Category Archives: Parents

Dec 27 2012

The 12 ways of Christmas – The Holiday with the ‘folks’


We’re lucky enough to enjoy a beach house. We’re lucky enough to have ‘Christmas‘ in the summer months, being as how it’s New Zealand and it’s all the other way around.

As “workers” we work hard all year and get a couple of weeks off to do nothing, to laze about, twiddle thumbs, shower occasionally, eat, drink, eat, sleep, nap. It could be so nice.

But we’re also unlucky enough to have parents who drive us madly insane. Not my parents, but the in-laws for me, the parents for MrsPdubyah.

They were school teachers and so eery year they would spend a goodly amount of weeks at the beach house. For them it’s just another house, it’s managed to acquire all the town house things and none of the beach house things.

You could transplant this house to a town and you’d never know. Now holiday homes are different, they are full of art, sea-shells, mis-matched furniture, rustic tables. We don’t have one of those. The neighbours have those. The neighbours….

We have a house at the beach, and it’s a harrowing experience to live though a week here. We used to be able to do 10-14 days, now we get to about 4 days and start getting a twitch. We’ve not had any days at the beach house when they are not here, we call as say “are you going to beach this weekend” they invariably reply “if you are we will”, it’s maddening, frustrating and difficult to broach.

Age will turn you into a prisoner. A prisoner of routine. Every day you have to do the same things. Up at 7am, washing in washing machine at 7:30am, go get newspaper at 7:45am. Cereals at 8 a.m.  Washing the dishes is an immediate task, heaven help us if they are left for more than 10 minutes.

Then it’s 9 a.m. so possibly mowing the lawn, picking fruit from the tree, spraying some weeds. 10 a.m. tea of course. 10:30 is mid morning siesta, because they’ve worn themselves out.

More washing at 11:00 am, they wash clean things to maintain schedule I’m sure of it. Random vacuuming and brushing time till lunch, when we have a selection of mulled over left overs and a cup of warm water.

Hourly switch on the radio at 30 seconds to the hour for the news bulletin, the log range weather for everywhere, then off. No music allowed, and don’t change the channel, ever.

Afternoon siesta.

Discussion about what the neighbours are up to, who’s at the beach, who’s not, why, if we don’t know why make a guess. Read the death notices to see which friends might have had the temerity to die when they’re at the beach and not in town. It happens.

Gin o’clock, wine o’clock begins as the 6pm news is on the TV. Pre-dinner dishes, of course, washing dishes not cheese and cracker dishes.

Dinner must be before 7 pm. Fretting ensues if it’s going to be later.

Entertain everyone by reading the teletext updates (A service soon to be discontinued).

Read book, coughing randomly until 9pm when it’s bedtime.

Days when the gentleman’s fishing club is in session, make an agreed time “how about around 7am” where “about” means up at 6:30 to prepare, leave at 7 am, no later, no sooner. Fishing line can only be in the water 1 hour. No longer, no shorter. 1 hour. Today I was suckered in with “whatever time” which meant of course 7:45am knocking on the door “are you ready yet” We didn’t go fishing.

We didn’t go fishing because on a 800 meter beach someone had launched a gentleman’s fishing rig into the sea before us, and fretting and panic ensued about them being too close together. Serious fretting, muttering and followed by deep investigation of the mans credentials, home address, and a lecture about “how I do it…”

Fishing was also cancelled, no only to proximity, but because weed was spotted in the waves, and weed is bad. To make up for this disaster he burnt some paper and plastics instead of putting them out for rubbish collection, it’s “what we had to do in the old days”

We’ve taken down the tent, it rained and wasn’t used. Didn’t let it dry now the weather has changed, took it down and stowed it wet. “It’s what we had to do in the old days”

This evening we will again have a discussion about Teletext, the neighbours wi-fi and how it’s intermittent (we have permission to use it, we’re not totally freeloading”, who’s arrived, who’s left, pontifications on the “Sales” the lack of Eggs in the house.

