Tears for Rosa, Martin and Obama

I dreamt last night that Obama came to my house to remind me to vote. I'd already mailed in my ballot with great satisfaction a few weeks ago, so I don't know why I was dreaming about that, other than the obvious reason that I have been bombarded with US election news for the last 2 years ... and remember, I live in NEW ZEALAND! Yes, there has been a front-page story in the New Zealand Herald nearly every day. (Coincidentally, there is also an election in New Zealand happening on November 8th. Do you think US papers have been running front-page stories about the NZ election day after day? Nah, me neither.)

But I have been consumed by this election, even from 8,000 miles away. First of all, I love politics. I have doorbelled for candidates, served as a page at the state capitol, and attended presidential campaign rallies for candidates from Hubert Humphrey to Al Gore. I became a history teacher, so I taught students about the Declaration of Independence and the Electoral College. I can even sing the Preamble to the Constitution. Yes, I love politics.

So that explains a bit why we were so crushed by the direction that America had been going. In 2004, when George W. Bush was elected for the SECOND time, - I could forgive America for making a mistake by electing him the first time, but to RE-elect him was beyond comprehension - we couldn't take it any more and we left the country.

Many people questioned our decision to emigrate: "He'll be gone in 4 years," they would say.
But it wasn't just the President that we were fleeing. We were fleeing the millions of Americans who think like Bush. The ones who think it's okay to invade other countries. The ones who are against gay marriage. The ones who want to teach creationism but not evolution. The ones who were deluded enough to vote for a man who gives tax cuts to the rich, and the ones who didn't bother voting at all. And they would all still be there. We felt that we were just too liberal to fit in any more.

Today, I was still nervous that McCain would somehow steal the election (like Bush) so I couldn't allow myself to really believe Obama would win. All day at work, I was so excited that I felt like a teenager in love. Couldn't concentrate. Butterflies in my stomach. Election results started coming in at about 1:00 p.m. NZ time, so I had my computer set to NPR (similar to BBC) and listened to the live feed while I half-heartedly marked papers.
Luckliy, I didn't have a class 6th period. Students and staff alike would see me and ask how the election was going. Everyone knows I'm American because a)I talk 'funny' and b)I've been wearing my Obama pin every day for weeks. Last week I even wore a shirt covered with dozens of old campaign pins from McGovern, Carter, Dukakis, Clinton Gore, Kerry, and Obama. I even have a (Bobby) Kennedy bumper sticker. All those pins and stickers would have looked best on my Jesse Jackson '88 T-shirt, but I couldn't find it amid the boxes. Puckishly, I have fond memories of wearing my Jesse Jackson shirt just to make my dad mad.

After school, I went running on the treadmill, but I didn't want to miss any of the returns so I brought my computer to the gym (thankfully my school is wireless, including the gym), plugged it in, balanced it on the treadmill, and ran 5k while listening to NPR. Pretty pathetic, huh. Then I arrived home just in time to hear John McCain's concession speech. I found Curt was already home (indeed, he'd come home at 2:00 just to watch election results) and I found him with tears in his eyes. I was similarly moved. Obama's win gave me hope that maybe America has finally woken up.

Our neighbour arrived with a bottle of champagne and we all toasted the new chapter for America. There are even fireworks going off outside tonight in New Zealand. Not because of the American election, but because it's Guy Fawkes Day. But I can pretend they are celebrations for Obama instead.

How does it feel?
It feels too good to be true.
It feels like pride, something I haven't felt about America in ages.
It gives me goosebumps.
I am so overwhelmingly relieved that in this election, the other America spoke.
Tonight ... tonight brought tears to my eyes.

Rosa sat so Martin could walk.
Martin walked so Obama could run.
Obama ran so children could soar.
author unknown

Summer Celebration

Last night, we sang with a massed choir as part of the Starlight Symphony event, an evening of outdoor entertainment for an estimated crowd of 200,000, presenting a complete spectrum of music from opera/classical to New Zealand Idol pop music and lounge lizard schmaltz.

Our massed choir of about 400 members began rehearsals for the concert just a week ago. Our conductor had to try to keep 400 people together, which is not an easy task ... but not nearly as hard as keeping 400 people together WITH the orchestra. However, under the able management of the gifted and ever-patient John Rosser, we all pulled together and presented a very respectable concert. John was dressed in a glitzy new waistcoat that his septuagenarian mother sewed for him (as she does every year). He also wore white gloves so we could see his hands better in the dark, which he donned ominously, shoving each finger tightly into the fabric as if he was getting ready to commit a heinous crime and didn't want to leave any fingerprints. Fortunately, the white gloves also made him look a bit like Mickey Mouse which reversed the sinister factor considerably. The choir was seated in the bleachers in front of the Cricket Pavilion while the orchestra was on the stage behind us, along with the hosts and soloists. The only problem with our seats was that they were hard, wooden, backless bleachers. I had heeded the warning to bring a cushion along, but Curt assured me he wouldn't need one. Ha. Guess who wanted MY cushion for the 2nd half when his butt started to go numb.

