Joan's visit

My mom, Joan, is here in New Zealand to visit us again for about a month. She arrived on Dec 31 and will leave on Feb 3. In fact, she went to Hawaii to visit my brother and his family for 2 weeks before she arrived in NZ, and will go there again for 2 weeks afterwards. All together, she will spend 9 weeks on islands in the Pacific, while back home in Bellingham everybody is shivering in record snowfalls. It's a pretty sweet deal. She did the same thing last year, too, but the two visits to New Zealand couldn't be more different.

Last year, it was her first time to this country, so I had a schedule of tourist sights to do every day: museum, aquarium, Piha beach, zoo, One Tree Hill, Devonport, Waiheke Island, Sheepworld, kauri trees, Hamilton, Coromandel, kiwifruit farm, etc. She finally told me to relax; that she only wanted to do tourist things half the time. But whenever we didn't go anywhere, I would inevitably be antsy and bored silly.

Compare that to her current visit: No daily schedule. No tourist sights. We did go to Sydney for 4 days, but we haven't been to many tourist attractions around here. Instead, we go to the local beach at St Heliers for running/walking, then we sit at home and admire the garden the rest of the day. We went to the quilt store once. And Plant Barn more than once (to buy more admirable plants for the garden). Admittedly, we did one traditional tourist activity when we took a ferry to Rangitoto and rode the train to the near-summit. But really, we spend 95% of our time at home doing nothing. And it is glorious.

We sit on the deck in our comfy recliners. Curt drinks coffee. We read the paper. We watch the resident butterfly flit about. Joan has read at least 10 books so far. I'm usually keeping busy with something on the computer. Besides all the gardening, Curt had already made two(!) paintings while she's been here. Sometimes in the evenings, we have driveway parties and socialise with the neighbours.

Alas, Curt had to go back to work last week, and I have to go back to work next week. Then Joan leaves the week after that. So our summer vacation is coming to it end. But it feels like we truly had a vacation this time. A glorious vacation of doing nothing and loving it.

Christmas Letter for 2008

                                                  2008
                         A year of momentous celebrations.
                         … and a few disappointing ordeals:
January -
• in which Megan’s mother Joan was here to visit
• in which we learned these momentous revelations about dear old Mum: she named Megan after a character in the book Apple Tree by Galsworthy; she is afraid of heights (has never been up Seattle’s Space Needle); and she went to a strip club on her 18th birthday (courtesy of the corrupting influence of her older sister)
February -
• in which we sang back-up (along with 700 others) for opera diva Dame Kiri Te Kanawa at an outdoor concert in the park
• in which we had a driveway party with our neighbours to wish Joan a bon voyage
• in which the school year began and Megan was back in a classroom teaching Social Studies and English, in addition to a little librarian work on the side
March -
• in which Austin (28) embarked on a Political Science degree
April -
• in which Megan tried a very British sport called bowls, which is similar to bowling only there are no pins to knock down, it’s played outdoors on perfect grass, and everyone wears white and keeps a stiff upper lip
May -
• in which Megan celebrated another birthday and disappointingly got another year older
• in which the newlyweds (Carlin and Kristen) living in Phoenix, got a new dog
June -
• in which we began a series of ascents of Auckland’s 50 volcanic cones – called mountains, but actually just hills a few hundred metres high
• in which we went to see the musical Priscilla, Queen of the Desert - good fun with outrageous costumes, plenty of ‘70s disco retrospective, and therapy for any latent homophobia
July -
• in which Megan bought a scooter and achieved notoriety among the students as the teacher on the red scooter riding around Auckland. Her coolness factor increased substantially
• in which Megan wanted to sing with a select group to welcome Condoleezza Rice’s visit to New Zealand, but was disappointingly rejected because they were recruiting young singers, despite being the only one who already knew the words to the American national anthem AND being able to sing in a fluent American accent
August -
• in which Nolan (26) announced he would be going to law school next year
• in which Boone (23) came to visit and to summit 8 mountains/volcanic cones/hills while here
• in which Boone played Scrabble against Curt 18 times during his 4 week visit – Boone won 12 times but that’s only because Curt disappointingly had “crap for letters”
• in which we had another driveway party to celebrate Boone’s visit, and then another
September -
• in which we went to our first rugby game, a truly Kiwi experience
• in which we stopped in Bellingham, WA on the way to England, and Curt delivered 3 original paintings as gifts to the boys:

