Stormy Weather

May 29, 2016 by Gavin

The rain is pouring down and I can’t go to the beach. Well I could but it would involve finding my rain gear. It’s easier to stay in bed and just listen to the rain on the roof.

On days like this I’m glad I’m a homo sapien - not a farm animal. Imagine being a cow or a sheep - out in the middle of the paddock - enduring the wet and cold - looking across at the farmhouse – seeing those humans inside - warm and cosy - it would make you want to crap all over their lawn!

As a kid I spent a fair bit of time out in the rain. That was the thing with farming – irrespective of weather conditions you had to go outside and round up the herd for milking.

The worst were those stormy, winter mornings. I would be up before five, staggering out the front door into the dark and driving rain. After untying the dog, it would be a journey down the race, through the ankle deep mud, up to the cow paddock. Sometimes my torch would fail and I’d grope my way along the fence line, looking for the gate, hoping not to come in contact with an electrified wire.

Despite being battered by the elements, I still enjoyed winter. It was an exciting time. We had a couple of rivers that would flood, sweeping logs and all manner of things across the fields. Once a dog house came floating through from the neighbours. In one storm, lightning split a huge gum tree right down the middle. Thankfully it happened in the middle of the night when I was safely tucked up in bed.

Storms are most intimidating when they bring lightning. In Sweden they have this thing called ball lightning. I was warned one time by my mother in law to keep the windows and doors closed; a storm was approaching. She said that drafts would attract lightning. Thinking it was just an old wives tale, I ignored her advice.

Lo and behold, ten minutes later a flash of light, the size of a tennis ball, came through the half open window. It gave me the fright of my life, sounding off like gunshot. Luckily I was at the other end of the room.

This week I got another fright. Karin has to have an operation.

Isn’t it crazy - one minute you’re all good - everything is humming along nicely - next minute you’re facing a health crisis.

So here we are waiting for blood test results, wondering why all this is happening to Karin. It’s like the rain is coming through the roof - the storm’s getting personal.

Hopefully this one will pass quickly.

Smile and Just Accept

May 22, 2016 by Gavin

I’ve been listening to John Grant again; a song called I Wanna Go To Marz. It has such a strong melody – one that sweeps you away. Can’t say I like all the lyrics though. The first verse is just a list of ice cream flavours. It seems a shame to sell the song short like that.

Sometimes ignorance is bliss. Sometimes I wish I could turn off the critical part of my brain and just savour this thing we call life. Still critical analysis has its rewards. The wine connoisseur decides what they like and what they don’t. It gives them a sense of power, of control. What they choose gains a higher value.

I tell the kids - the more things you like - the more things you can enjoy. Food is usually the catalyst for this conversation. When presented with a new dish, Emily and Michael’s first response is caution. They may even baulk without sampling it or try a minute portion before returning to their regular food. It is fairly rare for them to charge ahead and eat it all up, unless of course chocolate is one of the ingredients.

So I guess Karin and I have failed as parents on the food front. We haven’t cultivated a sense of adventure with food. But then again I could be proven wrong. The kids might end up like me with music, critical to the nth degree but keen to sample it from a variety of select sources.

It’s an interesting debate; how to get the most out of life – cherry pick what looks like the best options or simply throw yourself into everything. I favour the idea of casting your net wide then specialising later. It’s a bit like the tree with its roots spread wide. The further the reach, the sturdier it becomes.

Well back to John Grant. I’m about to put on the headphones for It Doesn’t Matter To Him with Sinead O’Connor. Great song – pity about the backing vocal…..oops – there I go again. I’ll turn it up loud and drown out my inner voice.

I should have been educated in somewhere like Japan – I could have learnt to accept – to smile and just accept!

Delayed Winter

May 15, 2016 by Gavin

Here we go - another spell of good weather. It’s mid May but it still feels like mid March. Today’s predicted high is 22.

We’re off to Whakatane this afternoon. There’s a treadmill we’re checking out for Michael’s birthday. He wants to reach peak fitness before the school cross country in July.

There’s a lot to be said for keeping fit. The endorphins that flood your system are a great antidote for stress and the increased blood flow gets rid of the toxins accumulating in your body. But these benefits mean little to Michael. His motivation is Harrison, the fastest kid at school. He wants to give him a good run for his money.

If we buy the treadmill, the next thing will be deciding where to put it. Michael wants it behind the sofa in the lounge. Karin is undecided. I’m thinking the garage. For me the lounge is a sacred place – a place for relaxation and entertainment. Besides, the garage stays cool – our lounge gets too hot for working out.

Tomorrow Michael has soccer at Matamata. We’ll be heading back over the Kaimai Range.

Last weekend we had to take a detour on the way home due to an accident. The detour took us along a narrow country road, across a couple of single lane bridges. The traffic was heavy both ways. This made negotiating the bridges interesting. With no-one to direct traffic – no-one to tell drivers when to go and when to wait – it was left to individual discretion.

Surprise! Surprise! There was no agro. It was all amazingly orderly. About a dozen cars would cross the bridge from one side, then an equal number would cross from the other. It suggests that all the bad press Joe Public gets isn’t deserved. Most people are co-operative by nature.

Well this blog is about to reach a sudden end. Michael wants to go down the field and practice his long shots for tomorrow. I might be mid May but it looks like we’ll need sunblock. Might have to leave it out for the rest of the year!

Cafe Post

May 8, 2016 by Gavin

I’m presently sitting in a strange cafe in a strange city. I’ve just enjoyed a delicious bacon and egg pie, a large cheese scone and a flat white coffee. All for $13. It was great. As I leave I’m going to let the owner know how much I liked it.