The crowd had set up folding camp chairs and laid out picnic blankets on the grass, stretching across the Auckland Domain for several hundred metres. As darkness came, children activated their green and blue glow-in-the-dark candles, swaying them to the music as you might see at a rock concert. It was a well-mannered, multi-cultural, multi-generational crowd.

Besides the choir and the orchestra, there were about 6-8 soloists. One of the more curious performers was a soloist who, a few days earlier, had arrived at our choir rehearsal in his flash convertible (parked conveniently but illegally right in front of the venue), with his shirt unbuttoned too far and wearing designer sunglasses. Next, he proceeded to blow kisses to us. Hmmm. The expression on our conductor's face of barely concealed contempt was almost as entertaining to watch as the strutting itself. Then our star opened his mouth and sang. What a voice! He has a lovely, clear tenor voice, a successful singing career in London, and is good looking. So I was incredibly curious as to why he felt he needed to act so cheesy. And that was only the rehearsal! Wait till you hear what he did at the performance: he wore a lizard skin jacket, and during one part of the song, he pulled it off one shoulder as if he was stripping/undressing. There was also, of course, a good deal of hip thrusts and come-hither looks. It really was too much for me. But he sang like Pavarotti so I may have to forgive him most of his sleaze.

One sweet moment was when the throng of revellers arose to dance a waltz performed by the orchestra. The sight of all that spontaneous joyous motion was quite a spectacle to see. Leading the dance on stage was a discus thrower "who could smash a watermelon with her thighs" (as the host described her) but was remarkably light on her feet. She had been a contestant last year on New Zealand's Dancing with the Stars and she and her dance partner had been a crowd favourite all the way until their second-place finish. I can see why. It was quite impressive and a little surprising to see this huge woman wearing a size 26(?) glittering gown gliding across the stage with such glamour and grace. She qualified for the Olympics on Thursday and danced for the crowd on Saturday. Wow.

The choir also had a good time performing a bit of choreographed cardboard flashing during the classic Beach Boys' tune, Good Vibrations. For most of us, putting the cards up and down at the right time was more difficult than singing, plus we had to sway (in the correct direction), and do a psychedelic card spin for The Big Finish. Who knew we had such diverse talent.

The programme energy was raised to a mighty crescendo with full orchestra and choir performing Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture, complete with cannon, a barrage of fireworks, and a laser light show. The crowd went wild. The concussion from the cannon fire was enough to take your breath away. Sitting at the outer edge of the altos meant that I was only a few metres away from the cannons. Even though you know they're going to go off, you're still blown out of your seat. Ka-BOOM!

Sitting at the outer edge of the altos also meant that I was right by the aisle where the celebrities entered and exited. The Prime Minister went by. Hi, Helen. As did my friend the lounge lizard (with his cell phone stuck to his ear). This is the point at which I could name-drop a little ... except I've never heard of the stars who were there: Boh Runga, Andy Lovegrove, Geoff Sewell, The LadyKillers. I'm obviously too old to know who the latest stars are.

The programme concluded with the New Zealand national anthem sung in Maori and English (as it always is), and the pride and goodwill of the people was palpable. The evening ended with a quick and orderly departure of the sated crowd, and we only saw a limited amount of litter which we found unusual for such a large number of people where alcohol was neither prohibited nor abused.

The festive spirit engendered by the free concert was a perfect way for us to blend into the local culture and to feel more a part of the wider Auckland community. Mostly it was a magical evening of good clean fun, made even more special by my singing buddy, a recent widow, who was reminded of last year's event when she had been seated out in the crowd with her husband. We hugged and she wiped her tears while we listened to the New Zealand Idol judge crooning the words from Bridge Over Troubled Water:
When you're weary, feeling small.
When tears are in your eyes, I will dry them all.
I'm on your side. when times get rough.
And friends just can't be found,
Like a bridge over troubled water.
I will lay me down.

New Years Eve/Sydney, day 7

Tonight is the big New Years Eve fireworks show and Sydney is already buzzing. There's about 25 or more designated areas around town with views of the harbour that are already filling up. Each area has a maximum crowd size and once it's full, they don't let anyone else in. So some places fill by noon; others don't max out till 3. But the overall message is: Get your spot early!