• in which we spent 3 weeks in England to celebrate our 30th anniversary
• in which Megan was hit by a taxi in London while walking across the street. She survived with minor bruises; her beloved muffin was smashed in the ordeal
• in which we went to Bellingham, England and learned it’s pronounced Bell-in-jum there. Really.
October -
• in which we stopped in Portland, OR on our way home from England and saw Curt’s family, our old church family, and Megan’s old school (plus a special stop for Mrs. Fields cookies)
• in which we came home to learn that our church had failed miserably during our brief absence – first approving and then rejecting the appointment of a new pastor because she was gay. We were incensed, frustrated, and sorely disappointed over the ordeal
November -
• in which we gathered with our (Kiwi) neighbours to celebrate and offer a toast for the American election results
• in which we gathered with our Kiwi neighbours again 4 days later for the New Zealand election results
• in which Megan got hit by a car while riding on her scooter. She survived with a few cracked ribs and some minor scrapes and bruises; her beloved scooter got smashed in the ordeal
• in which Nolan and Erica announced their engagement and upcoming summer wedding
• in which Megan bought another scooter
• in which Curt finished 2 more paintings:








December -
• in which we write our clever Christmas letter

Signing out

Hello all! Boone here again. Sadly, it's my final night here in New Zealand so I'm writing my recap of the whole trip.

I left off my last entry right before our trip to Rotorua which was pretty awesome, I learned how to perform a haka. It was Father's Day in New Zealand but that didn't stop me from beating Dad mercilessly at Scrabble later that night. I'm a great son. The following day I took off for the Coromandel Peninsula where I found a hostel and met my flatmates, Eric and Johannes. The three of us drove to Hot Water Beach despite there being a terrible storm. Hot Water Beach has loads of geothermal activity underground so if you dig a hole at the beach during low tide it will fill up with hot water, hence the extra clever name, Hot Water Beach. We were hoping that sitting in a natural hot tub would somewhat counteract the cold from the storm, but that didn't end up being the case.

Eric and Johannes had to catch a bus early in the morning so I was on my own for the following day. I went to Hahei and hiked to Cathedral Cove, got my feet wet. There were two little dogs that were walking the trail with me, I think they lived in the area. They followed me all the way back to Hahei Beach, but when I walked up to the car I heard barking down on the beach. I could see one dog and he was barking at the waves. I couldn't see the other dog in the water but the barking dog continued to bark as he went down the beach, seeming to follow something he could see in the water. I sprinted down the beach, ready for a dramatic rescue, only to find that it was a different little dog and he was barking at the waves because he was just a dumb dog. The two dogs I had been walking with were down at the other end of the beach.

Yesterday we flew down to Wellington and explored the Beehive and Parliament building.
Outside the Parliament building is a statue of New Zealand's longest serving prime minister, Richard Seddon, 1893-1906. He was an avid opponent of women's suffrage. I found it pretty funny that the statue faces the recently-built Kate Sheppard Hotel, named after New Zealand's most prominent member of the suffrage movement (she's on the New Zealand ten dollar bill, he's not on anything). We went to a rugby game between Wellington and Waikato, I loved it, I wish rugby was bigger back in the states. Later I went out to a couple of sports bars with my flatmates, three German girls, and we watched more rugby, the All Blacks beat the Wallabies 28-24. After the game we went dancing at this pub that had a live band. Didn't get back to the hostel until 2:30.

This morning we flew back to Auckland and Mom asked me for all my 'bests and worsts' of the trip, here's a few...

