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

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.

Whooping it up at the Librarian Conference in Wellington

After a prolonged debate, it was finally decided that I would get to attend the School Librarian Association of New Zealand (SLANZA) conference in Wellington. At first, my colleagues and I assumed that the boss would go. Then she didn't want to go. Since it looked like nobody was going (and there was money in the budget), I told her that I was interested in attending ... but I was the employee with the least seniority, so she needed to offer it to Lara, Barbara, and Lucy first. Eventually it was decided that Lucy and I would BOTH go, which I never imagined would happen. We hurriedly reserved flights, booked a hotel, and registered for the conference before anyone could change their minds.

The big adventure began with me having to get up at 4:30 to get to the airport by 5:30 for a 6:00 flight. I am NOT good at getting up early. I am SO not a morning person, and I reminded Lucy of that repeatedly throughout the day. On the other hand, I could hardly believe that you only needed to check in 30 minutes early for an NZ flight! It's great living in a small country that isn't hyper-sensitive about security and terrorists. Curiously, Lucy and I were not seated together, but that's OK because I probably wouldn't have been very good company at that hour of the morning anyway.

Once we landed in Wellington (1.5 hours later), Lucy escorted me into the Koru Club, Air New Zealand's first-class lounge. Lucy's husband is a more-than-frequent flyer and he's a gazillion-mile member of the Koru Club or something like that. Anyway, Lucy gets access too, so she suggested that we go there for free breakfast. I'm all over that idea. It was my first time in a first class lounge and now I know what I've been missing all these years: cushy armchairs, hundreds of free newspapers, unlimited free food and drinks, fancy restrooms ... the works. I ate some really good muesli (granola) with yogurt and was tempted to find out which brand they serve because it was the best muesli I'd ever had in NZ. Mmm mmm. Alas, we had to get to the hotel before I could gorge myself further.

We took a taxi to the hotel, dropped off our bags, and walked to the high school where the conference was being held. We arrived just in time for the powhiri, a traditional Maori welcome ceremony. After the keynote speaker, it was time for morning tea: scones. Then we headed off to our first session. I went to a session on copyright laws in NZ (I know it sounds boring, but it's stuff I need to know) while Lucy learned about new IT developments in libraries. Then it was time for lunch: mini quiche and tarts. There was another session, then afternoon tea: muffins. Don't you love this country! After our 3rd session, there was even wine and cheese. They sure fed us a lot.

Like most conferences, some sessions were better than others. One frustrating presenter told us how to use an online database, but didn't even let us log on and try it ourselves. We just sat there in the computer lab and watched him do it. Ugh. The same is true of the different speakers; some were fascinating, some were funny, and some were boring. I still like going to conferences, however. There's things to learn, and new products to see, and inspiring speakers. Either I get great ideas for what I'd like to do differently, or I get validation that I'm doing some things well already.

My favourite speakers are usually the authors. In May, I went to the Auckland Writers and Readers Conference and got to hear about 25 different authors speak in various sessions. Joanne Harris (Chocolat) was wry, and Lionel Shriver (We Need to Talk About Kevin) was appropriately intense. Joy Cowley, an NZ children's author, told about her childhood when she always read a book while walking, and even read a book while riding her bike! (then she crashed into a parked car). I know it's nerdy, but I like to hear authors speak. At this conference, there was an entertaining speech by author Kate DeGoldi, and also Apirana Taylor, a poet who played various flute-like instruments as part of his poetry performance.

Often, the best part of a conference is the vendor tables with all their exhibits. I know they're just trying to sell me something, but they give away so many freebies that I don't mind stopping to talk to them. Lucy and I ended up with a shoulder bag full of pencils, pens, rulers, bookmarks, posters, hats, jelly beans, books, reading lamp, calculator, and notepads - besides the product information. We made a haul.