As a consequence, we head to the Royal Botanic Gardens right away, minus a few digressions to look at restaurant menus. (Curt's still hoping to find a Salade Nicoise. What has gotten in to that guy?) The streets are already barricaded and our bags are searched multiple times. It's OK to bring alcohol, just as long as there's no glass bottles. Instead, people bring plenty of beer in cans & wine in boxes, along with a picnic basket full of food, and some blankets or beach towels. Fortunately. we're armed with our Aussie beach towel (purchased yesterday in Manly) covered with a pattern of road signs saying Watch Out for Kangaroos and Wombats Ahead. (see the photo of me sitting on said beach towel) We should blend right in.

We arrive about 1:00, which means we'll be here for the next 11 hours. We're sitting in almost the exact same spot where Curt sat to do his sketch of the bridge on Tuesday. That day, the grass was deserted except for 2 ibis birds who kept coming over to inspect Curt's progress. Today, the same grass is covered with blankets and towels and bodies. Not surprisingly, the ibis seem to have retreated to the depths of the park, away from the lively partiers.

Some of the more experienced people remember to bring a deck of cards and one couple behind us even bring a Scrabble game, which we covet. Curt LOVES to play Scrabble, and he and Byron have become experts to the point that they know all sorts of obscure words, such as ut and qat (would you believe that ut is the old word for do in the musical scale do-re-mi?) The only problem is that Curt's such a ruthless Scrabble player that I don't play with him very often because I end up in tears about half the time. We contemplate challenging the couple behind us to a game of Scrabble, but I feel it would be rather unfair of Curt to ask to play with them, and then beat the pants off them.

We bring along some snacks for the duration, but there are also food stalls available selling things like coffee, chips (French fries), ice cream, hot dogs, and other equally unhealthy options. The whole operation is amazingly well-organized with security, porta-loos, and rubbish patrol. There are 2 wheelie bins every 25 yards - one for rubbish and one for recycling. A few event staffers walk around offering rubbish bags and people periodically get up to take a load of beer cans to the recycle bin. Remarkably, throughout the afternoon and evening I hear people calling out things like "Hey Andrew, want me take your beer cans with me? I'm on the way." If there is such a thing as 7,000 polite drinkers in one spot, this is it. I am astounded at how well organized it is and by how well behaved everyone is. Nobody is too loud or boisterous and everyone seems to respect others' right to enjoy themselves. This goes on for the next 10 hours!

Most of the time, we feel like the only people over 30 in the crowd, but eventually a man (45ish) with 3 kids (10, 12, 18) settles near us and we strike up a conversation. He credits the authorities' excellent organisation skills with the experience learned by hosting the Olympics. It's nice to talk to him for a while because by this time, we've been here for 5 hours and I can only read, write, or do sudoku for so long before I go stir crazy. Plus my butt hurts from sitting on the hard ground. I'm really too old for this kind of thing.

One thing that surprises me is how many people in the crowd bring books to read. Most of the people here are in their 20s and are spending a lot of time on their cell phone, flirting, drinking, smoking, or giggling. It's hardly the type I would expect to be reading. But there they are, all over the place, buried in a book. Out of each group of 8-10 people, 3 or 4 will be reading. I can't imagine finding a significant proportion of American young people reading at a big drinking party/event.

Whenever Curt and I get bored, we just watch the people around us:
• Meet the Cuddly Couple, in their late 20s, who nap on the blanket while she gently caresses his cheek.
• There's also the Drunk Wife, about 25, who first catches our attention as she loudly tells the story of how her husband almost didn't marry her for some reason. She manages to get totally plastered soon after we arrive so we start placing bets on how long she'll last. There's no way she'll make it until midnight! I'm guessing she'll be out by 6:30.
• And there's Drunk Wife's Husband, who doesn't seem nearly as drunk as her (but makes up for it later).
• Behind us we have a young man with a Golden Voice. I have no idea what he looks like, but with his deep baritone voice and his accent, he really should become a newscaster. As the night progresses, I learn his entire life story - how his parents divorced, etc. But what he seems to be the most proud of was that he "shagged Lisa in the shower" which he repeats a number of times at great volume. We don't believe his claim for a minute. It seems like he has more imagination than facts.

At 9:00 there is a 10-minute fireworks show for the children, so they can go home and go to bed at a reasonable time, I guess. There's still 3 more hours of steady alcohol consumption left until the big show. But about 11:00, the nice man in front of us and his 3 kids depart. I think the kids are running out of patience. The youngest has been wrestling and rolling around for hours, while the middle one plays with her cell phone.