Hamilton probably doesn’t deserve the title ‘strange’. It used to be my ‘home town’ about thirty five years ago. I can’t say the Hamilton vibe has changed that much. There’s still lots of students roaming the streets and small dairies dotting every second corner.

As for the cafe I’m at, it’s pretty conventional – round tables, round chairs, wooden floor. The only strange thing about it is the frosted window at one end which serves as a wall. It’s frosted so that you can’t see into the hairdressing saloon next door. However, they’ve left a long, clear strip of glass about 40 centimetres wide. I’m watching a woman getting her hair permed. I think she was watching me before.

That clear strip of glass is a sign of the times. We are all watching each other these days, whether it’s in real life or on social media. There’s an amusing short film called Text Me that examines this phenomenon. It shows how a lot of us are in two ‘social places’ at once. While we are talking to the person in front of us, we are also often communicating with someone else in ‘media space.’ It leaves us only partly present in ‘the now’.

Anyrate, back to why I’m in a ‘strange cafe’ in a ‘strange city’ this morning. I’m filling in time. Emily is in the hall at Hamilton Boys High School doing her S.A.T. exams. They last four hours - the poor thing.

She’s got her sights set on gaining a scholarship next year to an American university. Can’t say I like the idea but its’ the fire that’s burning in her belly. I’ve tried pouring cold water on it and failed. She’s a teenager – intent on carving her own path in the world. I wish she’d take advice and keep to the straight and narrow – go to A.U.T. and come home the odd weekend - it’s a much safer path. But I guess it comes back to that saying – a ship is safe in the harbour but that is not what ships are made for. Living in the States would certainly force her to grow up in a hurry. With Mum and Dad so far away, she’d have to solve all her own problems.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

I’ve left the café and I’m now back in the car park waiting for Emily to come out of the exam. My God! - It’s been five hours since she entered the hall. Her brain must be fried. Part of me hopes that she strides across the car park beaming with confidence - the other part of me wants to see her collapse into the passenger seat, totally dejected. I’ll feign concern as she abandons her pursuit of her American dream.

So I’ll sign off now before she returns. There’s two more exams this year. If we do come back for them, I’ll be sure to return to that strange café in this strange city. I can watch more Hamiltonians get their hair done.

Bundle of Nerves

May 1, 2016 by Gavin

We took the dogs to the vet yesterday. It was time for their immunisation. When the needle came out Mondo was good but Talos immediately ran for the hills. Luckily Michael intercepted him in the waiting room. Border collies. They can be a bundle of nerves.

Anxiety isn’t confined to dogs though. Some people can fill a room with it. Michael had to see a new physio the other day. His regular was unavailable. She shepherded us into her office and began questioning Michael about his knee injury. The ‘hurry’ in her voice made things uncomfortable. I wanted to tell her to slow down, stop stressing herself and let the silences fall naturally but she kept filling every moment with words.

After leaving her office I asked Michael what he thought of her.

“She was okay,” he replied unenthusiastically.

Professionals have an uphill battle winning trust when they don’t act confident. Self assurance doesn’t guarantee competence but we treat it as an indicator. It would be hard to put your faith in a surgeon who appeared nervous before your operation. Every day we put our trust in other people. We want them to act confident. It helps us relax. So what steers people towards nervousness? Does it begin with low self confidence?

I suspect that the physio, who was young and new to her job, feared that her inexperience would show through. Talos was nervous at the vets because he feared what the stranger in the strange office with the strange needle was about to do. It makes me wonder about myself. Do I come across as confident or anxious?

I think context often determines my behaviour. In some situations I’m as cool as a cucumber, other times I’m like a blind man in a minefield.

Last year I played a live gig at the Otumoetai Hotel. It was the worse experience ever, worse in fact than jumping off Coffee Creek Bridge (see previous post). Nerves got the better of me. I stumbled my way through the performance, hitting the wrong notes and feeling greatly relieved when I exited the stage.

I kicked myself later for stressing, for letting a simple thing like playing a couple of songs become so huge in my mind. Lack of confidence had allowed my fear of public humiliation to swamp me.

So I’ve decided to try a hypnotist next time. He or she can put me in a trance, one that floods me with confidence. I’ll grace the stage like Freddie Mercury did at Wembley. The only fear I’ll have is that the audience will crush me later as they fight for autographs.

Well, it’s late and bed is beckoning. Talos is sprawled across the floor looking content. It’s a shame he can’t be like that at the vets. Maybe we should swap roles – he could go on stage and howl a few notes and I could take his place at the vets. Actually come to think of it... needles… they’re not really my cup of tea. I’ll stick to overcoming my stage fright.

Risking It

April 24, 2016 by Gavin

It’s Saturday morning. The lawn is still a respectable length and the housework’s been done. I can relax.

I look out the window at the blue sky. It’s autumn and I’m still in T shirt and shorts. Karin has just clambered out of bed and agreed to a swim after breakfast. We’ll take the dogs with us – they can drown some fleas.

Hopefully the beach won’t be too busy. Things are changing around here. Our quiet little beach town has become a refuge for Aucklanders fleeing rising house prices. There’s more cars on the road - more houses popping up like mushrooms - more footprints in the sand.

That’s why I prefer the early morning. On week days I hit the beach around six. Sometimes there’ll be a kayaker, or a fisherman with his long line, capitalising on the change of light. But usually those tide swept acres of sand are deserted.

Sometimes I forget Talos’s leash but he’s okay without it. The one object I mustn’t forget is his ball. That small, yellow sphere is the centre of his universe. The gymnastics he performs to catch it are quite spectacular. Karin worries he’ll put his back out but he’s still young and supple. He’s okay. It’s a risk worth taking when weighed against the joy he derives from executing his aerial manoeuvres.