And tomorrow we will do it all again, in roughly the same order, amount of time, and with the same earnest face.

Not a holiday.

 

Dec 15 2012

The 12 ways of Christmas – The Dinner


Since I moved from the Northern Hemisphere to the Southern (England to New Zealand) I’ve always struggled with the concept of  Santa, Trees, Snow, and the “full’ Christmas dinner.

There are some things that just are Christmas dinner, so I can set those aside.

The Trifle for dessert.  There’s probably a law or something that requires trifle on christmas day. Can’t abide the stuff myself, but Father-in-law and the children love it.

I made is a mission a few years ago to come up with a dessert suggestion that I thought would be both “common” and at the same time “challenging” to make. The first one I cam up with was  ”Cassata Ice-cream”. Which turned out to be a roaring success.

Pavlova are a challenge to make, but usually end up well, and given the amount of wine you’ve had before you get to pudding then who cares?

Eton Mess. Which has to be the easiest of my suggestions, fruit, cream and meringue, enough to make a man fat.

But back to the timeline. It’s summer, or getting summery in December in New Zealand, and for years we soldiered on with a roast turkey, Ham, potatoes, vegetables, gravy. One year we just said that enough was enough, and that it seemed daft to have a full dinner on a day when there was much to celebrate and enjoy by way of family and friends than to stand in the kitchen and cook.

So we’ve pushed back “dinner” from 6pm to 8pm, and  we’ve had Salmon and potato Salad, We’ve had Scotch Fillet on the BBQ, something a bit “posh” but not the “old way”.  I’ve also been known to make dinner bread rolls.

One year we asked the children what starter they wanted, and one of them suggested prawn cocktail, which we had to have in the traditional way in a wine glass, oh the horror!

But the end is always Trifle, and one other thing.

This year even to change it up a bit more we’re having our traditional family christmas dinner on christmas eve. It’s the only evening when the children are going to be with us as due to work commitments and them needing the money more than me have to head back to the city on Christmas day evening.

Back in the day though the abiding memory I have of christmas Turkey was the one time when Dad had made a big deal about bringing the Turkey home for christmas dinner. He did turn up with one, Feathers and all. A big one. I have no idea where he got it from, or even why he thought it was a good idea.

Ever plucked a turkey on the back doorstep at 7pm at night in the freezing cold?

Christmas dinner at my childhood home would have been an all-in affair, not only the parents  8 children, the dog, but various girlfriends and boyfriends, neighbours and acquaintances. Dinner was served on a roster system, how do you fit that many around a table that seated 6 :-) It would have been a big turkey.

Dec 9 2012

The 12 ways of Christmas – The Tree


This year might be the year when we don’t have a traditional tree decoration at home. By decoration I mean a tree with things on it.

As a child the tree was an important part of the Christmas thing.

  • It was always a real tree.
  • it was always as tall as the room, sometimes taller, the fairy looming over the room at an awkward angle.
  • Every year we had to make a new base for the tree out of some wood in the form of an X.

Every year Come easter the tree might still to have been found behind the shed, brown, spindly and forlorn. It would be a few months till Bonfire night, unless we had one earlier.

MultimeterEvery year the same things happened in preparation. An important part of the tree was the lights. a Lot of lights. one of the chores was checking each and every light bulb. Because. This involved sitting with an interesting multimeter device the like I have not seen again, and checking each one by passing a current through it. Every one.

The bulbs were I remember coloured. And each bulb socket had a flowery looking surround. Each bulb was an Edison screw type bulb and not a bayonet fitting. We called them fairy lights. I’m not sure we still do.

LightsDecorating the tree was a family affair and there were always lot of hands. The hanging ornaments were fragile glass globes. Some of which had been broken in the previous 12 months.

But an important part of the tree dressing was the decorations made from lollies and walnuts

.

RosesTake a tin of Roses Chocolates, they come in foil and cellophane wrappers, brightly coloured and shiny.