Best memory - Paihia hostel
Best volcano (of the 7 I summitted) - Rangitoto
Best kiwi food - meat pies
Best Maori word - Whakarewarewatangaoteopetauaawahiao (I'm not making it up)
Worst part about driving in NZ - the 'give way' rule for lefts turns, absolutely ridiculous
Worst scare - thinking there was a puppy drowning at Hahei Beach :(

New Zealand is pretty amazing, and is completely and utterly different from America. I feel like everybody here has a generally nicer attitude towards foreigners than we do in America. There's far more unprompted help offered everywhere. Everybody is far more trusting here. You can accidentally leave a bag of groceries in the cart at the store and go back and they'll simply tell you to grab everything that was in the bag, someone will return the misplaced one. You can go to the library and check out books even though you have late fees to pay. If you don't have the money on you, no worries, bring it next time. That wouldn't happen in America. And I know these are just small examples but they build up.

The politics are completely different as well. In the US, presidential candidates campaign for about 2 years, but here in New Zealand they do it in 5 weeks. Why does it take two years for us?
The US is a completely politically divided nation, divided for the most part into two parties, Democrats and Repulblicans. Here in New Zealand there are 8 political parties. EIGHT! In the US, hypothetically every Democratic candidate for any office in Congress can lose an election 49% to 51%. Congress would be entirely Republican despite the fact that 49% of the country voted Democratic. New Zealand has a system so that every party is represented proportional to the votes nationwide, so everyone has an equal voice.

The media is completely different. They actually report on things going on throughout the whole world, whereas in America practically all I hear about is what's going on in America. There's far more positive stories than negative ones; in America I feel like all we hear about are the latest local crimes, or the next thing they're adding to the endless list of things that cause cancer. It imposes this fear in us that there's danger lurking around every corner; New Zealand doesn't have that fear. And tying this back in with politics, in the US if you're liberal you watch liberally biased news and if you're conservative you watch conservatively biased news, it's just how it goes. But here in New Zealand I don't see a lot of bias in any of the news.

The food is healthier. I know that sounds strange, but what I mean by that is (for example) a McDonald's double cheeseburger in America is literally dripping with grease, but when I order one here, it's almost dry. It's the same company, and supposedly the same product, but you can literally taste the difference. I'm pretty confident they actually add straight grease to the burgers back in the US to make them tastier. No wonder 64% of our population is overweight.

And while I love all these - what I would consider - improvements over American society, I have grown so accustomed to our rude American behavior, our biased media, our greasy food, and our imperfect democracy, that I don't think I could ever leave it. I doubt my mom will ever stop trying to persuade me to move to New Zealand, and that's all fine and well, but I'm pretty happy with my stars and stripes. Cheers, mate.

Kia ora! Boone here, I've been in New Zealand for a couple weeks now and Mom asked me to make a contribution to the blog so I'll let you all know some of the highlights of my 4-week trip thus far.

I left Vancouver, BC at 1pm on August 19th and landed in Auckland, NZ at 5am on August 21st. August 20th did not happen, I flew into the future. I started off my trip with lots of touristy stuff; I hit up the aquarium, the natural history museum, the zoo,



SkyTower,

and fed a lamb at SheepWorld.

On Tuesday I caught a train into town and then a ferry out to Rangitoto Island, a dormant volcano. I hiked to the top of the volcano and down into the crater, then explored some lava caves on the east side of the island (had to use the flash on the camera to see where I was going).



On Wednesday Mom and I drove out to Piha and climbed to the top of Lion Rock. She wasn't too keen on climbing but I talked her into it. You only live once.


On Thursday I drove 4 hours north to Paihia and found a hostel. I went for a quick afternoon kayak trip down the shore and back and came back to meet my flatmate, a rather talkative Kiwi named David and his lady friend, a Chilean girl named Katie. They introduced me to a few other people at the hostel including Elena from Germany and Fernanda from Brazil. We all went out to the pub and it just so happened to be karaoke night, my favorite. I met a few nice Kiwi lads and a couple of girls from Iowa. After a few beers I ended up singing 'Born in the USA' with the two other Americans which I'm sure was an overly intoxicated performance and obnoxious to the rest of the bar patrons, but it was lots of fun on my end.