Assessing risk is an interesting business. It brings to light our ability to judge things - to weigh gain against pain. With Talos, there is no such assessment. He sees the ball and retrieves it as quickly as possible. If it meant running across a four lane highway, he would do it. The ball is his only focus.

But we humans are a bit more complicated. We can see the big picture. The reward for risking life and limb needs to be significant. Last week there was a guy who attempted a backwards flip over a car coming at him around 100 kilometres per hour. He pulled it off and gained both fame and money. But you had to question the value he put on his life.

As I’ve grown older I’ve eased back on the risk taking. Screaming down dirt tracks on my motocross bike - jumping off cliffs into murky water - paddling out into wild cyclone swells - these activities are confined to my past.

Yes risk sits best with the young. Old age makes you look before you leap. In fact, it makes you look, have a closer look, think about it, talk about it, look again, analyse the pros and cons, then tell yourself you’ll leap at a more suitable time. At the risk of further procrastination, I’ll sign off. It’s time for breakfast.

I could ask Karin to serve up some greasy bacon and eggs but that might be risking it. Low fat muesli - low calorie rice milk – that’s my lot these days.

Phone Call

April 17, 2016 by Gavin

I got a phone call at 9.15 Wednesday night. It was my 87 year old mother.

“Can you take me to hospital?” she groaned. Twenty minutes later we were at the lights, waiting for the green signal. As we neared the hospital, Mum’s discomfort worsened. Sharp abdominal pains increased in frequency and her breathing became strained. I started to think about her heart. Would it cope?

At the emergency ward, the receptionist said we’d have to wait about twenty minutes for a nurse to assess her. I bundled Mum into a wheelchair and joined the other patients waiting for attention. Across from us a young man wearing a Tai Kwon Do robe cradled a bent arm. In the corner, a dark browed middle aged man harangued a frail, young woman. I shuddered to think why they were there. Next to us, an old Maori man hummed a tune as he stared at the ceiling. Just as I asked Mum how she was doing, another wave of pain hit her. A minute later she gasped, “Not good.”

I looked at her grim expression and realised that pain is a very personal thing. You can tell others what it’s like but only you experience it. At that moment Mum was alone in the world. She could broadcast her misery but the only she could feel its intensity.

Soon after she was taken into a small room down the corridor. The first course of action was morphine. One shot wasn’t enough - the nurse gave her another. Meanwhile Mum was subjected to a barrage of tests including an Xray and a blood test.

While this was happening I sat in a chair across from her bed, feeling awkward and unhelpful. There was nothing to do but watch other people do their jobs. Some did it well, others just cleared the hurdle. You could pick out straight away the nurses who enjoyed what they were doing - their face, their voice, the way they interacted with Mum, all these things told a story. They are indeed powerful people who decide your fate. You surrender your independence to them at the hospital door.

Anyrate, after much staring at white walls, the blood tests came back. Thankfully they were normal. The Xray also failed find anything untoward. It was 2.30 a.m. Mum’s pain had abated so she was sent home. That’s when the fireworks began.

A couple of minutes after stepping in the front door, Mum became violently sick. She tried to make the toilet but failed. The next hour was spent wiping vomit of the wall. The good news was that ‘the nasty stuff’ was no longer inside her. It had been expelled.

The next day, she was shattered but okay. It turned out that she’d had a dodgy steak and mushroom pie for tea. She’d suffered food poisoning. It’s hard on anybody but being eighty seven hadn’t helped. Still she’s a hardy soul is my mum. She lives on her own in a big house with a big garden. Her bedroom is upstairs which means she plays Russian Roulette with the stairs every day. But she refuses to move downstairs. She’s as stubborn as they come.

Now as I sign off this blog I’m thinking about the mushrooms in our fridge. They’ve been in there all week. Think I might bin them rather than risk food poisoning. They say eating is one of the most dangerous things you do in life. Mum’s Wednesday night episode was ample proof.

Blog Post 14

April 10, 2016 by Gavin

Oh dear. A week has passed by and I haven’t produced a blog post. So much for my resolution to be a weekly blogger. I’ve been flat out with work and other things but that’s no excuse. My time management needs to improve.

I also need to learn to write faster. I’ve developed a tendency to paw over things instead of just going for it. It’s much more exciting when your words are racing across the page. So here goes. I’ll time myself and see if I can write 200 words in ten minutes.

Words, words, words. That was three. Now it’s nine. Quantity over quality. Is that the answer? Maybe not.

Ideas drive words. Good ideas produce lots of them. But that’s my problem. The black hole between my ears means I’m struggling to put something meaningful together.

Meaningful. Now that’s an ‘ interesting word’. I can use it as a springboard.

I had a ‘meaningful’ discussion with Talos this morning. I said beach and he wagged his tail. Then I said leash and it stopped. He’s become accustomed to free roaming his way down to the beach. He’s pretty good. He stays close at heel and waits on the roadside verge until I say cross.

So when the leash went on, he looked a bit put out. A large dog was approaching. I needed to be able to haul him away if the other dog got aggro. But it wagged it’s tail and passed without trouble. I took off Tali’s leash and his tail immediately resumed it’s sideways motion. Wouldn’t it be great if humans had tails. We could talk to strangers and immediately know what they thought of us.

Another meaningful conversation occurred soon after the ‘the passing dog incident.’ I got a call from Michael’s physio. Michael injured his knee at Futsal yesterday. It’s one of the many leg injuries he’s sustained in the last six months. The problem lies with his bones growing faster than his muscles. It’s putting strain on the ends where the muscles attach to the bone.

We couldn’t get an appointment today – we’ll have to wait until tomorrow. It’s a real shame. He has a skills session tonight with Danny, a coach from Everton. After falling out with Martin, Michael’s original soccer coach, (see previous post ‘ Hellish Week’ ) we opted for change. It’s been the right move. But now he’ll be out of action all week. Injury – it’s the demon that haunts every sportsperson.