The conference ended early on the second day so the participants would have time to enjoy Wellington. You'll never guess where Lucy and I ended up - the Wellington City Library. We tried shopping, and even went into a store or two but then decided to see what the city library was like and ended up staying there the rest of the afternoon. We were interested in how they displayed their books, what kind of signage they used ("Dewey Love Non-Fiction? Dewey Ever!"), and the names of the various sections (Nostalgia Collection = classics). Lucy even took a few pictures, which brought a supervisor over who asked what we were doing. When we explained that we were school librarians admiring their set-up, she was really nice and said she was happy to answer our questions. (In America we would have been questioned to see if we were making plans for a terrorist attack) We browsed their shelves until we got bored and then started walking back. We're such library geeks. In our defence, we did go to a Belgian pub for dinner, which sounds much more happening than it was. I better skip the part about dancing on the tables and picking up cute (younger) guys in case our husbands read this. No, seriously.

The truth is that I'd been sneezing and blowing my nose all day so I took some antihistamine back at the hotel and fell asleep while Lucy was still watching CSI. Sharing a hotel room was not a problem for us, but I'd asked Curt if he ever shared hotel rooms with other guys when he went on site visits and he said No Way!. Apparently sharing a room is a girl thing.

On the last morning, the alarm went off as scheduled. I hate alarms. I hate getting up. At home, Curt gets up first, takes a shower and turns on the heater in the bathroom (this way it's nice and toasty when it's my turn). When he comes out, he gets dressed and starts to make the bed ... except I'm still in it. He folds up the duvet. Brrrr. Finally, he has to "hug" me, then sit me up, then stand me up (still hugging), and finally send me to the now toasty bathroom. It's our tradition. In the Wellington hotel room, I didn't have anyone to drag me out of bed. I explained the routine to Lucy, but she refused to perform Curt's duties. Anyway, I had to get out of bed all by myself and I performed admirably. Lucy threatened to tell Curt that my whole routine is fake, and that I'm perfectly capable of getting out of bed by myself. Uh oh.

On this particular morning, Lucy turned on the TV to watch the replay of the America's Cup race that took place in Valencia at about 2:00 in the morning. We didn't care enough about the race to stay up and watch it live (although lots of Kiwis did) but we wanted to know the outcome so we watched the replay. At this point, the New Zealand boat was down 4-2, and the Swiss boat only needed one more race to win overall. When we turned it on, the Swiss boat was ahead. It looked like it would be all over for the Kiwis. But no. Something happened to the Swiss boat ... they were losing ground ... the Kiwis passed them! It looked like the Kiwis might win after all. The Kiwi boat kept gaining ground (do they call it gaining ground or is it gaining water?) and had a comfortable lead as they neared the finish line. But apparently the Kiwis had a penalty against them from an earlier infringement. This meant they'd have to make the boat do a pirouette! So just before the finish line, they cranked it hard to the right (starboard? port?) and the boat turned in a tight circle. Unfortunately, this allowed the Swiss boat to catch up and pass them BY ONE SECOND. The Swiss boat won the America's Cup.

That was a pretty exciting finish, considering I don't even care about this sport. But boy, the rest of New Zealand sure cares. The whole country would be in mourning after this. If it's any consolation, most of the crew members on the Swiss boat were poached from New Zealand (but everyone here considers them traitors). I guess New Zealanders dominate the crews on pretty much all the boats. Sailing is HUGE in NZ. One more thing - why does Switzerland have a boat when there's not even any oceans in that country???

Today's date was July 4th, which doesn't mean anything in NZ, but would be a big holiday in the US. Since Wellington is the nation's capital - and the location of the American Embassy, I wondered if there would be some sort of 4th of July celebration there to mark the occasion. Coincidentally, the US Ambassador is from Portland, but he was appointed as a reward for his service to G. W. Bush as campaign finance chairman or something. So he probably wouldn't be amused but my explanation of why we moved to New Zealand. I guess it's just as well I didn't try to attend anything at the embassy.

Back at the conference, we had one more speaker, morning tea, another sessions, lunch, one last session, and a closing panel. Done. Our flight wasn't until 7:00 so we had some time to kill. No, we did not go to the Wellington City Library this time. We went to Borders Books. Which is almost as pathetic, I guess. For dinner, Lucy proposed that we go to the airport early and have free dinner in the Koru Club. Sounds like a plan. I got to gorge myself one last time before we flew home. This time, Lucy and I were seated together and we debriefed: good conference, lots of loot. We can't wait to share all our new ideas with our colleagues. Lucy said she'd make a Power Point of the pictures she took. I told her to remember to remove the picture of the cute guys that we picked up at the pub, or our fellow librarians might think we had too much fun.