As soon as this family leaves, their space is inhabited by a group who proceed to take pictures of themselves in all possible combinations. Curiously, one guy in the group has a really squeaky, nasal voice like Owen Meany in John Irving's book. A Prayer for Owen Meany is undoubtedly my favourite book; it's the only book I ever read from cover to cover ... and when I reached the end, I immediately read it from cover to cover again. In the book, Owen's growth was stunted and his voice was high-pitched and grating, so Irving always wrote Owen's dialogue in upper case such as "I DON'T KNOW WHY YOU WON'T COME OUT AND PLAY WITH ME, JOHN." As I read it, I could clearly hear a voice in my head that represented Owen's shrill delivery, and the guy who was now sitting in front of us seemed to personify it perfectly. Thank goodness they don't arrive until 11:00 because it would have been excruciating to endure it the entire time.

My prediction about Drunk Wife is turning out to be dead wrong - she remains totally plastered, but not passed out. She's been in this state for almost 10 hours so far. Now that's endurance. Drunk Wife's Husband keeps stumbling over Owen Meany's tripod so he wisely moves it to the other side. Meanwhile, Golden Voice is making good progress with the girl he was telling his life story to. Cuddly Couple light some incense which makes it smell like 1970 all over again. Drunk Wife's group is British, not Aussie, and they start singing (drunkenly of course) O Britannia, but they don't know any words other than "O" and "Britannia." So they switch to something about "... I know I am, I'm sure I am, I'm England till I die." Over and over. (Remember how I said that nobody is too loud or boisterous for the next 10 hours? It was during the 11th hour that people truly hit their stride.) It doesn't really seem like a good idea to start singing raucous British identity songs when you're vastly outnumbered by Australians, though. I was half expecting the other 6,990 people to counter with a blazing round of Waltzing Matilda to drown out the Brits. But they appear more bemused than anything, and manage to resist singing a reply, perhaps assuming that the Brits will get bored of singing the same 2 lines and will move on eventually. Meanwhile, this seems like a good time for me to make a trip to the porta-loos. When I return, everyone seems to have mercifully gotten over their urge to sing.

FInally, it was time for the fireworks to start. The organisers spread out the pyrotechnics around the harbour so different areas could all have a view. It starts with a big display off the bridge. It moves to a couple different spots, east of the bridge and west of the bridge. There are even fireworks exploding behind us from the tops of the skyscrapers in the city which worries me a little because it makes it look like all the skyscrapers are on fire. They explode some by the opera house, then back to the bridge and during the big finale, things are blowing up all over.

Here's Curt's impression of the evening - " If I had to sum it up in a few words, it would be: cell phones, cigarettes, boobs and booze. Boobs has a double meaning - in addition to the idiot factor fueled by alcohol, about 80% of the young women were falling out of their tops. It's a fashion trend."

Antipodean Holidays: Halloween & Guy Fawkes Day

Being in a new country, we have to get used to different holidays. The day after we arrived, it was Boxing Day, which is not celebrated in the US. As the year progressed, we learned about and celebrated Waitangi Day, ANZAC Day, Queen's Birthday, Mother's Day in May but Father's Day in September, and Labour Day in October.
Most recently, we had Halloween on October 31 and Guy Fawkes Day on November 5:

HALLOWEEN -
Sadly, it's not a big holiday here. Many of you know how much I liked dressing up as the Energizer Bunny, wearing pink footy pajamas, and banging my drum all day at school. Good times. Plus there's all that chocolate. Need I say more? I LOVE Halloween. Our own family tradition included the Annual Pumpkin Throwing on November 1st when we lobbed the now-rotten pumpkin off the deck into the wheelie bin below. So I was disappointed to find out that nobody really does anything for Halloween. No pumpkins to carve. Nobody at school dresses up. I had resigned myself to Halloween as a non-event.

Imagine my suprise when trick-or-treaters came to my door about 6:30! Uh oh. I had nothing to give them. There were 4 cute little kids with 2 moms, and all I could do was plead American ignorance; "I was told you didn't celebrate Halloween in NZ. Sorry! I don't have anything to give you." The oldest girl, about 8, responded cheerfully, "That's OK. Thank you! Have a Happy Halloween!" She was so polite and so sincere. I felt like a heel.