You get a reel of cotton and you make each sweet an ornament by making a loop of cotton using one end of the wrapper as an anchor.

You then hang the lollies on the tree.

During the next 20 days, or whatever time frame you have, you get a reward treat of a lolly from the tree, opening the chocolate and leaving the foil and cellophane on the tree, empty but still pretty!

There was the Round toffee one, the long toffee one covered in chocolate, the one with the walnut inside, the sold chocolate one, the one that was strawberry,  the orange creme…

Mother would also make walnuts to hang from the tree, using a matchstick in one end of the walnut whole to make an anchor.

And there you have a tree with lights, glass globes, Cellophane lollies and walnuts. Add a rope or two of tinsel and a can or two of fake snow and there you have my traditional memory of a tree.

An enormous pine smelling plant, that dropped pine needles from the moment it was in the corner, and kept watched over the room. We didn’t have the presents under the tree as a tradition, we were many children and there were many temptations, until christmas eve. It wasn’t  a big deal.

Come taking down the tree time there were always willing hands to investigate and find the cunningly hidden lollies or those that were too high to reach for esger young hands.

With children we’ve carried on at least the lolly part of the decorations, the glass globes have moved onto shapes and stars made of various things, safer and less likely to cut and injure.

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Oct 14 2012

Happy Families – yes you’ve left home but…..


MrsPdubyah and me, well we’re a nuclear family, 2 adults, 2 children, cat, or more correctly now 4 adults and cat.

Even more correctly 3 adults at home and one who’s left to be an adult. The only constant is the cat, and there are plans to get a kitten, it’s not a good thing.

The transition from at home to away isn’t a clear cut as you’d think. Number one son remains top of mind for MrsPdubyah.

And to be honest I’m about as bad, if not worse. #1 son tells us that they have everything they need, and that they’re saving to get the better things. Now as an aside this doesn’t appear to hold them back in the buying of needful things like DVD’s and gadgets, but that would be mean spirited of me to point out.

Anyway, my  weak moment came when I know that boy child, who has to wear safety shoes for work essentially destroyed them, and they’ve been hanging off his feet. In a moment of madness I brought him new ones. Not cheap ones mind, because they come in cheap, mid and executive . But enough.

I’m compelled however to balance this out and so I spent an equal amount, after negotiation, on upgrading the iPod for girl child.

I’m poorer and yet richer for the experience.

MrsPdubyah, you’d think would be more pragmatic. I don’t think she is.

The latest thing is a bed. Now when you’re being frugal and on a budget that would make a monk frown, what you get is what you get, and so they have what is best described as “average” by way of a bed. Lucky for boy child there is a tax rebate, and as such he’s in a position to upgrade from fleapit to actual bed.

Have you ever noticed however that everything you want is at least 10%, and often 25% or more than you want to pay.  You can get a fairly decent bed for $700, and a really decent one for $1,000 (New Zealand Peso’s) (and they are long term investment, I’m not canvassing where to buy a cheap bed) (comes with a 10 year warranty)

So in a 2-1 deal we’ll make the difference between want to spend, and what we want them to spend.

This we justify in out heads as the difference between not being able afford more than noodles for lunch, and having to cut back on chocolate to afford bread, and for a thing that makes a difference. A big thing. Sure we could provide food, but you’ve left home, fend for yourself, however in the reality of things a bed is pretty important, you spend 1/3 of your life in one asleep, and being young a significant amount more staying awake.

So we’re sticking to out guns, you’ve left home, make your own way, but just in case keep us in the loop because we’re a soft touch for some things. Not that we have to be, or that in some way what you’re doing is different to what we did when we were at the same stage of life, but we know it’s hard, and there is a difference, relative to, the amount of money you need to make a difference and don’t have, to what the same amount money means to us. In the big scheme of things.

And we’re not a soft touch, there isn’t a bottomless money pit. And can I have my credit card back please.