Lovebirds

Carlin emailed twice yesterday. He asked Kristen to marry him, and she said yes! He took her up to Pittock Mansion in Portland, the location of their first date, and proposed there. He's so romantic. The Pittock family were newspaper barons and the city later bought the house and extensive grounds, restored it, and it's used as a park and wedding venue. It's pretty flash. Apparently, when Carlin and Kristen went there for their first date, it was muddy and wet - so muddy that Kristen's shoes were ruined and she had to throw them away. They managed to have a good time together in spite of the soggy mess, so it must have been true love. Aahhh.

Besides getting engaged, Carlin & Kristen both graduated today - he with a Bachelor's in Music and she with a teaching degree. I wasn't there for the graduation ceremony but his little brother and his grandma were. Grandma even gave him a graduation quilt which is a really special tradition of hers.

Kristen's family is from Phoenix, so the wedding will be there in October or November. I am excited to start making plans for us to travel to the wedding. It'll be another chance for the whole fam damily to get together. The brothers will all be in the wedding party, wearing tuxedos and looking handsome. Nolan says if he's the Best Man, he wants to listed as Best Bud in the program.

Now Grandma has to start making them a wedding quilt!

Mueseum/ Mother's Day

We had another busy weekend with Nolan and Erica. Saturday we went to the Auckland Museum. Sunday was Mother's Day. Then my birthday was 2 days after that. Busy week.

1. We went to the Auckland Museum, a huge building with a brand new dome addition. I always get lost in there. The museum's displays include nature, culture and history, but Erica liked the nature stuff the best (naturally). There were all sorts of plants and animals, including fish. There were also plenty of gross-looking bugs. Nolan liked the wetas the best (naturally). There was even a giant stuffed moa - an ostrich-sized flightless bird that was hunted to extinction once humans arrived. We all liked the Maori display, especially the giant waka (canoe) and the elaborately carved marae (meeting house) that you could walk into (if you take your shoes off first). I liked the historical displays (naturally) about WWI, Gallipoli, and WWII. It was only 2.5 weeks since ANZAC Day, and there were still wreaths on the memorials and red poppies affixed to the marble wall listing lost soldiers' names.

Everyone's favourite, however, was the volcano exhibit. Curt and I are from Washington, the home state of Mt St Helens, so we have a long history with volcanoes. In 1980, we heard the BOOM, even though we were 200 miles away from the big blast. Then from 2001-2005, we had a great view of Mt St Helens out the picture window of our house in Portland where we could watch the mountain every time it decided to wake up and spew some more, which happened every 6-12 months.

In the museum's exhibit, we sat in a fake living room while watching fake news of an impending eruption in Auckland's bay. The news showed people evacuating the city, and experts evaluating the latest seismograph. There was footage of steam coming out of the bay, and then there was a huge KABOOM! The fake living room shook and nearly scared the pants off me. The lights went out and the TV screen went black. Looking out the living room's fake window, you could see the eruption, the destruction, and the ash. It was quite realistic and rather sobering. Auckland is built on 50 volcanic cones, after all.

After getting our thrills at the museum, we went to Devonport for fish and chips, with a slight detour to Devonport Chocolates (naturally). And another detour for crappuccinos (naturally).

2. Sunday was Mother's Day, which (naturally) is not a very big deal around our house because Curt doesn't want to make any holiday a big deal. He doesn't get me a present or a card or anything. (This explains why I was determined to make my 50th birthday a bigger deal by buying tickets to Fiddler on the Roof and by planning a party for myself.) Happily, this year Mother's Day was a little more special than usual because Nolan and Erica were here. I made them come to church because it was Mother's Day. Lots of people wanted to talk with them afterwards. Everyone at church always makes them feel special. That evening, Erica made salmon for dinner and it was excellent (naturally). And they got me a card. Then we watched Heavenly Creatures, which is a great NZ film, but probably not a good choice for Mother's Day because the characters in the movie kill their mother. I just hope Nolan doesn't get any ideas.

