have I felt so safe, so astounded by the beauty of nature, so restful.

There are other things too, such as the hallway lined with little 'runway' lights; the temperamental lighting system, controlled by computer, and little 'touch buttons' instead of switches; the musty-smelling storage room under the stairs walled in by concrete blocks that I one day referred jokingly to as 'the bombshelter' - and the name stuck; the wooden floor of the games room made of recycled matai that my parents rescued from an old warehouse being torn down; the pool which you could dive into off the deck... I'm sinking into nostalgia here, which is a dangerous place to be.

The house was sold to an organisation called "Mercy Ministries" (http://www.mercyministries.org.nz/), who provide residential care for young girls who are pregnant, have eating disorders, that sort of thing. They are connected to the Hillsong group, and my aunt knew someone who knew someone (etc). They were looking for a new place to buy to increase the amount of participants in the programme, and came to visit, just a few weeks after Mum had started thinking about putting the house on the market. They fell in love with it, and as it has 5 bedrooms (or 6 if you count the 'rumpus room' downstairs, which used to be my bedroom), could see the potential. They will make many changes, such as converting the three-car garage into a counselling room, the rumpus room into a schoolroom, and so on.

I am sad that the house has been sold, as I cherish all the memories connected to it. However, it had to be done, and I am glad that it is going to be used for good.

So many things have happened in this house. Loves, losses, laughter, parties beyond number, bbqs too myriad to count, several 21st parties, a 50th birthday party, innumerable house-guests (some staying days, others years), celebrations, arguments, tears, sing-a-longs, messes, silence, creativity.

***

My Dad died in this house, on May 16th 2003, at 4:15pm. He had always said, throughout the designing, building, moving-in, settling-in, enjoying-the-house processes, "I'm never leaving this house. You'll have to carry me out in a box." It's as if he knew.

On Friday, the last time that Mum left this house, she took with her one very special item that she had deliberately left aside while everything else was packed up: the small wooden box with Dad's ashes in it. So, as she left our wonderful family home, full of so many memories and good times, she carried Dad out in a box.

work/life balance

I've been discussing with myself how to achieve balance in my life. It's hard to strike a balance in all my roles: a wife, a post-graduate student, a sister, a daughter, a daughter-in-law, a sister-in-law, a friend, an acquaintance, a law-abiding citizen (okay so that isn’t so difficult), a cousin, a niece, a niece-in-law, a thinker, a do-er, a consumer, a saver, someone who is sociable and interesting, someone who is polite, someone who is employable and a good employee. It’s hard work. And we don’t even have children.

I feel like there are so many things pulling me in all different directions: friends to e-mail, family to visit, essays to research, quality time to spend with Jeremy, visitors to host, houses to clean, food to be cooked, and a huge list of books to read before I can possibly call myself "well-read". How do I make time for all this? How do I make space for all this? I guess if I find the answer, I could write a book and make a lot of money from giving seminars on the "Work/Life Balance".

I’m getting all caught up in thoughts, so perhaps I’ll leave the ruminations for a long and hot bath later tonight, and go outside and enjoy some sun. I’m meeting Jeremy in an hour; we are going to a movie tonight. For Jeremy’s birthday, I bought him and I both “3-film sampler” tickets for the Wellington Film Society – I had to get one for myself because I didn’t imagine he’d want to go by himself. The tickets expire at the end of the year, so we have chosen our three movies, all of which are showing in the next two months. Tonight is “Manhattan” by Woody Allen. I know we could rent it from the video store, but I think I’d like to see NY in black and white splashed across the big screen. Oh how much I’d love to live there…

I’m also planning on attending another cultural event, on Wednesday night: the first of three lectures given by Professor David Crystal (UK) on the English language. Most students of English Literature have probably heard of him, or they should have; he is well-respected and extremely accomplished. I have a two of his reference books, which are accessible. One is “Shakespeare’s Words” (a dictionary of words in Shakespeare’s plays and poetry, with definitions and line references, a concordance if you will), the other a book called “Words on Words” (a sort of meta-book, with quotes and e/xtracts and other useful tidbits on language). However, he has also written many academic texts, and VUW has brought him over from the UK to give a series of three lectures. I will only be able to attend two of the three, but already I’m quite looking forward to them.

yatzi

This virus is wearing me out. I've mainly recovered from the various illnesses (thanks to a good strong dose of antibiotics), but I'm left feeling exhausted all the time. I usually go to bed around 9pm, or if not, sit around wishing that I was in bed, instead of whatever I am doing. Which, lately, has been some fierce tournament rounds of 'Yatzi'. Jeremy and I received a games compendium from my mum, with 15 games, such as chess, draughts, ludo, chinese checkers, you know the type. But one of them is 'Yatzi', the generic version of 'Yahtzee'. Neither of us knew how to play, but the instructions included in the box were actually quite clear, so we were able to teach ourselves. And I'll like to state for the record that I've won 5 of the 6 games we've played so far. I may not win at Scrabble but apparently I have a mean dice-throwing technique..

back from the dead

I went back to the bookfair with my cousins on Sunday, after Hospice, and got a few books. We had coffee at Mojo in the Old Bank Arcade afterwards, which was fun, except I was feeling really ill, so I said about three words.