After they left, I rummaged through my kitchen and found some chocolate granola bars to give away, in case more kids show up. And they did. Then more. Then I ran out of chocolate granola bars and had to resort to blackberry ones. After 16 kids, and dwindling supplies, I decided to send Curt to the local dairy (convenience store) for lollies (candy). Alas, no more kids arrived, wouldn't you know it. But still, we had more trick-or-treaters here than we had in the US in the last 5 years!

And I'm proud to say that I took the lollies to work the next day to give to student helpers so I wouldn't eat them all myself. (But I did manage to eat a few.)

GUY FAWKES DAY -
I find this holiday quite confusing. Here's what I've learned:
Back in England in 1605, Guy Fawkes and 12 other guys tried to blow up Parliament, which including killing the King and all the Lords. They didn't like the current government because they were Catholics and the government was anti-Catholic. Or something like that. It was supposed to be the beginning of a mass Catholic uprising in England.

Instead, on November 5 Guy Fawkes got caught red-handed with 36 barrels of gunpowder in the basement of the Parliament building. He was arrested and later executed.

So every year on November 5, England celebrates the failed gunpowder plot ... by lighting fireworks, bonfires, and effigies of either Guy Fawkes or the Pope(!).

Here's a few problems I have with this holiday:
1. It's not very clear if the holiday is to celebrate the plotters, or to celebrate the government who thwarted the plot. Some of the English have been known to wonder, in a tongue in cheek kind of way, whether they are celebrating Fawkes' execution or honoring his attempt to do away with the government.

2. By naming the holiday after the "bad guy" they have immortalized his name. It's a little like naming 9/11 Osama Bin Laden Day.

3. Speaking of names, it's crazy that Guy Fawkes got the holiday named after him, because he wasn't even the leader of the group! He was just the one who was caught first. The ringleader probably thought it was pretty unfair that the holiday wasn't named after him, but was named after one of his underlings instead. Of course, he was dead by then, but still.

4. Why blow things up when celebrating that you didn't get blown up? It lacks logic. It's like celebrating the day you almost died from e coli by going out and eating undercooked hamburger. I don't get it.

5. This is New Zealand. Nobody tried to blow up our Parliament in 1605. We didn't have a Paliament in 1605. This place was inhabited solely by Maoris in 1605. Australia doesn't celebrate Guy Fawkes Day. Why does NZ?

6. Mostly, this holiday appears to be an excuse to set off lots of fireworks - accidentally starting fires, causing injuries, and scaring animals. This year, the city council debated whether to ban private fireworks because the firefighters and police and hospitals are so overworked that night. This did NOT turn out to be a very popular idea!

So the fireworks continue. That's OK, I guess.
I now know a little more about Guy Fawkes. That's fine.
And I didn't singlehandedly eat bags and bags of M&Ms and Hersheys and Reeses and Almond Joys ....
That's probably good, too.

Megan

Happy New Year

It's a new year: 2006. Last night we watched the fireworks exploding from the Sky Tower, only a block from our hotel, and thought about what the new year would bring for us here in New Zealand. This New Year's Eve celebration seemed more significant to us than most New Years in the past, since we're beginning a new life in a new country. Therefore, we've decided to make a few lists. Although they're not really resolutions, they do help us clarify our objective in moving here.
Next January (2007) we'll compare our actual life to these hopes and dreams that we listed here on January 1st, 2006.

WHY DID WE CHOOSE NEW ZEALAND?
• It's far away from everywhere.
• They're a small nation, not a terrorist target, and not aggressive. They don't invade other countries.
• It's an opportunity for us to explore a whole new quadrant of the world. Besides traveling all over New Zealand, during the next few years we can visit Australia and islands in the South Pacific like Tahiti or Fiji.
• There's new wildlife and flora for us to learn about (even penguins!)
• It's warm! It's subtropical. And it's Celsius.
• There's wide open spaces with lots of sheep. Sheep are cute and fuzzy.
• There's beautiful, plentiful, empty beaches.
• It's full of friendly people, and they're very welcoming.
• They speak English but they have a cool accent.
• It's anti-nuclear and anti "Coalition of the Willing"
• They honor their native culture.
• There's great public facilities at parks, beaches, community centres, etc.
• They have a female Prime Minister ... and it's no big deal to them.
• There's less consumerism, less materialism. Hardly anyone drives an SUV just as a status symbol.
• Guys don't sag their pants. :)

WE HOPE THAT IN OUR NEW LIFE IN NEW ZEALAND, WE WILL ...
... explore nature more
... paint more (Curt)
... acquire an accent (Megan)
... learn a little Maori language and some Maori culture
... make friends and invite people over more
... give more back to our community, through voluntering maybe