The following day David and I woke up
and went on a kayaking adventure in search of Haruru Falls. However, due to a less than helpful map, we never ended up finding them and paddled back home after 4 hours of the most intense upper body workout I've ever had. But alas, so as not to feel entirely defeated, David, Elena and I hiked to the falls (another 4 hour workout) and were victorious. When we got back David and I made some pumpkin masks for the masquerade ball at the pub (his idea). The prize for wearing a mask was a free drink, not sure if it was totally worth the effort.

I've been joining Mom and Dad at church and singing in the choir with them. Last Sunday we sang 8 or 9 songs in a concert after the worship service. Learning 8 or 9 songs from one choir practice was a bit of a stretch for me, but thankfully Dad was singing tenor as well and drowned me out on any of the notes I missed.

Later that Sunday I finally got to experience a "driveway party" that I had heard so much about. This particular driveway party was planned ahead of time, but Mom says if you stand out in the driveway on a nice day with a drink in hand, no fail, people come out and start to accumulate.
We ate sausages (which New Zealanders eat on buttered bread, not hot dog buns), pavlova, bread pudding, meatballs, and drank lots of beer.

Last night I caught a bus downtown and met up with David (from Paihia) for some drinks. We hit up a few clubs, danced a lot, drank a bit, and I ended up crashing at his place as the buses don't run that late and I had no way to get home till the morning.

Tomorrow we're all going to Rotorua for a solid dose of Maori culture and geothermal geysers, and next weekend we're flying down to Wellington for a couple days where I'll get to attend my very first rugby match.

More to come ...

Why can't I go see Condoleezza Rice?

Our church choir conductor announced that he has been asked to recruit 12 people to sing the Star-Spangled Banner for Condoleezza Rice's state visit with Prime Minister Helen Clark next week, and he thought of us.

"But you and Curt would probably throw things at her."

"No, I'll behave myself," I protested. "Honest. Plus I already know the national anthem. AND I could sing it with an American accent! Please?"

"No. Actually, you can't participate. There will only be a small group, with 3 people on each part ... and ... you have to be ..." He paused. I was expecting him to say I had to be 'a better singer' but instead he said, "... younger."

Ouch.

"I'm supposed to recruit a youth choir of 18-25 year olds."

At 51, I guess that counts me out. Still, it would have been cool to see Condoleezza Rice in person, even though I disagree with her politics.

Besides singing the Star-Strangled Banner (as he calls it), they'll also perform Hine e Hine, which is one of the songs we performed with opera diva Kiri te Kanawa at Starlight Symphony in February as part of a 500-voice choir. (I already know the words to that one, too. And again, I would sing it with an American accent - which in this case is not a good thing.) Since Dame Kiri won't be there to sing the solo part for Condoleezza Rice, our conductor will get his wife to do it.

This led me to hatch a new plan: The conductor and his wife have a toddler. If he's conducting, and she's singing the solo, who will watch over little Julia? Since I'm one of Julia's favourite people these days (I babysat her last Friday), I would be an ideal person to accompany them to the performance and be the toddler wrangler. Right? Wish me luck.

field trips

Last week, I took 60 11-year-old girls to MOTAT, the Museum of Transport and Technology. We'd been studying technology and inventions so the exhibits at MOTAT were perfect for our topic. We saw old cameras and old washing machines and rode an old tram. It was a bit disconcerting, however, when the MOTAT guide showed the girls an old dial telephone and demonstrated how it worked. They were fascinated by this ancient technology. Talk about feeling old! But it was a great trip, and the girls behaved perfectly, as always.