I managed to persuade Student Health to give me an urgent appointment on Monday, as I woke up feeling worse than I had on Sunday. I saw the nurse first, who took my temperature (high) and pulse (fast), looked in my ears, and made an appointment for me to see the doctor an hour later. I had until 5pm until my assignment was due, and it was sort-of finished, just needed some polishing. As my appointment with the doctor was at 4:15pm, I didn't want to wait to hand in my assignment, in case the doctor was late and/or the appointment took awhile. So I did a rushed polish-and-edit, handed it in, and ran back to Student Health. The doctor (who was the doctor on 'urgent appointment duty', and not as friendly as my favourite, Sue) said that I have a head cold, and that the pain in my ear and neck and glands are from some blocked fluid tubes under my ear. This explains the sore throat, headaches, and runny nose. So unfortunately, all I can do is rest, take 2 panadol tablets 4-hourly to reduce the high temperature and pain, drink lots of fluids, the usual sorry-we-can't-really-help story. However, I do have some penicillin to take three times a day, which will help my ulcers. It hurts to talk properly at the moment, that's how bad they are; I've been talking like a New York resident lately, out of the side of my mouth. I think my body is sending me a serious message..

Unfortunately, I have to give a seminar on a Coleridge poem on Monday. It only needs to be about half an hour (not as arduous as the three hour seminar I did on Oscar Wilde last semester!), but given that all I want to do is bury my head under the pillows and go to sleep, and that I can hardly talk, I don't think it's going to go very well. But I guess it's better to do it now than later, because the second half of my Coleridge assignment is due in about a month, and there is so much work to be done. Sheesh. I was hardly busy at all before the holidays, now I'm rushing around in a manner reminiscent of a decapitated fowl, and ill on top of that.

And the washing pile never gets any smaller, even when I stay in pyjamas all day..


P.S. I'm currently addicted to trademe, looking for things to furnish our house with. Jeremy likes board games, so I was looking through the toys category, when I saw this:
http://www.trademe.co.nz/Toys-models/Board-games-cards/Board-games/auction-69086051.htm
Ghettopoly - the illest game in da HOOD!!
Buying stolen properties, pimpin hoes, building crack houses and projects, paying protection fees and getting car jacked are some of the elements of the game. Not dope enough?...If you don't have the money that you owe to the loan shark you might just land yourself in da Emergency Room.The funniest, most contraversal game in years....you gotta have one!This will be your last chance to own this fantastic game, coz it ain't being made no more!!

Bad spelling must be very 'gangster'.

books and nonsense

I am in a Very Bad Mood. I probably shouldn't even write in here when I am this grumpy, but I guess I can always delete it later if I start to feel guilty.

Today I am in a Very Bad Mood because the BookFair is on this weekend. Usually this would be a cause for joy, one would imagine, especially for a literature student. We trundled into town, husband and I, all the while wary of the fact that said husband had an all-day RNZAF practise today, for the performance tomorrow. So by the time we found a park within reasonable walking distance, we had exactly 20 minutes to go and look at the glorious rows of tables, stacked high with $2 books. I found some good books, but then realised that the people who were waiting in a queue that snaked its way around the entire gymnasium were waiting to pay. And the 'express line' (10 books or less) was only a bit shorter. So in a very grumpy manner, I put the books down, and we left, empty-handed, weaving our way between people carrying canvas bags, backpacks, suitcases full of books**. Do you understand the wrench that I felt, leaving those hundreds of cheap books behind? Jeremy had to have a haircut before he went to practise, or else the drum major would shave it all off for him (I put my foot down at having that happen again), off the collar and the ears quick march, so I dropped him off at the barber shop and tried to find another park. This is Saturday morning, in Wellington - there are only about 20 parks to start with, which is not nearly enough for the entire city who always decides to have brunch or go shopping when I'm trying to do something in a hurry- well, I exaggerate. There are probably about 100 parks, and only half the city comes out, maybe 80, 000 people.

