settling in
Photo (cropped) taken by Gwynneth Jansen
Alarmingly there’s a plan put forward by Act (and Labour I see too. How can this be?) that we raise the retirement age until 67 to save money. Hmmm and what about the costs of losing volunteers in the community, youth who can’t get jobs? Day care for children when Nana can’t help out. Hospital care for those of us who have brittle bones, get stressed. It’s not that 65-67 years olds can’t work, it’s more that the simple accounting may not be as simple as it seems.
There’s also a plan mooted to put Community Law Centres out to tender. These provide advice (free) to people with legal issues. They are valuable and well used. This, along with a plan to reduce Legal Aid funding will have an effect on how people challenge legal decisions and get good legal aid.
Oh, and we are cutting our Ministry of Foreign affairs funding and reducing numbers in Te Puni Kokiri (Ministry of Maori Affairs) and then there’s the asset sales. Surely we learned our lesson from the sale of Kiwi Rail and power generating businesses. Kiwi Rail got sold, ran into trouble and we bought it back.
Sigh. The image, taken by friend Gwynneth says it all. It’s from a protest march about the assets sales.
And I’ve sat at domestic airports 4 times since being back and the question is: why do we wear so much BLACK?
this could be the last time
or not.
Last time I went to Europe I wore one pair of orthotic shoes, a brace and a crutch. This time, alas, I am packing shoes. No, not alas – it’s great but they do weigh a bit more than no shoes at all.
I’m off to Valencia, land of orange groves, if old school songs are anything to go by. To a digital storytelling conference.
I’m meeting up with an old friend with whom I’ve weathered many a storm and with whom I’ve had many a wonderful trip: Patmos, Naples, Auckland West Coast Beaches, Hatepe, London, Brighton and possibly a few others.
Here he is at Pompeii.
I’m also collecting the last of a sister set: Sharon, Judy, Rosie and finally Margaret.
And I hope to dance some tango, thanks to my wonderful, fabulous, chiropractor David, who after about 10 attempts finally worked on the neck so that it came unstuck. Finally, after 3 weeks I feel sane again.
Phew.
And then I visit some new friends in Buenos Aires. And, just maybe, dance some more.
tango blurb
Tripalbum.net / Licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.5 Generic licence / Wikimedia Commons.
A good night of tango and not much to say except that it’s an up and down life in tango.
There are the nights when you go home wanting to cut your wrists, the nights you can’t do anything right and the nights that someone says you dance smoothly and that it’s a lovely time they have with you.
It’s hard learning a new thing at this stage in your life. But at least you are mature enough sometimes to take the good with the bad and know that sometime it’s right and sometimes it just isn’t.
And sometimes is the key to all this.
And the tongue firmly in the cheek.
long and across
The Bay looked spiffing in the morning sun as I drove along the beach front having failed (again) to exit the way I entered. Napier is like Hamilton and Christchurch – too many exit and entry points while Wellington has only two by road.
I left early hoping that the rest of the country was still nursing its hangover and drove past billboards alerting me to the Next Big Thing.
This taken from an image in public domain of 2005 billboards in NZ. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:NZ_election_billboards.jpg
The blue billboards assure me I’ll have a Brighter Future. The red ones tell me there’d be No Asset Sales. The green ones tell me I’ll have a Richer Country. The red and white ones tell me the names of the (Maori) candidates. Then there are small green and white ones that tell me to keep NZ clean and green, but they, I suspect, are not advertising any political party…..
So what do I want? Hmmm I don’t want any more asset sales and I do want a brighter future for everyone and I’m also keen on having a richer New Zealand (this last intrigues me it’s not the message I would have thought the Greens would promote but maybe I read it wrong as I drove too fast (yeah right) past the signs and the Tui brewery (!!) as I searched for the Paihiatua Track (which I found!! The Gorge is shut).
Hmmmmm it really is time to slow down and read the signs and make a decision.
Greens – richer in so many ways New Zealand. Was going too fast clearly. Or thinking inside the square.
beat it
Angels. Used via cc attribution licence from Hermione Presents. http://www.hermione-presents.com
You and I travel to the beat of a different drum….
So sang Linda Ronstad in the 1970s.
And so, perhaps, might my tango teacher.
It’s caused me to reflect on how people listen to music.
So, I’ve loaded up my car and home stereos with wall to wall tango. And I notice how much happier I am when something with lyrics comes along, although I am fond of tango waltzes.
When there are no words I feel myself drift away to several other things, but words, even Spanish or Greek, make me alert. In tango of course words like corazon, suenos, recuerdo, solidad enable guesswork and the songs tend to be about my heart recalling the dreams of yesteryear and the memories of lost love.
It’s why, I realise, I prefer opera to instrumental music and can usually catch a word or two about passion, living for love or art and so on.
So, I’m back trying to listen to the music. But with a singer I am imagining the dance to the voice not the beat underneath.
It’s not that I don’t hear the rhythm, and thought (clearly erroneously) that I was getting much better at hearing it and at waiting (even attempting a small adorno) for my partner to pick up the beat and move me along (or backwards usually).