While I was at MOTAT, however, my English class got into a bit of mischief with the reliever (substitute teacher) back at school. The reliever walked in and saw instructions on the board that said "Silent reading for 5 minutes, then playtime." She was justifiably suspicious and went to get the head of the English department, Margaret, who came into my room: "Right. Who wrote that on the board? And what is it really supposed to say?" All the ponytailed little heads turned toward Jennifer, a bubbly little blonde with a bit too much energy. Margaret sorted out what the class was really supposed to be doing with the reliever, and took Jennifer into the corridor to give her the "You Made a Really Bad Choice" speech. It goes something like this: You wasted the reliever's time./I'm sorry./You wasted my time/I'm really sorry/You wasted the class's reading time/I'm very sorry/You violated Mrs. Davidson's trust in you/ I'm truly so sorry/....

Ironically, while I was on the field trip I had told the other teacher that my English class was so good, "even if a reliever never showed up, the girls would probably read for 20 minutes and then do Skill Sheet #4 as instructed." Ha.

In spite of small glitches like that, I've always been a big promoter of field trips. Some teachers hate them and refuse to take their students anywhere, but I love it. I didn't hesitate to take my students to the state capitol building, the courthouse, or even the public library.

One time I was taking my English class to the Portland public library to show them what a library has to offer - besides books, there are magazines, free computers, free CDs, and free movies. I requested parent chaperones. Andrew's dad signed his name on the permission form and said he'd be able to help. Excellent ... except that I knew Andrew's dad had just been released from prison after serving 5 years for a drug offense. Not coincidentally, he was unemployed and therefore available during the day to chaperone field trips.
My fellow teachers thought I was nuts to let him come along, but I figured it was a good sign that a) he wanted to get involved in school events and b) he wanted to spend time with Andrew (who barely knew him). Besides, he could probably c) learn something new about what kinds of things are available at the library. Maybe he would even d) sign up for a library card while we were there. What would you do? Here's what I did: The ex-con and I took 29 students to the library for an hour and everything went fine. Although he did smell like smoke and had a lot of tattoos.

There were no such problems on the field trip to MOTAT. Diocesan parents are not really the ex-con or tattoo type.

Reports are to be written in passive voice

It's report (report cards) time at my school, which usually means long hours and major headaches. Besides writing 100 paragraphs about my own 100 students, I was unanimously selected to be the chief proofreader for the rest of the Social Studies department because I am the only English geek in the bunch who has eagle eyes to search out typos wherever they lurk. So I read about 1,000 more paragraphs. Apologies for being such a grammarian, but in the course of reading all those comments, I couldn't help noticing the Kiwi predilection to write in passive voice.

First, an example of passive voice: The hamburger was eaten by me.
and an example of active voice: I ate the hamburger.
Seemingly, both sentences convey the same information, but there is a different tone to the first one. It's as if the hamburger went out and got itself eaten; as if it was somehow the hamburger's fault. As you can see, the passive voice can be used to shed blame.

What I noticed on reports is a tendency to write things such as: She is to be commended for her effort or It is pleasing for me to see her improvement. Why can't they just say I was pleased with her improvement!?!?

I was wise enough NOT to put red marks all over my fellow teachers' reports every time I saw passive voice. I reserved my red pen for their instead of there, run-on sentences and typos. But I mentioned the preponderance of passive writing to them, who were absolutely shocked to hear that the passive voice is frowned upon in America.

In fact, most American university professors believe that the passive voice signals sloppy, lazy thinking; that the writer has not fully thought through what they are discussing. Automatic grammar-checkers on word processing programs also point out passive construction, as if it needs to be changed.

But in New Zealand, it is accepted and even preferred. The Auckland newspaper is full of sentences like It is understood that the man was from Hamilton. In America, the reporter would have written Unidentified witnesses said... instead.

My colleagues and I agreed that this is a partly due to the British penchant for understatement. Likewise, there is a custom of not wanting to take credit for something for fear of looking like a braggart. Therefore, a NZ company report would say clients were well-served. American culture, however, values directness and speaking plainly. Americans aren't afraid to take credit and a US company report would say: our staff served clients well.

And yet, an American made perhaps one of the more memorable passive statement, used to shed blame: Ronald Reagan said "mistakes were made" when referring to the Iran-Contra scandal.