Oh well. At least Michael’s got You Tube. He spends half his life on the couch looking at football videos. He’s gone football mad. I wonder what’s next. Girls?

I’ve just done a word count. I produced 328 words in ten minutes. I feel better now. I’ve caught up on my missing post. It might not be riveting but at least it’s cataloguing my life. Some people reminisce with a photo album, I’ll be doing it with blog posts.

Blog Post 14 is now complete.

My One Avid Fan

April 3, 2016 by Gavin

I picked up my songbook today and revisited a few of my old tunes. It was interesting. Some were definitely stronger than others. As I played the chords the best ones took immediate shape, others were slower to reincarnate.

So what determines a song’s strength? Is it the emotion it invokes? Is it the picture it paints in your mind? I’m not sure what the magic ingredient is but some songs cement their place in your psyche and that’s it – they’re there forever.

Many musicians call their songs ‘old friends’. These ‘friends’ keep their identity regardless of who breathes life into them. Take Bob Dylan’s ‘All Along The Watchtower’. When Hendrix gave it an ‘electric makeover’ it sounded different but the assertive melody - the cinematic lyric– the wry introspection - these aspects didn’t change. When Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young took Woodstock and turned it into an anthem of the times, though the song’s heart bet faster, it still came from the same place staked out by Joni Mitchell.

This morning in the car Emily played an old folk tune on her phone. The melody was beautifully simple with a lyric lamenting the hardships of life. With just voice and guitar, it gave vibrance to our day. The great paradox of music is how it can bemoan yet celebrate life at the same time.

Yes songs are a treat when they articulate the human condition so well. It’s no wonder they get passed from one generation to the next. Greensleeves is a good example. It’s been around for almost five hundred years. McCartney’s Yesterday and Lennon’s Imagine will most likely follow suit.

So back to my compositions. There’s about twenty left in the songbook after my latest cull. One day, I’ll get them recorded and have them as company in my old age. I can play them to the other rest home residents. They can turn up their hearing aids, smile and tell me how good I was.

For now I’ll keep bashing away on my guitar, perched on the kitchen stool - happy that I’ve got one avid fan by my side.

God bless man’s best friend.

Looking Around

March 27, 2016 by Gavin

I’m sitting in the car waiting for Michael to finish his soccer training. The sky is black even though nightfall is still a while away. Rain is coming. Again.

It’s been a busy summer with the lawn. Normally I get a break as the grass turns brown but this year it’s stayed annoyingly green. It’s needed mowing every weekend.

I heard today from a real estate agent that our tenants are letting their lawn turn into a hayfield. I guess we’ll have to pay someone to mow it. Part of me asks - why? If the tenants don’t mind, then why should we?

It’s a bit like my hair. I’m toying with the idea of letting it grow without restraint. Even though it would mean a thin, grey ponytail, it could be fun returning to the sixties. Karin might get a kick out of it. She could pretend to be John Key and pull me around the house.

This morning I visited Pak’nSave and did the weekly stock up. It was all pretty mundane until I got to the checkout. I heard a worker talking about a light that was playing up. It made me look above the aisles and see the rows of huge lights hanging haphazardly from the ceiling. Above them, you could see the silver insulation paper roughly held in place by wire netting. Everything was suddenly exposed. The façade was gone. I was in a warehouse whose lower portions were dressed up to look like a supermarket.

It’s funny how we limit our vision. All the countless times I pushed my trolley down the aisle, I’d never once had a proper look at the ceiling. I was too involved in deciding what went into my trolley - too focussed on the immediate.

Focussing on the immediate can be both good and bad. It’s great when you want all your powers of concentration to fall onto one thing. But it’s limiting when it means you to fail to see the forest for the trees. David Lange noted his one regret from his time in office was not stopping to have ‘a cup of tea’. He got swept away with the immediate and allowed Rogernomics to widen the gap between the rich and poor.

Distance can be a useful tool for assessing where things belong. They say a mountain climber sees the mountain clearest from a distance. Sometimes you need to step back to allow the water to clear. I guess we should train our eyes, aka our brain, to take long shots of life. Too much of our day is filled with close ups. We forget to examine the big picture.

So levity is my word for today. And I’m going to find it without resorting to drugs or meditation. Next Sunday when I’m cruising down the Pak’nSave aisles I’ll look up - see the make shift ceiling and go –

“My God. Karin’s right. I should be at Countdown!”

My Cup of Tea

March 20, 2016 by Gavin

It’s Sunday night and I’m enjoying the quiet. It’s been a busy weekend. Sport. Housework. Beach. Lawns. More sport. Now it’s time to put my feet up and write about what’s appeared on my radar this last week.

Before I start though, let me announce - this is my eleventh blog post. Yes I’m into double digits. The question is – will I get to three or even four digits?

Well, bar a heart attack or an asteroid strike, I’m hoping to blog my way into old age. It’s good for the soul - sitting down and giving your thoughts a voice. It’s cathartic. So on with this week’s post….

I was talking with someone about the T.V. series Breaking Bad. He had watched the first few episodes then decided it wasn’t his cup of tea. I suspect the violence and the gore put him off. I can’t say I like watching body parts being dissolved in acid either. But Bryan Cranston’s masterful portrayal of Walt helped offset my repulsion. The violence provided context, it showed the kind of territory Walt was now inhabiting.

Anyrate, the great thing about our conversation was the way it ended. It was clear we had opposing views but there was acceptance - acceptance of the simple fact that what rocked my boat didn’t have to stir the water for him.