Road Trip, postscript

We received a speeding ticket in the mail today.

Apparently, two weeks ago on Easter Sunday at 12:30 p.m., our car was detected going 64 km/h in a 50 km/h zone. (This converts to 39 mph in a 31 mph zone) This was after we'd been swimming with the dolphins - and I'd thrown up on the boat - as we were just leaving the town of Kaikoura.

We determined that Curt was driving. He was not happy with this realisation. He spent an appropriate length of time ranting about the miniscule amount over the limit, the short length of road that was 50 km/h before it reverted to 80 km/h, the small town police force installing speed cameras so they can use tourists as a revenue generator, and the monumental pettiness of it all.

We pondered whether we should pay it or not.
In Portland, I'd once received a ticket by mail for running a red light. The streetcorner had a camera that was triggered by any vehicle running the yellow light which turned red while it was still in the intersection. But a lawyer friend had told me that the photo-tickets were actually illegal/unconstitutional and you didn't really have to pay them. So I didn't. I never heard about it again. I hoped that photo speeding tickets in NZ might be similarly invalid, but included in the ticket was a brochure (pronounced BRO-shure) explaining the technology, the legality, and the court system. Drats.

I wondered if it did any good to write a sob story at the bottom of the ticket, detailing my recent vomiting episode as some sort of excuse. Even better, we wondered if we should say that I was still nauseous and that Curt was speeding to get to the side of the road quickly so I could toss my cookies again. Sadly, we knew that a) this was a lie and b) it wasn't even a very good lie.

We paid the ticket.

Road Trip, Day 1 - Good Friday

It was Easter break (no school for 2 weeks) and we were setting off for a 10-day trip to the South Island with Nolan and Erica. We had ambitious plans which included driving 3500 km (2174 miles). We'd be driving from #1 to #4 on the New Zealand map on the right. That's about the same as driving from Bellingham to Los Angeles and back. BUT - and this turns out to be crucial - there won't be any motorways, just 2-lane roads. Imagine driving on Highway 1 along the coast all the way to L.A. instead of using I-5. Imagine the unimaginably beautiful scenery. But imagine how much longer that would take. Imagine all the carsick people in the back seat.

Our first day would involve driving all the way to Wellington, at the bottom of the North Island. (On the map, that's from #1 to #2) We left at 7:00 a.m. - even though I am NOT a morning person - and stopped within 20 minutes for crappuccinos for Curt and Nolan. As I got out of the car in the parking lot, I realised I still had my slippers on! My shoes were sitting back home by our kitchen door, and I had intended to put them on as I left, but evidently I didn't. Good grief. I did the same thing once before, when I wore my slippers to choir accidentally. I am having WAY too many senior moments. Those were the only shoes I was bringing on this trip, apart from sandals. Would it be sandal-wearing weather (hot and sunny) every day? Probably not. And I had no shoes for the next 10 days. Hmmm. Plan A - turn around and go back for my shoes. This idea was nixed by everyone. Plan B - My slippers almost look like shoes so I could just keep wearing them and nobody would know. I'd certainly be comfortable! Plan C - Maybe I would just have to buy some shoes. The consensus was to go with a combination of Plans B & C. As you might expect, Nolan got a big kick out of my absent-mindedness, but he would never tease his poor old mother about it throughout the trip, would he?

It took us about 9 hours to get to Wellington, but we made lots of pit stops and with 4 drivers we managed pretty well. During the drive, Erica took lots of pictures and Nolan did lots of crossword puzzles. We like to help him, which he doesn't always appreciate, but it helps us pass the time. We found our hotel in Wellington after a few wrong turns, U-turns and swear words. We call these episodes "Adventures" which is a euphemism for being lost and frustrated. One problem is that Curt is morally opposed to turning around; I think it's against his religion. Apparently, it feels too much like defeat and he doesn't want to have to admit that we're lost. So we keep going and proceed to get lost-er.