I walked back up Courtenay Place to meet Jeremy, suitably shorn for $17, and then back to the car, to drive him to the band rooms, because he was already running late. These defence force gigs are always on time, you know. He finishes at 6pm tonight. There is some after-practise party as well, I don't know whether he's going to that. But tomorrow, practise begins again at 9am, runs all day until the concert at 2pm, and he'll probably be home sometime after 6pm again. Tomorrow is Father's Day, and I am on duty at the Hospice. I'm feeling a bit nervous about this, although I have worked Father's Day and Dad's birthday before. I guess the stress I've been (putting myself) under lately has left me feeling washed-out and vulnerable, so I'm not sure how I will react to the patients tomorrow. I always feel bad calling in sick, in fact I've only done it once, but maybe I'll do that tomorrow - I now seem to have some swollen glands also, but this is possibly due to the ear-ache. (Note to self: make appointment with doctor as well as dentist; possible re-infection of glandular-fever-type virus contracted last year?!) Anyway, I'm just not looking forward to tomorrow. In fact, I feel jealous of not only people who will have fathers to spend time with tomorrow, or even to send a card to or make a phone call to, but also I feel jealous of those who do not have fathers, but have the support of their partners/families on this day. I guess I could pay $12 to go and see my husband perform, but that's not exactly the kind of support I'm looking for.

I know his air force commitments bring in a bit of money, and we tend to use this for luxuries like buying some new clothes; this time the money will probably be used to pay my mum back for some car-related costs. But I think Jeremy offers to use it to buy me things because he feels guilty about not being with me more often. I put this question to him last night, and he didn't deny it outright. So I made a list of the things I want, and he said I could have them. Of course, I knew that I wouldn't actually be able to have them (this polka dot blouse I've had my eye on for weeks, a holiday on a tropical island, a new bottle of foundation and various other facial products I am about to run out of, some shoes, to pay my mum back, to pay off both our student loans, some new books, etc etc). I was just trying to prove a point. I can't help my addiction to blouses with small regular dots on them, especially this one particular top in a light chiffon, great for summer - well, an Auckland summer maybe. It only costs $30, but it is $30 that I just don't have right now, because I am saving up for a great pair of leather boots I found for only $70. A bargain. But thats several weeks' "pocket money", by which time they'll probably be sold out. Then I guess I could buy the blouse...



** It actually made me feel a little bit sick in my stomach, to see people being so greedy. The bookfair was raising funds for the Downtown Community Mission, a great cause, so I'm glad the money was spent on something sort-of noble. But the way people were just grabbing books and stuffing them into carry bags made me feel ill. To me, books are to be treasured and read, not owned to fill up bookcases. Okay, that reminds me of something else: I remember reading a article about some book company from whom consumers can buy books that are all colour-coded and bound nicely as to complement your decor. But the difference is, these books are sold by the foot. Books sold by a measurement? I'm sorry, but that is just wrong. A measurement of a book should be the amount of enjoyment gained from reading it, or its educational value, not the way it looks or whether it can make your room look more 'literary'. That makes me sick. Is that what is called conspicuous consumption? Okay, I concede that historically this was the way that some people (the rich ones, of course) filled their gigantic rooms. But there is just no need for that sort of nonsense here in the twenty-first century. I will allow a small concession for film sets, but other than that, it would need to be an extremely convincing argument to get my credit card out. (P.S. I found a link to the site - http://www.strandbooks.com/bbtfoot/ - check out the categories. There are different subject areas [but not very specific - "Art" or "Biographies" or "Fiction"]. With the 'Bargain Books B' category, a steal at only US$30 per foot, you get: "Hardcover books in good, clean condition. You may specify color and/or subject." .... and/or .... I give up.)

woe is definitely me

I've been fairly miserable to live with this last fortnight. I put the main cause down to the fruitless researching I've been doing for my Coleridge assignment, which has been utterly frustrating: racking my brains for creative ways to attack the mass of critical material available, finally finding something sort-of relevant, chasing down the article (online or in the library) only to reach a dead-end. The VUW library is woefully under-resourced in eighteenth-century literature criticism; they only just started subscribing to some key journals (Coleridge Bulletin, Wordsworth Circle, Studies in Romanticism) last year, so there are only 2 or 3 issues available, and nothing available online. Makes it pretty difficult to do scholarly research without any resources! Not to mention the parameter on this assignment that the articles must have been published in the last ten years. There seemed to have been a 'Coleridge Renaissance' in the 1960s and 1980s, particularly on the poem of my research, but alas I cannot use these articles. Well, I may have been able to persuade my lecturer if I was desperate, but I have actually managed to complete the task to the initial requirements. I've read all fifteen articles; some of them are almost sixty pages, and extremely dry, but I have to write about five of them, so I can't just put them in the bibliography and pretend I know what they're about. If I did that, Heidi would be most likely to ask me something about them, because that is how things always go, and it would just be embarassing for me because she knows everyone in the Romantic litcrit scene, and was hanging out with them all at a Coleridge conference in some tiny village in a remote part of England earlier this semester. Luckily, I've managed to avoid having to analyse any of her articles - that would just be too intimidating. Not that she's scary; she's a lovely Belgian who is very friendly. But she knows so much that I feel almost scared to open my mouth in class..