The same thing happened earlier in the week when I shared the name John Grant with a work colleague. I’d listened to a Kim Hill radio interview and become excited by Grant’s music. His melodies ‘rocked my boat’, his lyrics, although brutally raw, were engaging. So my work mate You Tubed him. But he remained unmoved. He didn’t dislike Grant but the music simply wasn’t his cup of tea.

It hammers home a basic truth – that what fires my engine may leave others cold. There is a strange comfort in this idea. We are individuals. Future technologies may be able to clone our bodies but they’ll never replicate our myriad of likes and dislikes? These are decided by an array of environmental and genetic factors, combining at random in each individual.

Now as I relax in my lounge chair I wonder what a stranger would be thinking if they were suddenly transported into my life. The acrylic beach painting on the wall, the bordercollie running through the house, the black leather lounge suite, the palm tree I just planted out in the garden. Would these things be their cup of tea?

Would they appreciate Emily and her black humour, Michael and his incessant ball kicking, Karin and her nonchalant attitude towards propriety.

Who knows? Who cares?

It’s my brew and I’ll keep drinking it. Blog post 1,000 – here I come!

Hellish Week

March 13, 2016 by Gavin

Well it’s been a hellish week. I ended up getting offside with someone who is important to my son’s future. The problem was money. The ‘said individual’ wasn’t happy that Michael was receiving extra tuition. He wanted sole claim on his learning and of course, the dollars that went with it.

Things escalated to a venomous email that accused me of orchestrating rebellion against his business. The truth was twisted to suit his purpose and I was left fuming.

Before retaliating, I had to take into account what was best for Michael. He has been doing well up until now. Should I upset the apple cart and terminate his training?

I decided to play it safe and take a conciliatory approach. My ego was put inside a small, dark cupboard. It could see the light of day some other time.

The lesson I’ve learnt this week is that money can overshadow good intentions. Many businesses purport to care about your welfare when actually their main concern is making money. This can still be alright for the consumer if quality is driving the market. In a healthy commercial environment businesses that can offer the best products and services flourish. Capitalism shines. Everyone’s happy. But when businesses resort to crippling opposition through regulation, quality is given a back seat. The consumer suffers.

The term capitalism originates from the industrial revolution when individuals were able to amass considerable capital through private ventures. Factories made handsome profits for entrepreneurs and a new working class was established.

Though life was grim for those on the factory floor, the future looked better for the next generation. Free education was available. School children could work hard and improve their lot. They could scale the economic ladder.

But was this a realistic goal? History suggests that the ascension to wealth is usually determined by ones ‘starting position’ in life. Those disadvantaged by gender, background or race, end up holding the ladder rather than climbing it. And the widening gap between the top and bottom rung worsens their plight.

If left unchecked, capitalism erodes social equity, making the rich richer and the poor poorer. Recently a two level, five room mansion on Waiheke Island went up in smoke. Why? Because its design was dated. It seems obscene that whilst a million people live in tin shacks, crowded into one square mile of the Dharavi slum, New Delhi, a rich man, bored with the interior layout of his million dollar house, can reduce it to ashes. Just so he can start again!

It’s been proposed that the salary of CEOs be limited to say twenty or thirty times the salary of the company’s lowest paid worker. This seems fair. For such an idea to work, Government regulation would be required. The push towards a more equable, caring society, must come from the top.

At present governments use G.D.P. to measure their country’s progress? Often this yardstick doesn’t reflect quality of life. Remember when China was the envy of other nations with a G.D.P. in double digits. How many Chinese ended up in morgues due to respiratory illness triggered by the pollution that came with their ‘extraordinary growth.’

Capitalism mustn’t be allowed free rein. Society needs to devise ways of measuring the welfare of its population. Then economic goals can be tailored towards meeting peoples needs and levelling the playing field.

We must abandon the doctrine that money is king; that the super rich are national heroes who deserve New Year Honours. In a hundred years time will the Donald Trumps of this world – those with the luxurious mansions and fabulous super yachts – still be admired? Will our adulation of wealth continue as the planet reels from the effects of corporations steered by self interest.

Or will the rich become despised, forced to spend half their fortune on high walls and high security?

As Andrew Ryan discovered with Rapture, in it’s pure form, capitalism leads to injustice. Objectivism would be fine if all men were islands. But we live in a global village. Governments should endeavour to keep a balance between the opposing forces of co-operation and competition.

We are not perfect beings. We need guidance.

Rest and Repair

March 6, 2016 by Gavin

Today I read about Fatal Familial Insomnia. It’s a condition that begins with one or two sleepless nights then escalates into a hellish state where sleep becomes unattainable. Hallucinations and panic attacks become frequent as your brain struggles to function without the usual rest and repair process of sleep. After a few months you sink into a state of dementia. Then you die!

It sounds like a terrible way to go but at least we can be thankful that it’s a fairly rare disorder.

Stacking the zeds has always come easy for me. I’m lucky - when my head hits the pillow its lights out. My wife is different. She lies in bed mulling over things. Sometimes she does this for too long and becomes over tired. She’ll wake me up thinking I’m interested in the problem she’s finally solved. I grunt and groan then slip back into dreamland.

Evidently what causes overtiredness is adrenaline. When sleep doesn’t come at the expected time, your brain goes on alert, releasing adrenaline to deal with whatever ‘extraordinary event’ is keeping you awake. I guess it all goes back to our ancestors needing the adrenaline boost when a wild beast appeared outside their cave halfway through the night.

Our brains are a marvel of evolution - a biological wonder that has enabled unprecedented adaption. Some people argue that instead of spending millions on transporting people across the solar system to Mars, we should be putting the money towards further exploration of this amazing organ inside our skulls.

Genetic memory suggests that the thoughts of our ancestors are stored somewhere in our labyrinth of synapses. Wouldn’t it great to know how Lucy, the early hominoid, viewed the world. Could she see things that we’ve become blind to? Did her cerebral cortex allow a wider flow of sensory information into her hippocampus? Was the universe, with its acoustic gravity waves, ringing in her ears?