Still getting olderer

I forgot to wear my glasses to church today. As a consequence, I had a bit of trouble reading the choir music. Thankfully, I knew the tune pretty well, but occassionaly had to guess at the words ... and wasn't entirely successful. Let's hope the congregation didn't notice.

It was even harder to read the order of service which was in a smaller font, bordering on microscopic. My arms simply weren't long enough. The most pathetic part was that I didn't get the Lord's Prayer right. Let it be known that I do know it by heart, but I know the American version and without being able to see the words, I can't remember which bits are different in the New Zealand version we do here.

I also forgot to wear shoes to choir practice a few weeks ago, and walked out the door wearing slippers. More alarmingly, this was not the first time I'd gone to choir wearing slippers. And don't forget the time I embarked on a 10-day road trip to the South Island wearing slippers.

Do you think there's a pattern here?

ANZAC Day, 2008

The choir from Mt. Albert Methodist Church (that's us) sang at the ANZAC service held at Mt. Albert Memorial Hall. We sing there every year. Prime Minister Helen Clark was the main speaker. She gives the speech there every year. It still amazes me how little fanfare there is when the leader of the nation is present at this dinky little community centre: anyone can attend, there's no metal detectors or bag checks or anything, no advance team of bomb-sniffing dogs, no motorcade. She simply arrived in a car with no entourage except 2 secret-service-type guys (who later sang along during the service) and sat in a folding chair, just like everyone else. It's all refreshingly low-key. As it is every year.

At last year's ANZAC service, we wrangled an introduction to Helen, and got to shake her hand and chat with her for a bit. This year, I elected not to impose myself on her, but if I had, I would have asked her about the recent Hillary Clinton gaffe concerning Helen. In an interview with a US magazine, Senator Clinton was telling a joke about the "Former Prime Minister, Helen Clark" ... but in fact Helen Clark is still the CURRENT Prime Minister. There have been plenty of laughs over here in New Zealand about Hillary's mistake, but I doubt if the American press has even realised that she misspoke.

After the service, we went back to the church for more choir practice, but not without a feed. Someone brought homemade ANZAC biscuits (cookies) which were softer and - naturally - better than the storebought ones. ANZAC biscuits, an oatmeal coconut recipe, became the biscuit of choice to mail to the troops during WWI because of their apparent unperishability, hence their name. They are really quite tasty, and an appropriate snack after the service.

Continental knowledge

One of the things I like about being a teacher is all the things I learn while I'm teaching. For instance, in one of the Social Studies assignments, there was a question asking what continent New Zealand is a part of.


My first reaction is to say New Zealand is an island and therefore not part of any continent. But when you think about it, Great Britain is an island, yet still considered part of Europe, isn't it? Japan is considered part of Asia. Um, wouldn't that mean that New Zealand is considered part of the Australian continent?

"ABSOLUTELY NOT!" say my colleagues. They're noticeably adamant that NZ is not a part of Australia. "First of all, Australia is not a continent."

"What? When I went to school in America, we learned that of the 7 continents, Australia was the only one that is both a country and a continent."

"No. It's called Australasia and it includes New Zealand and the South Pacific islands. Sometimes it's called Oceania. The correct answer is Australasia or Oceania"

So I went home and looked it up. Australia is indeed a continent according to Encyclopaedia Britannica, which seems like a pretty reputable source. (I mean, at least I'm not quoting Wikipedia or anything, although it too said Australia was a continent.) Australasia or Oceania may be regions of the world, but they are not names of a continent if you ask me. Not that I'm going to challenge my fellow teachers.

Ultimately I've decided that determining whether or not to include neighbouring islands in the definition of continent may well depend on the distance between the continent and the island. So I researched a few distances: England is 30 miles away from Europe, Japan is 120 miles away from Asia, but New Zealand is 1300 miles - yes 1300 miles - away from Australia. Therefore I would call New Zealand an island and not part of any continent. Who knows. Just don't ever accuse New Zealanders of being part of Australia. They get really touchy.