 

Oct 5 2012

Two Funerals and a wondering


To be honest it’s been a few funerals,  but specifically I’m thrown off by axis by one of which was this week, the other from 1988.

This week the funeral of a friend, Des Tierney, a good bastard by any measure. If I end up half a good a bastard then I’ll be spectacular. No one exemplified the meaning of community than Des. There won’t be a million words or books written about Des, and that’s a pity in some regards, but he’ll be an oral legend, around these and other parts.

The other funeral, my Father. The one I didn’t go to because I just moved to New Zealand, in 1987.

The thing that links them? Well in the sadness of things they both died before they were 60.

And why then would I be thrown into the funk that I have. Well I’m not getting any younger, and I’m now contemplating, as I did with some incredulity at 16, as being as old as my dad. Except now that the words “when he died” are added on the end.

So why should I panic about the age my father died? He was a heavy smoker with a sedentary lifestyle, it’s not the way I am. And how does the passing of a friend conflate a story to make it a doom.

In a normal thinking they don’t. But as your own mortality, and your own perception of that mortality changes you begin to fret. I spoke to a couple of of me friends about this, and they get it, what I’m feeling, they didn’t laugh, they just compared theirs to mine, and we all agreed that it was a nothing. It is what it is, there is no binary thing going on, that event A does not meant that it will equal a similar event  A for me, or them.

So now here I am wondering why it is that I never owned a Lotus Elite Turbo, and E-Type Jaguar. A 1967 Mustang fastback , or a V8 anything, and it’s not like that would define me in anyway. It might bring me immediate pleasure, and the added angst of maintaining and paying for it.

I’m now wondering why I never went home to England and abandoned almost everything to a new country, like no one ever did that, but I’ve not been home, not am I likely to go home, and I left in 1987. And yes it’s still home. Go figure.

Do I think people will tell grand stories about me when I die? You’re having a laugh, the most heroic I’ve been was when never.  Should I worry about that?

So a life just as ordinary. A fear and doubt. A surprise? There are many things in my head, and a weight on my shoulder that has descended for no reason other than self.

But if I had a motto to live by it would be “this too shall pass”, and it will. Might get that as a tattoo.

Aug 28 2012

Happy Families – the one with the recap #2


Anyways we crack on ….  There are many more things to tell

If you remember we had an aunt Peggy  - it turns out that she was not a relation at all. This came to light when Peggy needed proof of identity for her pension rights. Seems our nan took her in. Mum only said she was very upset and angry.

but a footnote clears it up somewhat:  Peggy is a relation, that’s your Mum’s “sister” on her birth cert. The father is named as your granddad ( Eva’s dad ), but the mother isn’t Harriet (grandmother), but is in fact your Grandads sister.  We presume that whilst married – the mother who’s name evades us at present – and with her husband is  at war (or dead) she’s become pregnant. Our Grandparents have taken Peggy as their own, hence Grandads name on the birth certificate, so Peggy was your Mums cousin and her “parents” we’re her Aunt & Uncle.

In other stories

The bishop of Fulham is a relative! He came to visit us once.

Granddad had a  brother who lived just yards away they never spoke.

Took mum to see Albert SCRIVEN  -  he being a cousin –  his brother was a boxer and actually spared with the late Sir Henry Cooper, we have a letter from him telling us that.

Granddads father fell of the back of a horse and cart and died. He was born in Crewkerne  - that’s Somerset.

granddad  served in WW I -  according to mum he was a stretcher bearer.  Had a finger knuckle shot off Clive may remember that twisted finger.

Uncle George who lived at the same house got shrapnel wounds in the back we have a photo of him in uniform with a military motorbike. Sadly he jumped in front of a train at Hither Green. There was a short story in the newspaper at the time. I talked to the head of British Railways about this but they don’t keep records.

Then there is Uncle Jim. Uncle Jim took everything,  but he died a pauper at Bury St Edmunds.  The council cremated him, and put his ashes on nans grave.