Last week scientists discovered that the hippocampus – that important organiser in the brain – can be tampered with. It looks like certain memories can be deleted. This could prove useful in cases of post traumatic stress. The horrific event could be erased, freeing the individual from it’s residual effect.

It makes me think about which memories I would choose to delete. There’s a few that come to mind including visits to the murder house– otherwise known as the school dental clinic. What a traumatic experience that was - having my enamel shattered by a screaming drill - my nerves transmitting pure pain to my delicate, young brain. It was an experience that cut deep into my psyche - so deep that I still dread going to the dentist today.

If some memories can be erased then maybe others can be rejuvenated with technology. Imagine closing your eyes and having the best moments of your past come back to life. Wouldn’t it be great to relive the joy of your first few steps or that teenage date with that first heart stopping kiss. On your death bed, you could be savouring these magic times, departing the world with a huge smile on your face.

Well it’s getting late and bed is beckoning. I’ll pass into dreamland tonight with the thought that sleep is good for my brain.

Rest and repair – yes that’s what it needs - especially more of the latter!

Strangers in the House

February 28, 2016 by Gavin

The sky has no borders. No-one seems to know where it starts or where it ends. When I walk to the letterbox am I passing through the sky? If you say that it begins above the ground then I must be. And when astronauts travel towards the moon, is there a point where Houston tells them - you are now leaving the sky and entering space?

I was coming back from an early morning jog yesterday when I noticed a star above the horizon. All the others had gone. I looked again and realised it wasn’t a star. It’s rectangular shape signalled a satellite.

I mentioned it to Emily at the breakfast table. “ It’s the international space station,” she informed me - an app on her phone confirmed it.

This morning I had another look at it. Wonder filled my eyes. There were human beings up there amongst the stars. Star people!

Sometimes I wonder how far technology will take us. Will it allow inhabitation of Mars? The Milky Way? Other universes? Will a wormhole trick time and let us slip into the future…… or maybe it would be wiser to choose the past.

Before my grandmother died, she confided in me that she’d seen a UFO when she was eleven. It had hovered over the KatiKati hills, witnessed by her and a friend. They had kept it to themselves for fear of being mocked.

Now as I entertain the idea of extra-terrestrial life, I think back to my grandmother. Have we come any closer since her death to discovering the truth about UFOs? So many mysteries have been unravelled since 1978 – if there were ‘strangers in the house’ surely we’d know by now.

Or is the truth being cleverly concealed by world leaders? Are they in co hoots with the aliens; fine tuning an escape plan to the stars for themselves and their immediate kin should nuclear war return Earth to the cockroaches.

Sometimes I wish I was rich enough to buy a ride on a rocket. Just imagine looking out the window and seeing the Earth – a huge, blue sphere, radiating life. It would make you realise that your home is much bigger than just your local neighbourhood.

So for now I’ll keep praying for a lotto win. They say five million will buy you an astronaut’s view of the world. I could try wishing upon a star but it will probably just be a satellite.

Coffee Creek Bridge

February 21, 2016 by Gavin

I look out the window. It's early evening. The street lights have come to life. The neighbour's music is getting louder. It's Saturday night.
If I was younger I might be joining them next door but I've had enough action for today. I haul myself up from the lounge chair, draw the blinds and turn up the T.V.
We took a trip down the coast this afternoon. The new motorway is a real timesaver. In less than an hour we were there ­ standing on the edge of the Ohope Wharf, willing ourselves to take the plunge into the green, swirling water.
I thought Michael might baulk at the height but he jumped first. It's quite a feeling ­ slicing through the air ­ each second of freefall accelerating your heartbeat until you smack the water and disappear from view.
I watched Michael pop back up to the surface, smiling, and it made me remember Coffee Creek Bridge.

When I was fourteen I went there with some mates. Perched on the white wooden rail, the one thing I wasn’t doing was smiling. For one whole hour, I stood there, trembling like a leaf, enduring a serious attack of vertigo. I kept telling myself I was going to jump. But I couldn’t.
The mental torture finally ended when Wendy Leonard scaled the side of the bridge and launched herself into the air. She didn’t even hesitate! That was it. I had no choice. I couldn't live down watching a girl do it.

I don’t recall the falling – I probably had my eyes closed. But I remember the relief of my body meeting the water, then looking back up at the yellow light that signalled the surface. The oxygen that filled my lungs as I broke back into daylight was the sweetest ever. I’d beaten my fear.

That day I learnt about dithering. If you’re going to do something – just do it – strike while the iron is hot.
I tried to pass this wisdom on to Karin as she teetered on the edge of the wharf. Her look told me that if I wanted to avoid a black eye, I should keep my thoughts to myself.
So I went with Michael to look at some sprats. A minute later we heard the splash,
“Was that Mum?” asked Michael.
I nodded.
“She did it!” he exclaimed.
“Yeah just like Wendy Leonard,” I added.
He looked at me blankly then ran back up the steps for another jump – this time off a higher section of the wharf.

“Should I follow?” I pondered.

Now what did Coffee Creek teach me .....If in doubt, do it.

“Coming,” I called.