Teen magazines

In my Y9 Social Studies class, the girls are studying women's rights throughout history. I am in heaven because it's a topic I love to rant about (ask my husband and four sons). And I work at an all-girls school which means I don't have to be worried about presenting a "balanced" view. Just kidding. But it's hard to explain female infanticide or dowries without sounding a bit biased. You should have heard me explain what a chastity belt was.

One of the assignments involved analysing a teen magazine. Good grief. Those things are wretched. In New Zealand, the teen magazines are called Dolly and Creme and Girlfriend, but I have a feeling they're similar all over the world. Since I didn't have any daughters, I haven't seen a teen magazine since I was a teen back in the dark ages. What a shocker. First of all, they're 90% advertising. And the rest is clothes and make-up tips, advice on how to get a boyfriend and celebrity pictures. Lots of celebrity pictures. The latest covers all seem to be plastered with images of the stars of High School Musical. (A Y7 student told me on the first day of school that the most important thing I should know about her is that she is going to marry Zac Efron. She's 12.)

My Y9 students all purported to be appalled at the content of the magazines, but couldn't help reading the horoscopes aloud and asking me if they could please tear out the centerfold picture of some cute guy, usually the aforementioned Zac Efron.

In spite of their infatuation with teen magazines, I was reassured when I saw their mis-analysis of a political cartoon from the New Zealand suffrage era. (Did you know that New Zealand was the first country IN THE WORLD to give women the right to vote?) My students were sure that the oversized, powerful woman towering over men was an indication that the cartoonist believed women should be able to vote. (In fact, it was anti-suffrage) But in their world, women have always been powerful. They live in a country with a woman Prime Minister. They have no personal understanding yet that a caricature of a powerful woman would be used as something threatening. Although their answers were incorrect, I found their naivete comforting.

I was also heartened by their response when assigned to write about a woman they admire. I was expecting them to pick someone like Angelina Jolie or - heaven forbid - Victoria "Posh Spice" Beckham, but I was wrong. A few chose Mother Teresa or a sports figure such as New Zealand bicycle gold medalist (and Diocesan Old Girl) Sarah Ulmer. But most of them chose their mums or other female family members. There's hope yet.

Bowling, New Zealand style

I went bowling today for the first time. Not the American kind of bowling where you go to a smoky building, wear ghastly shoes, and use your brute strength to wallop the living daylight out of 10 white pins. No, this is a more civilised kind of bowling with less walloping. More finesse. This is English bowls. Think old people in white suits drinking tea between turns. Well, that's what English bowls was supposed to be like. That's what the pros do. (Yes, there are pros!) We didn't actually wear white. Or drink tea.

But we did attempt to stand on a little mat and to hit the jack (the little white target ball) with our balls. And we tried not to bowl our balls into the ditch (the gutter at the far end where it'll go if you overshoot it). Basically, I think English bowls is the same as Italian bocci or French boules, although I'm not an expert on any of those versions either.

There might have been a more skilled but less humorous game if someone in our group had bowled before, but we were 2 newbies playing against 2 newbies. At least we were all equally clueless. The first thing one discovers is that the ball itself is weighted on one side so it's not meant to roll straight, which caused endless frustration for me. I suppose with practice, you'd master the behavior of the ball, but since this was our virgin bowling experience, it was just plain maddening. Still, I managed to hit the jack once and I think that scored us a point although I'm not entirely sure of the scoring system. In the end, my pathetic team lost to the still-pathetic-but-not-as-bad-as-us team. But now I know all about jacks and skips and rinks and touchers, and I can chalk up another Kiwi cultural experience.

Jury Duty, New Zealand style

I was tickled when I got the letter asking me to serve as a juror in New Zealand. I'd lived in the US for 48 years and never got called to jury duty there, and now I got called after only living here for 2 years! Although many of my friends and colleagues recommended that I get excused, I wanted to serve. As a Social Studies teacher, I wanted to learn more about the justice system here. Think of it as Professional Development. And another step in my cultural experience education.