The above assignment has been stressing me out quite a bit, which has resulted in some physiological problems, most notably mouth ulcers, headaches, and sore throat. Plus to add to the fun, all four of my wisdom teeth have decided to appear. So my mouth is really sore. The worst offender is the bottom right wisdom tooth, which (it gets worse) is causing the teeth next door to hurt too, I guess the new tooth coming through is pushing on the existing teeth, trying to make room for itself. PLUS all of the above is making my right ear ache in a most painful manner.

I put bonjela on my wounds on Wednesday, but I (most unfortunately) forgot it was aniseed-flavoured, and almost gagged after my tongue had registered this fact. Yuck. I hate aniseed. So I drank about 2 litres of water in an attempt to get rid of the taste, thereby nullifying any soothing qualities I might have gained from that awful unguent. I must say, the smell took me back to childhood, probably not my own (too young to remember) but more likely when my siblings were similarly afflicted. I can see why babies cry and dribble all the time when they are teething, it is just a constant ache. Maybe I should get a teething rusk, or one of those rubber toys filled with water, usually in the shape of ducks or clowns, that you put in the freezer for awhile, for babies to gnaw on.

I've had all these so-called wisdom teeth come up before, only to disappear again (apparently lots of people have this, I'm not some sort of dental mutant), but its never been this bad. Unfortunately for me, I have an irrational phobia of the dentist, and haven't been for a year or two, partially due to the cost, but mainly the fear. Which is silly, because the longer I avoid the dentist, the worse it will be later - but it's pretty hard to make an appointment to put oneself through something that one is scared of. My cousin Stephen recommended a dentist who sounds nice, as nice as someone doing painful things to your mouth can be, so I've made a deal with myself: once the ulcer right next to the very-sore-wisdom-tooth has gone away, I'll go to the dentist. I'm just too wimpy to go now, because inevitably the dentist will touch it and I'll probably scream. So until then, I'll be fine if I don't talk, eat, drink, swallow, lie on my right ear, or move in any way. Okay.

After all that talk of teeth, let's move onto something more pleasant. Jeremy and I maxed out our 'entertainment budget' for this week and bought tickets to "Under Milk Wood", by Dylan Thomas, being performed at the Downstage Theatre. I've neither read the play nor seen, or more specifically, heard it performed (it was originally a radio play), but throughout my degree I have heard it brought up several times. It sounds really complex (69 characters, played by only four actors) but challenging-in-a-good-way, and thus I am looking forward to tonight's performance. I love going to the theatre, not just for the chance to wear something more adventurous sartorially than my jeans-and-cardigan uniform, but to give my support to the arts. I wish I (we) had the money to go to more theatre and concerts, but at the moment it just isn't possible. Being on one income (well, I get a student allowance, but it's hardly a contribution to our coffers) is pretty tough, but as soon as my exams are over, I think I'll go temping again - it's rather lucrative. And it means that I take a lot more pleasure from the few events I can go to, and actively search out the free ones - there is a fantastic exhibition at the City Gallery right now, called "My Hi-Fi My Sci-Fi" by Elizabeth Thomson, which has nothing to do with sci-fi or hi-fi at all really, just a lot of leaves made into some amazing large-scale works. Do go if you've got a spare half hour- it's free!

Talking of the City Gallery and free things, for the last four weeks, they have been holding poetry readings there on Wednesday nights. I went to three of the four, and enjoyed all except the third. I won't bore you with tales of who was there and why some were good and others not, suffice to say that I saw my most beloved poets: Harry Ricketts, and Alastair Te Ariki Campbell, and Meg Campbell. Sometimes hearing poets read their poems enhances your knowledge of their writing, other times it puts you off altogether, as experienced on Wednesday this week, although perhaps I was extra-sensitive due to wisdom-teeth-and-earache? Anyway, the readings were nice treats for wintry nights.

Segue based on treats... Jeremy and I are once-again looking for a place to go away to for the weekend, sometime soon preferably. On Air New Zealand's "grab a seat" promotion (so addictive), they had flights from Wellington to Auckland for $70, but for two people to get there and back, that adds up to $280, not counting spending money or anything. Plus, the flights were only available in mid-November, and seeing we are going to Auckland in mid-December (well, sort of - just a stop over on the way to L.A., but we'll be with my family for two weeks), it doesn't really make a whole lot of sense. So I'm pushing for a trip sometime this month, or by Labour Weekend at the latest. I get quite claustrophobic here in Wellington; I start feeling like all the hills are closing in on me, and I just have to get out (hence day-trips to places like the Wairarapa, so flat, like Auckland). Anyway, I've been trawling the 'holiday homes to rent' websites, and I've made up a shortlist - hopefully we can book something soon.