The only relation alive is by marriage, and  is Uncle George’s wife.  Mums brother, George was in the SAS.

Our older cousins are passing away,  cousin Tarn died , Cousin Sam (Clive will remember him he has cancer) is living in  somewhere like Thailand  -  sold his house to provide for himself as money goes further.

We have a relation there who as done much ancestry work,  I met him on the family tree. There is a soldier with the surname “Hicks” –  a war memorial statue, more than one, who posed for the sculpture  – we have a photo,  It’s also the memorial statue near us, anyway we’re sure there are more.

Our family tree goes back to 1604 I think but only on mums side.

We have relations in South NZ – Waimate. Might as well put this a relative played for the all blacks. a long time ago.

and Finally….

Uncle Syd was a  boxer –  using the name “Pat Crowley” in Ireland.  Not a good idea to be an Englishman with “the troubles” then. A record of 99 fights undefeated. The information came from a boxing historian who was very excited when we told him who Pat Crowley was. Also spoke to the owner of boxing magazine about George SCRIVEN, grandads son, he was an Olympic hopeful but liked women and a beer he’s the one who sparred with Henry Cooper.

Jul 15 2012

Those Three Little Words…


Empty Nest Syndrome.

MrsPdubyah was moping about the house yesterday ‘unfulfilled’ and generally mooching and moody, #1Son has allegedly left home and MrsPdubyah yesterday used some of my beer tokens to buy him a fridge/freezer for his new house.

I say allegedly left home, I just checked his room, There is a fair amount of detritus and general things left that I wonder if he’s hoping that we’ll decide for him to throw it away.

Oh and the clothes. I’m hoping that he has more clothes than what he wore to work, since there is a pile of things. MrsPdubyah will either drive over to the new house, expect me to take them to #1Son, or wait for him to come home, the latter is unlikely.

So Empty Nest Syndrome. The feeling of helplessness, the angst of your children living away from the nest.

MrsPdubyah is a bit strange on some aspects of this, we’ve paid for a tenancy bond, and now we’ve assisted substantially with home appliances. We’ve also brought #1Son a car recently, so he’s had a fair chunk of our financial resources.

She assures me that he’s been given the hard word, that the ties are cut, and that he’s on his own. And then she talks about taking over a food parcel.

The fine line between letting them go to get on with it, and the tie that says you don’t want them to fail. The arms length thing.

I know that some parents care less about their children leaving and live for the day, I can justify our difference by saying that as immigrants we don’t really have any other extended family, no wider family that’ll be called on in an emergency. Not that there will be one.

Not exactly the three little words I wanted to hear then. I did suggest that we could leave our 4 bedroom house since we clearly don’t need at least two of the bedrooms and right-size our life. I leave it to you imagination as to how that worked out for me. Seems we’ve relocated the newly vacant bedroom as a sewing/dressing room. Who knew that that was what was missing in our life?

The upside is #1Daughter gets her own bathroom, free of boy things, so she’s happy. Although she pretends to miss her brother I think not.

For me? Well I could leverage this feeling of empty to get me some outward display of love, I wonder if it stretches to a PS/3 and GT4 ?

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Jul 13 2012

Growing up – “It’s no use we’re losing her Captain”


Such a timid thing, I though. MissPdubyah has all the worldliness of a tea-spoon. This is the daughter who had to look up a map to see how to drive Browns Bay from our house (clue: It’s pretty much a straight line from here).

This is the daughter who got lost driving to Browns Bay. Seriously. The same daughter who failed her first attempt at a full drivers license for driving too slowly.

The same daughter who’s childhood memories are all stories that end “and I cried”

That one.

Well she has a casual contractor job with a mall shop. The hours she can work are at a whim of a manager. The hours she can get from her job in Albany have been curtailed because of a new employee, and so she was offered a chance to work in the St.Lukes shop. A bigger, better shop.