Eventually we arrived at the hotel. Whew. After checking in and schlepping all the luggage to our room, Curt and I decided to stretch our legs - remember, it's been a long drive! So we went for a walk (wearing slippers) in Wellington's Botanic Gardens nearby and climbed the trail to see the city from the summit. Very nice. We also stopped at a children's play area and tested out the zipline which was pretty cool. I always wanted to rig up a zipline from our house in Portland to my school below. You could see the school from our back deck, and it seemed like a pretty efficient way to commute to work every day if I could just jump on a zipline and whoosh down the steep hill, landing in the football field. Alas, it would only work if I could get Boone to crank me back up the hill at 5:00 every night and he wasn't too keen on that idea. Wimp. So I walked or biked to work instead. But it would have been fun.

We walked back to the hotel to get Nolan and Erica so we could drive around and find something for dinner, which involved more Adventures. As the official mapigator, I usually get blamed for getting us lost. In my defence, it's impossible to see the map in the dark. So I can only get a glimpse of the map as we drive under a street light, and then whoosh, my light source is gone. Before long, my credibility is gone too. On the way home, it sounded something like this:
me: Turn left at the next light
Curt: What? That's going to take us down to the waterfront again. We want to go the OTHER direction.
me: Trust me. It'll get us right back to the hotel.
Nolan: Why should we trust someone who can't even remember her shoes?
Curt turns left as directed. A few seconds later, we enter an unexpected tunnel.
me: "What is that tunnel doing here? There's not supposed to be a tunnel. Uh oh. You need to turn around. Trust me on this."

Choir

We're happy to say that we've found a church choir to join. It's actually a Methodist church about 2 suburbs away in Mt. Albert, but evidently Methodist is about as close to Congregational as it's going to get here. The pastor is a woman and her sermons can't compare to Rick Skidmore's, but the music program is outstanding. We usually make the most friends and have the closest relationships through choir on Wednesday nights and Sunday mornings, so if the sermon is not-as-good-as-Rick's for 20 minutes, I guess we can live with that.

The choir director is a man who can sing all 4 parts. Yup, he can sing the soprano part in falsetto and help them find their melody line. It's pretty amazing. There's quite a few serious musicians in this group of about 25 people, including a former church organist and a former choir director (his dad). His mum, his auntie and his sister also sing in the choir and I guess his brother is a choir director for a large Auckland community choir or something. They are quite the musical family. Unfortunately, neither the director nor the organist gives us 4 beginning pitches. Does everyone else have perfect pitch and know exactly where a D is? Not me! But the lady I sit by (his auntie) always knows our note, so I just sing what she sings. Overall, it seems like enough of them are professional musicians or soloist quality that the choir sings more difficult music, sightreads it well and learns it fast. While we enjoy being a part of this talented group, it means that we are almost out of our league. Imagine, Curt is NOT the strongest voice that everyone else follows! Anyway, they don't _need_ us as badly as our Milwaukie choir needed us. It was always nice to feel needed. : )

Since the choir anthems are more challenging, you might think at least the hymns would be familiar and therefore easier. But the hymns are different here and that always throws me off. I recognize hymn titles like "O For a Thousand Tongues to Sing" and think "Ooh, I know this one" but then discover it's sung to a completely different tune. In addition, the words to each hymn are printed in a block of text at the bottom of the page, not under each line of music. This makes it a little harder for me to follow. And then ... sometimes they switch tunes: the words for hymn #443 might be sung with the music from #205! You can imagine me flipping back and forth, getting totally befuddled.

They also have different words for half notes, quarter notes, and eighth notes here - they call them minims, crotchets, and quavers. I'd never heard these terms before, but I'm learning.

We've only been attending this church 5 weeks so far but the people at church and at choir have been friendly. We're still learning everyone's names but they all seem to know ours! (And don't forget, everyone pronounces Megan correctly here. I love it!) It'll be nice once we get to know more people. We're going to one lady's house for tea after church this Sunday, which is a good start.

