Magic Hands at Mount Maunganui

One Foot, Two Foot, Red Foot, Blue Foot

2011-08-15T20:53:00.008+12:00

One of the first things I noticed in New Zealand was that children were walking home in their school uniforms with bare feet. I thought, "Oh how sad, their uniform must have cost so much that their parents can't afford shoes." I swear to God, that's what I thought.

Then I noticed that adults were walking around bare footed too. They pumped gas without shoes then hopped in their car and drove off in their bare feet. They walked around in the grocery store bare foot. They walked down the street - yep you got it - with bare feet! I scowled and thought, "That is so hazardous! What if they step on glass?" or, "How unhygienic! I hope they wash their feet when they get home!" They probably don't and they probably don't care. It's a Kiwi thing.

Naturally, I went through the five stages of barefoot etiquette:

Disbelief
Disgust
Curiosity
Envy
Acceptance

Shoes are a hot topic around here. Kiwis don't think much of shoes in general. To a Kiwi, shoes are simply worn only if absolutely necessary, but gumboots are probably a better investment. Children love being bare footed and they don't seem to feel the cold. I still cringe when I see a child walking barefoot down the street in the middle of winter, but I admire their brawn. I know what most of you are thinking... because I thought it too... but the longer you live in New Zealand, the more likely you are to appreciate this superfluous attitude toward shoes.

Jandals are really the shoe of choice, and they are worn year round. New Zealand even has a National Jandal Day! Don't know what Jandals are? They are also known as flip flops or thongs in other countries... but in New Zealand they are unmistakably Jandals and they come in varying degrees of fanciness. You have the basic Havaianas type which are good for day wear and then there are "fancy" jandals which you can wear out in the evening. I love this concept but I really do enjoy wearing heels and I've missed them.

This was evident after purchasing 5 pairs of stilettos on my recent trip to the UK. It took my feet a while to adapt to being crammed practically upright like they were in ballerina point shoes all over again (my poor feet thought those days were long gone) but I persisted and endured the blisters and foot cramps that are just part of the vanity of wearing sexy shoes. There was a time I could run comfortably to catch a train in high heels and I'm determined to feel comfortable enough to wear them for more than 5 hours without needing to extract my feet from these torture vessels like they have been binded by Chinese people. I'm getting there but I need more practice, which means wearing the stilettos more often than just a few times a year. I need to make sure I wear them weekly at the very least.

So as much as I occasionally "envy" the comfort of fancy jandals, I refuse to succumb to them when I want a night out on the town - unless of course it's physically impossible to wear stilettos - ie. huge blister or God forbid a BUNION! (hmmmm, I wonder what would cause that?).

I've wanted a pair of red stilettos for a long long time. That was my mission - to find a pair of fabulous red stilettos in London. I believe that shoes are like soulmates; you have an idea of what you're looking for then you let them find you, and that's what happened! I found my beautiful soulmates in Camden Market and they were on sale! Double bonus.

I have no idea where I'll get a chance to wear them in New Zealand but I don't think these babies need a reason or an affair because they alone are the event. I'm going to go against the norm and be a total shoe rebel! I'm not convinced Kiwis will truly appreciate the exquisiteness of these shoes and they'll probably balk at the practicality or the "flashiness" of them, but I'm confident they will turn heads and I might even get some elucidation from women and possibly even shoe aficionado males (who have likely lived overseas or are gay) expressing an appreciation for my choice of footwear. Either that or some arsehole will think I'm a working girl and proposition me. Lucky for me, stilettos can be used as a weapon.

But the next day I'll be sure to go bare feet in true Kiwi fashion. I do love being bare foot, especially when I can get away with it in the middle of winter... and it's not because I can't afford shoes! But I'm not a bare footed fan to appease, rather, because I fancy foot freedom and expression.

Whole-some-ness turns Wicked for a while...

2011-08-12T05:03:00.013+12:00

I've just returned home after 6 weeks of traveling around the UK with a side trip to Greece for a week. The objective of this trip was to catch up with friends and give my hands a bit of some much needed R&R as I've been working hard this year. Being a massage therapist is tough on the body and if I don't take time off I'll end up burning out or getting an RSI. So rather than think about how much money I lose if I stop working, I think about the experience I'll gain by getting out of my comfort zone and seeing the world!!

I still don't understand how people say, "How do you do it? I could NEVER afford to travel like you!" Anyone can do it. It comes down to priorities and of course how much you're willing to risk the life you have to experience a life you don't know exists. For most of us, the idea of walking away from our routine (or our jobs) is terrifying. Believe me, I know! I feel the fear and do it anyway. That's the rush!! I've done it so many times now that I've developed trust in the universe... trust in God... I trust that everything is going to be fine and the sky won't fall if I change my direction every once in a while. In fact, the sky expands and so does my mind. I've said it many times before - but traveling settles the restlessness in my soul and changes my perspective on life. I have to do it. It's as important as yoga.