Travelling from our house to St.Lukes means a trip on the motorway over the harbor bridge. This is like some mystical gateway, a challenge, a barrier (think the Prisoner and the giant soap bubbles). Anyway having drawn her a map and spoken to her about what lanes were best to be in an when she got lost. And ended up in Newmarket, and this is one story that actually does end with… and I cried)

Given some counseling and new advice MissPdubyah managed to renegotiate the motorway system and ended up at work. She followed her manager’s car back to the motorway to get home.

That was then. Now we have ….

Thursday – I drove my friends to the Museum, and

Today I drove to Mission Bay for a yoghurt.

to Mission Bay. For a yoghurt. This is the modern equivalent of driving to the ‘tron for a milkshake.

I can’t believe how much, so suddenly a change like this happens. It’s like having a baby all over again, and the bit where you’re left wondering when did they stop saying choo-choo and start referring to them as diesel-electric engines.

I fear MrsPdubyah and I have lost her…… and found a new one. he says smiling

Jul 13 2012

Growing up – the one with the still leaving home


It’s been an intriguing week.

Boychild has signed his tenancy agreement with his girlfriend and a new landlord for a place in Kelston.

All his worldly goods in a couple of boxes.

I was rebuked for my assertion that his prime concern was the Interwebtubes, it wasn’t. apparently he’s worried about burning the new place down. I have no idea how my spawn has turned out if this is his concern.

MrsPdubyah has paid the bond with the landlord, and despite her mercenary outlook is now looking for a fridge freezer unit to deliver  to them on the weekend.

Who knew that there were shops specifically set up for second hand fridges. The Appliance Store in Birkenhead for instance, and TradeMe is an endless source. Makes sense, I mean, who ever throws out a fridge? We’re still using the one we brought 25 years ago to keep my beer in. And the Freezer still seems to freeze ok. I shall miss them when they are gone.

Boychild has sorted an electrickery account, he’s brought some insurances (including fire) and is looking forward to his day of assembling things in his new shag-pad.

The new place, I’ve haven’t seen it yet, apparently is quite elevated and has a view over Auckland, but it is old school, and MrsPdubyah says it’s a bit musty.

She bit her tongue though since she’s lived in some well average places.

Hopefully boychild will rein in his enthusiasm and accept the gifts that MrsPdubyah will bring, including a fridge.

I think they’re still short a Table and Chairs, and a washing machine. It’s not the end of the world, the laundromat can be a great meeting place, and they probably have free wi-fi these days.

Jul 7 2012

Growing up – the one with the leaving home.


#1 Son is about to leave the parental home and set up a love nest with this girlfriend. It’s been a while coming.

As a father I’m pleased that he’s at last making his way in the world and leaving home to set out anew is a big step for anyone to take.

So they’ve found a place to live, and it sounds very 70′s. They have a few things between them, or rather the girlfriend has a few things, since she’s been living away from her parents for a few years. #1 son brings nothing to the table, not even a table.

We’re going to help with the bond for the flat, but MrsPdubyah is reluctant to do more than that. Which is strange possibly because deep down she does not want him to leave the house. You’d think she’d be all for setting him up and letting him go. Proves you can be married for many many years and really not get your partner.

Anyway west down to talk about what they might need to get them into a normal life. The list went like this;

  • Broadband
  • Fridge
  • Washing Machine
  • Table and Chairs
  • Crockery
  • Knives and forks
  • Chest of draws for clothes
  • Electricity Account

in that order. Really yes.

Last night #1 son had an intense hour on the interwebtubes looking at the price of broadband plans.

I’m sure he’ll be right, his girlfriend will sort out his lack of ability to pick up dirty clothes and to his inability to find the kitchen sink to wash plates up. It’s a big challenge.

One thing MrsPdubyah did say to #1 Son was that because they didn’t have a washing machine that he’d be fine to drop off his dirty laundry to home and she’d be happy to wash it and drop it back to him. WTF seriously!