So – leave aside the melody and listen to the beat. OK I will.
he called me ‘darling’, the bastard
About 3 weeks ago I toddled down to my local gym, only to find it inundated with people. No park. So I eased the car up onto the pavement. No it’s not legal and yes, the crippled car parks were all taken.
After passing all the young men trying to give me some kind of pamphlets, and after being so polite “no thanks” I began to get irritated when I heard one of them make that kind of “ohhya” noise that means “Suit yourself you old bag”.
So, I tried to make a complaint and was sent downstairs. The complaint forms had all been taken into the event so I had to walk past more people trying to give me pamphlets, nearly tripping over several children to grab the complaint forms.
By this time I was getting a bit more irritated so I filled out complaint forms and exited, only to find that the car in front was leaving. Just as I began to ease off the pavement an SUV decided to enter. It backed really close and since my car still carries the signs of the last time an SUV backed into me I tooted the horn.
The smarmy fellow got out of the car and made some indistinguishable hand gestures. As I drove away I called out “You just needed to let me out first” and he replied “There’s plenty of room, darling”. You may be able to guess my retort. Not polite.
So today I went to the Argentinian day at Te Papa, and after the fellow at the entrance was unable to tell me where the tango stuff was and I tripped over several small children and the coffee took ages to be made, I was a bit irritated with myself for losing the exit ticket to the parking lot.
The mature fellow wandering around was extremely helpful, getting me a ticket for the exact amount rather than making me pay the $20.00 ‘fine’.
So I felt better and I’ll tell you what I thought of the Tainui exhibition too. Next post.
native intelligence
Oscar Hokeah's blog banner. Reproduced with permission. Use underlined text in blog to teleport.
I’ve recently discovered, and have skim read, Oscar Hokeah‘s blog. It’s headed “Oscar Hokeah
~ A Blog for Intellectually Excitable Readers!” And it is.
He writes about finding a way to develop Native Theory, chats about Foucault, ponders about power/knowledge and ruminates on what it is to be a Native American. I enjoy it immensely and although I am not his target audience I find a similarity between what he talks about and what some of my friends talk about.
It reminds me of my friend Bella Graham who died 4 years ago. She was a committed Focauldian and wrote about Maori identity. In particular Ngati Hako identity.
Her last presentation was about the ways Maori are identified and colonised through images of tourism. It’s a topical idea still, as we as New Zealanders host the, somewhat overhyped, Rugby World Cup. A friend commented that it was painful to see the hype of the opening ceremony and the money that was spent using people from South Auckland (mostly Maori and Pasifika) who despite our famous cries of “it’s all right here” belong to the poor and often disenfranchised of our country.
But that then too is an oversimplification because we also need and want to show and appreciate Maori. And many Maori are in fact middle class, so I’ve just perpetuated a myth. Well, no, it’s not a myth. Is it? And besides who are we to say what they should choose to do?
It’s tough. And on that note I am hoping to get along to the Tainui show at Te Papa which I gather celebrates the Tainui story as told by Tainiu (perhaps with some interpretation alas by Te Papa). And that’s what Bells was about. Telling her stories her way.
spring has sprung
Pollyanna is looking forward to the next few months as the last three were…….interesting in the Chinese sense “May you have an interesting life”. I do, sigh.
But I also read a book by Linda Grant called The clothes on their backs. And that sent me to her blog. It’s the perfect blog for a new beginning and complements Plain Jane’s blog about sartorial spendour, I reckon.
“Our vulnerability suddenly touched me, all our terrible, moving weaknesses in a jacket, a skirt, a pair of shoes.” (The clothes on their back).
I also liked the blog about Advanced Style. As “one” approaches sixty “one” does need to worry about How To Dress.
So yesterday I bought moisturiser that cost $xxx.xx. I didn’t know that moisturiser could cost that much. But a colleague (much younger) buys moisturiser that costs closer to $500.00. So I figured I was doing ok.
Must be spring.
PS: There’s a tango sub theme in the book!
being crippled
Perhaps the crippledness that we have is not always physical. Perhaps it’s living with, knowing people who are, and being addicted.
I have one of those in my life and the sense of being crippled I have from the physical defects I suffer is nothing compared with the sense I have of watching someone who has talents, skills and a lovely smile descend into a drunken stupor every night.
Yes it’s temporary and, yep, in some circles I’m an enabler.
But I always think “I can deal with this” and as a good friend said “Well, you can’t really can you?”
It affects the psyche and the balance. There’s a sense of negativity and wastage.
And while it helps me understand how it must be for women who are in abusive relationships it’s a lesson I don’t need any more. I think that people who live with addicted people must be the most pollyannish in the world. Always thinking it will improve. Always hopeful. I also learned that it’s not good to keep it a secret. So I’m posting this.
June
Hmmm it’s been a month:
sewage in basement and subsequent insurers and cleaners
muddy drive and car slipping backwards needing tow truck to get out
dvd player broke
fire alarm goes off every 3 hours or so
salacious videos being sent to my facebook page
more 6pm calls wanting to tell me (I assume) my computer is sending error messages
and other stuff.
Sigh. My house is rejecting me, perchance.