I dutifully showed up at the courthouse on Monday morning at 9:00, armed with a book to keep me entertained during the long waits. There were about 150 of us in the large holding room. My name was called to report for a rape case in Courtroom 3. Hurray!

They took about 25 of us potential jurors in and starting choosing names from a spinner, just like on Lotto. When my name was called, I gathered up my book and bag and started walking toward the jury box as instructed. But before I reached the juror seats, the defense lawyer called out "Challenge!" What? This meant he wanted to use one of his challenges to keep me off the jury.

I turned around and went back to my seat while grumbling to myself. What's wrong with me? I can be an impartial juror! While they finished choosing 12 perfect jurors, I tried to determine what made them more perfect than me. Did the lawyers want men on the jury? (yes) Young people or old people? Guys in suits or students in torn jeans? I decided it was the book that lost me a selection. I vowed not to look so literate next time.

Back in the holding room with the other rejects, I waited for my name to be chosen for another case. I couldn't help reading my book, but rationalised that the defense lawyers wouldn't see me in here.

Then my name was called again, this time to Courtroom 8 for a double rape case. I stashed my book and followed the line of potential jurors, assessing my chances of being chosen this time. The two defendants were standing in the dock, trying to look tough and intimidating. I hated them already. The first name called by the Lotto announcer was an older woman. They challenged her. They must not want old women. The second name was another old woman. No challenge. What? Why is she OK and the first one wasn't? I'll never understand this. My name was called by Mr. Lotto. With my book safely hidden in by backpack, I headed to the jury box but was challenged again anyway. Grrr.

Back to the holding room. Since there were no more trials beginning today, we were excused until tomorrow and I headed back to school for a few hours. When I told my colleagues about being rejected twice, they recommended that I wear holey jeans and a dirty T shirt saying something sux or maybe a beer ad ... then I might get chosen. Sorry, but I don't have any beer T shirts. I guess I don't have a very good chance of getting chosen either.

The next day, I repeated the process one more time, getting rejected yet again. I was sad. My big introduction to the NZ justice system turned out to be a big flop. I should have known things wouldn't go well when I took the bus to the courthouse on the first day and as I got on, a teenage girl gave up her seat for me. She was sitting in the front seats that are reserved for elderly or disabled. And she gave up her seat. For me.

Good Friday driveway party

We have great neighbours. And a great neighbourly tradition: Driveway parties. It usually happens when one person is out front doing some yardwork. Then another neighbour will come over and shoot the breeze. Eventually he'll bring a beer out. Soon, a few more neighbours arrive. The beer continues to flow. People arrive with folding camp chairs and before you know it, there are a dozen neighbours settled in the driveway with assorted kids running around. Food starts to appear from various houses and occasionally the BBQ is fired up.

Today, as a driveway party started to materialise, we decided to move to the back yard of the house next door for a farewell. The house next door was on a huge triple lot and it had recently been sold to developers who were splitting it into 3 separate sections and building 2 new houses. We had been sad to see the old neighbours go, and we were even sadder to see the huge grassy play area be eliminated. A farewell to the expanse of land was the perfect excuse for today's party.

We took all our camp chairs and carried heaps of food to the empty yard. Margaret brought yummy salmoncakes in honour of Good Friday. Bruce brought his portable grill. The boys started a cricket game in the grass.
John brought some golf clubs and the testosterone took over as all the men whacked golf balls across the gully. John's 12-year old son was a pretty good golfer, too and even the 4-year-old had a good swing as long as he remembered he was left-handed. Bruce swung so hard that it broke the club and he seemed pretty pleased with himself.

In the middle of this idyllic scene, Brenden leaned over to me to say how grateful he is to have this close-knit neighbourhood group. He grew up in a dodgier neighbourhood, lacking the sense of comfort and comraderie that exudes from our driveway parties. All our neighbours are such good people. Especially Brenden. It brought tears to my eyes.