A Beautiful Speaker

February 14, 2016 by Gavin

Conversations have a habit of starting small then growing big. They can be like the assembly line at a car factory. As the chassis moves down the line, various parts are added. And the more people involved, the more swiftly the parts are added. With big groups, timing is everything. If you are overly polite and wait for a lull in the conversation before adding your part, you're likely to find the conversation has moved to a new place and that your part is obsolete.
I saw this happen to a colleague the other day. The topic was a recent televised sports ceremony. The talk was fast and the conversation grew from mild acceptance to full endorsement of the event. I watched my colleague trying to find a gap in the conversation. Finally, when the discussion had moved to another topic, she found a space,
"Yes. He was a beautiful speaker." She was referring a young man who excelled on the podium.
There was an embarrassing pause then everyone returned to the new topic. It made me glad that I was standing on the outside of the conversation. Unlike my colleague I could follow what was being said without feeling compelled to contribute. I could muse over things in my own time. I guess that's what's great about movies; about watching life being replicated by actors on a screen. You can be voyeuristic without being rude, you can reflect without having to interact.

Anyway, the use of the term ‘beautiful speaker’ got me thinking. What else do we label as beautiful? Beautiful scenery, beautiful voices, beautiful lyrics, beautiful minds. Obviously the b word covers many things. But should it cover more?
Could not the beautiful baby morph into a beautiful eater, a beautiful crawler, a beautiful walker? Earlier this week I was at a loose end waiting for my daughter to come out of the stationery shop. I started 'people watching.' I observed an old man negotiating the pedestrian crossing. Despite his age, he moved with an easy grace, slowly gliding across the white lines without a care in the world, oblivious to the cars banked on either side. Thinking back now –he was indeed a beautiful walker!

So I think I’ll try adding the beautiful label to my own daily endeavours. On Monday morning, as I commute to work, I'll accept the traffic build up and go with the flow, fast or slow. I’ll become a beautiful driver.
And as I glide through my busy Monday morning work schedule, smiling, I’ll stop for a moment by the water cooler. I’ll raise my glass and celebrate the fact that I’ve become a beautiful worker.
As they say beauty is in the eye of the beholder. From now on I’ll wear my beautiful rose tinted glasses from dawn til dusk. And if I’m party to a conversation about the transient nature of beauty, I’ll display beautiful timing and deliver five beautiful words.

Long live the beautiful delusion!

Better Coffee

February 7, 2016 by Gavin

Some things in life can’t be avoided. Death and taxes are two. Holidays coming to an end is another.

This week I bit the bullet and returned to that place that keeps my bank balance afloat.

It was hell. How can life be good when your dreams are cut short, when you’re forced to drag yourself out of bed at the ungodly hour of seven. Stumbling from the bathroom, blurry eyed, with a head that still belonged on the pillow, it was all a mad rush to get out the door before eight. By the time I got to work I was exhausted.

Thankfully the ordeal’s over. At least for now. It’s Friday night. I’m battered and bruised, a lifeless blob. The indentation I’m forming in the lounge chair isn’t the same as last week. It’s deeper.

Times like this trigger dreams of lotto. Two or three million - that would put the bounce back into my step. Imagine the decisions I’d have to make. I’m not sure which would come first -a visit to the BMW car yard or the travel agency?

Being rich would certainly open a few doors. It would close some too. I’d stop scrutinizing the price tag on clothes, quit worrying about the number of items in my shopping trolley - stop flying economy class.

But would I continue commuting to that place called work?

Mmm now that’s a good question. If I’m honest I have to admit I like being plugged into the system. And I’m lucky. I’ve got a good job. Sometimes though, it swamps my lifestyle - like now. Still even in my present shattered state, I know things will improve. In a couple of weeks I will be back in the swing of things, back in the programme so to speak – five days on – two days off - five days on – two days off. Getting up early will become easier.

So until the holidays return I’ll keep buying lotto tickets, keep moaning about work to anyone who will listen. Behind it all though, I won’t be wanting too much to change. A pay rise would be okay. Better coffee at work would be nice. And a four day working week – now we’re talking. But that might negate the pay rise.

Think I’ll stick with more money and better coffee. And I might get one of those vibrating lounge chairs. Come Friday night – I can shake it all loose.

Choices

February 1, 2016 by Gavin

The weather is dull today. The sky is a heavy grey with a chilly wind coming down the street. The holidays are almost over. I'm on the sofa contemplating exercise. I could do the gym then take the dog for a run down the beach. Or I could stay here . I think I'll opt for the later. Being cosy has more appeal.

Sometimes I hate options. Life is much easier when you're deprived of choice. Yes you guessed it- I'm referring to work. You wake up. You have breakfast. You drive to work. The day passes as you work your way through an agenda that's already been set. You return home, have tea, catch up on family matters and go to bed. It's beautifully simple.
Holidays force you to deviate from that straight ol' line. They lead you up the garden path. Routine's blown out of the water. You can do what you like, whenever you like!
A lot of people give me stick about having long holidays. How can you take seven weeks off?
"What do you do?" they ask, trying to mask their envy.

My usual reply is vague; something like - I work my way through the list of jobs my wife has left me - I start preparing for the year ahead or I keep the kids engaged in meaningful activities. The truth is - much of my holiday time is dedicated to music. I write songs. It's a shame they aren't good enough to be hits but that doesn't stop me getting drawn down the hall towards my little music room. It's my magic sea.

I'm not sure why music has such a tight grip on me. It's been that way since I was a kid. Tunes have always popped into my head and I've always endeavored to pin them down with words. There's an excitement that comes with creativity. I'm never sure where things are going to go. Who knows, one day I might channel something great; create a song that resonates with the general populous; something that justifies all the time spent beavering away in my little room. My wife doesn't think it's likely. She gave up on me years ago when a recording contract fell through. My kids laugh at the prospect of their Dad achieving success in a field dominated by celebrities.
Oh well that's my fate. To be mocked by those nearest and dearest. Regardless I'll continue working on new tunes. It's what I do.

Talos just made his way to the window. He wags his tail and looks at me. He can see himself bounding across the sand dunes. I feel a pang of guilt. Maybe I should get off my backside and do something physical. The gym is in the garage. That means I'll have to go down the hall past my music room. Hmm. Will I go past or will I deviate? Choices. Don't you just love them?!