When we first moved to Oregon, it took us 6 months to find the right church and 12 months before we joined the choir. So it feels good to have a place to go on Sunday mornings after only 3 months in New Zealand. We lived in Oregon for 5 years and became very attached to the folks at Kairos Milwaukie church; after we've been here for 5 years, I'm sure we will become just as attached to Mt. Albert Methodist.

PS - When we attended our first choir rehearsal here, we pulled out our black music folders and as I opened mine up, I discovered the church bulletin from our last service at Milwaukie where Curt and I read a liturgy, lit an Advent candle, sang in the choir, and I even played bells. Good times. I cried a little, remembering that day. But smiled.

Look Mom, No Cavities!

Mom gave us the baby grand piano about ten years ago, when she and Keith moved to a smaller rental house in Bellingham. We had a nice spacious six-bedroom house at the time and so we were thrilled to have it in our living room. The boys were taking piano lessons from their Grandma Shirley, so it sure seemed convenient. I was so naive.

There was just one small problem: our living room was on the upper floor of a two-storey, mid-level entry house and there was no way for the piano movers to muscle it up the stairs. My good friend, Doug Smith, had a heavy-duty forklift that he was generously willing to drive to our house so that he could hoist the piano in a sling, over the upper floor deck railing, so we could take it through the patio sliding doors into the living room. It was a very windy day when we were able to finally coordinate movers and piano tuners, and Doug had to carefully elevate the piano between power lines suspended above our deck. Needless to say, the pucker factor was very high.

For the next five years, we had a nice piano in our house. But the boys grew up and started to move away from home, and we decided to downsize. We decided to move to Portland into a small, three-bedroom house. We had to reverse the piano moving process, and Doug was kind enough again to bring the forklift on city streets up the steep hill to our house to lift the piano off the deck. Piano movers strapped the piano to a skid board and we hauled it to Portland in a 24-ft U-Haul truck. Our new house was also on a hill, so the local piano movers had to negotiate a steep driveway and seven steps up to our front porch. I had to remove the wrought-iron railing so they could swing it around two corners to get it in the living room. I could not bear to watch this time, but the move came off without a hitch, because they quickly had the piano re-assembled.

All was fine for the next four and a half years. When Carlin came to live with us in Portland, while he went to school at Multnomah Bible College, we enjoyed listening to him play. We stipulated that he could have free room and board as long as he played the piano for us and he willingly obliged. Since Carlin is the only one of our sons to maintain an interest in playing, we offered him the piano when he was ready to settle down. But we decided to move to New Zealand before Carlin finished college and had a place of his own.


So we strapped the piano to another skid board (I had to buy the skid board and straps this time), hired piano movers to haul it out of the house, down the stairs and up the driveway where they hoisted it up into the waiting 20-ft cargo container, ready for shipping by slow boat to Auckland via Singapore (that's another long story). When the cargo container finally arrived in New Zealand, we had found a rental house to live in, also down a steep driveway with about six steps up to our front door and a right angle corner to negotiate.

Once our cargo container arrived, we hired a team of three house movers with strong backs to do the heavy lifting for us. In the middle of all of this chaos, we had to have a customs official from the Ministry of Forestry and Agriculture come and witness the opening of the container so he could make a quarantine inspection of our household goods. The young, strong movers used their muscles and brains to set up a ramp to get the entire household and piano moved into the house in less than three hours.

Then I had to contact a piano shop to find a tuner who could re-assemble the pieces, and tune the piano in its new climate on the other side of the planet. The piano shop put me in contact with William Lo, a sub-contractor with limited English speaking skills, but able and willing to do the work. After a few miscommunications, his team of two scrawny laborers came to the house and put the piano back together. I couldn't watch. Then William came to our house one evening to tune it. After that he offered to fix the ivories that had been chipped or previously replaced with poorly matching synthetics. So a few nights later, William came to our house, retracted the keyboard and took 16 keys (still attached to their hammers) in a cardboard box back to his shop. Today, he came to deliver the repaired keys. It looks great!

The only way I can justify dragging this piano all over the world is if I try once again to learn how to play it. I've talked about it several times, but now that we have clean, white piano keys, I no longer have any good excuses. So thanks to you, Mom, for your generous gift. It's been sheer pleasure so far.

Curt

Church Search

Today is our eighth Sunday in New Zealand, counting Christmas Day when we arrived. We have visited three different churches on five of those Sundays, searching for a new church home that will match our sense of humour and irreverence. Our friends at Kairos Milwaukie UCC set a high standard for us and we are having trouble finding a community of faith with a similar inclusive view of the world and a strong music ministry.

Megan performed a web search before we arrived and compiled a list of liberal churches in the Auckland area that we might find suitable. She got three hits by combining liberal/church/Auckland. The first church on this list that we visited was St. Mathews in the City, Anglican Church. We were warmly welcomed by Gavin, even though the service was sparsely attended on New Year's Day. The inclusive theology of St. Mathews appealed to us and we were able to overcome aversions to certain high church vestiges like kneeling to receive the Eucharist, genuflecting paritioners, and imposing vaulted gothic ceilings

(bells and smells as our Kiwi friend Rick Utting calls it). My biggest complaint was that the hymns were printed in the bulletin without written music which is one sure way to make me feel awkward and uncomfortable. I acknowledge that most people don't read music so it would be a waste of ink and paper, but I found out later they actually have hymnals stored in bookcases but not in the pews.


We skipped church the following Sunday to buy a car (see "New Wheels" in the blog below). We returned to St. Mathews in the City the next Sunday and were warmly greeted by Gavin again, and this time we were supplied with a hymnal after I asked Gavin for the music to go with the printed hymn verses. The hymnal only had the melody line printed but at least I could follow along when the tune was unfamiliar. After the service, we met the pastor, Glynn Cardy, who seemed very approachable. He had delivered the sermon with a sprinkling of humour and a measure of humility which I found refreshing. We also were introduced to Clay, an American who recently moved with his wife from America for reasons similar to our own.

The next Sunday we were on the road again visiting the Coromandel Peninsula (see "Kauri Tress" in the blog below). We returned to St. Mathews the following week and had another positive worship experience with the exception that there was no choir. Gavin said that the following Sunday, there would be music leaders (cantors?) and the service would be sung (chanted?). That's not exactly what I had in mind for a choir. We miss the friendships and support of the Milwaukie choir, not to mention the spiritual nourishment that comes from listening to music expertly played by Kathy and Ji Young (and Rick Skidmore's drum support!).

We decided we needed to branch out and at least try some of the other churches on our short list. Last Sunday we visited St. Columba's Anglican Church in Grey Lynn (a suburb of Auckland). It's a small church with a very small congregation. The pastor, Hugh, seemed very friendly, and the message from the pulpit was generally open and affirming. There was a child baptism scheduled for the Sunday service, and this seemed to attract all of the disposable attention of the pastor. There were many unfamiliar visitors and extended family for the baptism so I think Megan and I got a little lost in the shuffle. As could be expected, the music programme was lacking, and the congregational singing was sketchy.

Back to the internet for a new search, we attempted to find a church on the web which advertised a progressive message and had a regular choir. We obtained a list of 14 churches in the Auckland area that have regular choirs, but I could not tell from the individual web sites whether these churches would meet with our exalted standards.

Today we visited Mount Albert Methodist Church. The choir was strong and two of the four hymns were either printed in the bulletin or available in the hymnal (but no harmony parts!). The worship service was well attended, and a large contingent of children listened to a brief message before departing for church school. The pastor, Elizabeth Hopner's sermon was conventional but not memorable and both Megan and I felt somewhat disconnected from the message. We were spoiled by Rick Skidmore's sense of irony and his frequent rants about fundamentalist Christianity. At the very least, we almost always felt that his sermons connected with us and our attention did not wander far from the point. Maybe he and the Kairos gang would like to move to New Zealand. Hey, there's no George W. Bush here!

Again, I should't complain too much about the Methodist Church because their theology is basically sound (although they're still struggling whether or not to allow gays and lesbians into their leadership and this is causing a potential schism from within). We may try this place a few more times. But we may try some others, too. I guess we're still searching.