Instant Knowledge

January 31, 2016 by Gavin

I like mnemonics. They help people like me remember things.
I was in the car today with my son, gliding down the highway, with nothing much to do but admire the vastness of the sky. I started thinking about the workings of the universe. I knew there were nine planets in our solar system but I wasn't sure of their order. I asked Michael if he knew.

He reached across the dashboard and grabbed my Samsung. Ten seconds later he had the answer. Mercury Venus Earth Mars Jupiter Saturn Uranus Neptune Pluto. It made me think; where-ever we go, we're passing through a sea of information. The Net. Who needs God to answer the big questions when you've got wi fi.

We continued our journey with this new information lodged in our brains. Lodged is probably the wrong word for me. Temporarily filed is closer to the truth. Fearful that the file would soon be dislodged, I tried to creating a mnemonic. After rearranging a string of words in my brain I eventually came up with this one.

My very evil mother joyfully stopped Uncle Neville's pacemaker.

"Yes that works!" I cried, somewhat pleased with myself. I'd created something without using the net.
Michael was less impressed.
"It's easy Dad," he said speeling them off again. His eleven year old brain needed no such crutch as my mnemonic.

Dis-spirited I observed the heat waves rising off the road. My thoughts turned back to our own home planet, to Earth and Global Warming. I wonder what Michael will have to say about it when he's my age. Will it have caused mass exodus from low lying lands and with it, mass conflict?. Or will the sun have shown that it's got a mind of it's own, lowering the intensity of it's rays entering our atmosphere and triggering an ice age. Will Michael be remembering hot summer days like today, wishing they'd return.

Whatever the future holds, one thing's for certain. We can't be certain! You can never nail the future. You can be convinced one thing is going to happen and then something completely opposite occurs. At present oil is close to $30 a barrel. Twenty years ago most thought it would be closer to $300. The future, it's an elusive beast.
My dad was right. He used to say nothing in life was certain. Look at the planets. Wikipedia is still saying there's nine but I read the other day, a tenth planet has been discovered. They're calling it Planet X.
I guess I'm going to have to add another word to my brilliant mnemonic - an X word. My very evil mother joyfully stopped Uncle Neville's pacemaker's Xray. No that doesn't work. Oh well - back to the drawing board.
But wait. I know what to do. I'll ask Michael to find an app that will make a new mnemonic. It'll probably only take a few seconds rather than the hour it will take me.

Technology - what a great way to fend off cerebral decay.

Good Bad Weather

January 30, 2016 by Gavin

It's Saturday morning. I’m lying in bed listening to the rain. It's heavy. The temperature has dropped down to 9.
Karin isn't happy. She wanted a fine weekend. She's been working all week - unlike me - I'm only halfway through my break. I don't tell her but I'm pleased about the weather. I see the rain as an improvement from the searing heat of yesterday.
Of the two options, being too hot or being too cold, I prefer the cold. My wife would say it’s the extra padding around my waist that makes the lower temperatures more tolerable. But I think it’s my past that’s determined my preference.
As a kid on the farm I grew to love winter. The mornings would find me on the top of an icy slope with my homemade sled. Avoiding frozen cow pats on the way down whilst gravity accelerated my descent, now that was fun. The icy air, the brittle white grass, the sting of frost on bare skin, these were elements that made the experience so memorable.

Summer was a different story. Long days in the cruel sun come to mind, struggling to lift hay bales up onto the back of the trailer. Sweat stinging my eyes. My throat drier than the Sahara.
Unloading the hay back in the barn was the worst part. Thin walls of corrugated iron lifted the temperature into the high 30s. The air was laden with dust and millions of particles of dried grass. It made breathing hell.
Yes the cold is my ally. The heat, my foe.

So today as I clamber out of bed, the rain makes me smile. I’ll take the dog down the beach. He’ll enjoy the addition of h2o in his experience. It might wash some dust out of his coat.
I think I’ll go in shorts and T Shirt - means I won't have too much cold fabric sticking to my skin. A gentle run should be enough to keep me warm.

So that's today. I wonder what the weather will be like tomorrow. More rain would be welcome but I won't say that to Karin. She'd tell me I need to go back to work. She’ll say that I don’t appreciate fine weekends. She’s probably right!

First Post

January 28, 2016 by Gavin

Well here it is. My first blog. My mind is agog. What thoughts will spill out of my brain? What’s worth highlighting in my life. Family? Work? Recreation? In ten years time when I read this first entry, what will I think? Actually that gives me an idea. I could write to my future self. Yes – I’ll go with that idea.

TODAY SELF
Hello. How’s it going up there along the path?

FUTURE SELF
Great- my website was a huge success. No longer do I have to leave the house to go to work. I can sleep in as long as I want.

TODAY SELF
So do you miss work?

FUTURE SELF
Does a turkey miss Christmas?

TODAY SELF
How's your health?

FUTURE SELF
Almost as good as yours. I'm still running.

TODAY SELF
What's the biggest change you've seen?

FUTURE SELF
My hair- there's less of it.

TODAY SELF
What advice have you got for me?

FUTURE SELF
Stop trying to get to where I am. Just enjoy where you are now.

Okay. That went alright. I found out something about myself - I need to be more centered in the now. And I did it without visiting a psychiatrist. But is such self reflection really necessary? Why bother?
Life is about action. Jack Johnson nailed it- put up or shut up. Victims of global warming - eg. polar bears perched on melting icebergs - aren't going to be saved by a society of navel gazers. Reflection without action means nothing.
With this in mind I'll keep this first blog nice and short. It's hot. The water’s cold. The beach is just across the road. That’s enough to illicit action. Now!

My future self will surely approve.