Saying that, I didn't do any yoga on this trip - AT ALL. In fact I discovered a completely new side to myself! Being in the UK made me realize a few things...

#1. Once a shopping addict, always a shopping addict.

I really thought I had nipped this one in the bud... clearly not. In the 8 years I've lived in New Zealand, I have avoided massive shopping sprees. Once upon a time, shopping was my hobby. I was good at it. I knew where and when to find the best bargains and because I was shopping "smartly" I didn't ever see it as a problem. In an average week I could spend $500-600 on clothes, shoes, electronics and household items. I convinced myself that I needed these things. I was VERY generous, giving birthday gifts and baby gifts like it was my duty as a friend! I was earning good money at the time but I never had anything in the bank. Tut tut Tracy Pepper. Moving to New Zealand was the best thing I could've done. I got a LIFE and stopped shopping (and I had no money which helped). I no longer needed to fill the void of a meaningless existence on acquiring "stuff". I'm sorry friends, no more unnecessary prezzies for you! I'd rather give away massages or take you out for lunch. I hope that doesn't appear thoughtless.

But saying all that... I bought 9 pairs of shoes on this trip. Five of them are stilettos. But they were on sale. Cut a girl some slack.

2. I am not a disciplined Yogi... and I have a long way to go to get there!

I may do yoga every single day when I am in my comfortable routine here in Mount Maunganui and I eat healthily and drink modestly (probably less than modestly actually, perhaps one or two drinks a week on average). I live in yoga gear and wear sensible shoes. I sleep well and I really take care of my body. I really am the poster child for healthy living.... BUT... for 6 weeks I drank every day, ate unhealthy take-away food daily, wore stilettos and didn't do yoga once! Oh dear.

But you know, I had a GREAT time! It was fun letting loose and being a bit indulgent. I saw how the "other people" lived (and a glimpse of what my life might still be - if I lived in the "real world"). It made me realize just how boring constant discipline can be. Of course finding balance is key, which is why it's good to break free from routines every now and again.

While I was walking around London, wearing stilettos, looking for the perfect belt and necklace to go with my new shoes whilst eating a krispy creme donut, I caught a glimpse of my life in New Zealand from a fresh perspective. I really do live in this idyllic bubble - and I could see how unbelievable and almost "too perfect and too wholesome" it might look from the outside. It also made me really proud for creating this life for myself and have the ability to recognize how lucky I am to live this way. I choose to live healthily, with a dose of "wicked" every now and again for good measure.

#3. I have a lot of friends... like A LOT of them! And I'm making more and more of them as I get older.

I am not complaining here. In fact, I am damn proud to be able to say this with such conviction. There is no question that for whatever reason, I have this gift of being able to meet people and instantly connect to them. The older I get, the more I realize that this isn't the norm. I absolutely love people and I don't judge people based on their socioeconomic status, their skin colour, what they wear or where they live. For that reason, I'm completely open and I think people sense that about me (there are times when this isn't great - I've had to learn how to filter out the wackos, a skill I'm getting better at with age but occasionally one will slip through the filter). I can ride the train and smile at the person across from me and by the end of the journey we're exchanging info and promising to keep in touch - and I always do! I meet such interesting people this way and it has given me opportunities I wouldn't otherwise have had. Having so many friends allows me to travel to places I'd never see.

An example of this is Nina and James - a couple I met whilst on holiday in Greece. We played drinking games twice that week. By the end of the second night, they had invited me to stay with them in Nottingham and promised to be my tour guides. I took them up on their offer and a week later I was walking through Sherwood Forest with Nina while James cooked us the most delicious dinners. Honestly, seriously, how amazing is that? I am blessed beyond belief with the friendships I find. The only disadvantage is that I have a lot of people to keep in touch with and sometimes it's overwhelming.... especially when they all start having babies!!! I have to draw the line somewhere. There are times I feel like I'm a terrible friend because I can't keep track of everyone... but the true ones seem to like me anyway. Thanks guys. You all give me so much love and strength. I cherish you all!

In fact the main reason for this particular holiday was to spend some time with a very special friend. I met Naomi two years ago when she and her boyfriend Lee were looking for a place to settle for the last few months of their New Zealand tour. I was about to go away traveling for 4 months and was looking for someone to rent the house. They turned up three weeks before I was due to go (I had just about given up on finding anyone) and from the moment I met them, I knew they were meant to be. It was one of those instant connections I was talking about earlier - but this was stronger than most. You know how people talk about "love at first sight"? Well this was like that. And that feeling proved right. I know it might seem absolutely crazy and you might all think I'm insane for being so trusting - but what do you have if you can't trust your instincts? I left them in charge of everything and even put them on my car insurance and gave them the keys! I sit here now shaking my head in disbelief because I'm not crazy and I wouldn't just do that for anyone. There is something special about this "connection" and it goes deeper than just liking a person. I can't explain it completely but there is a soul connection here. If you believe in this sort of thing (or even if you don't) the whole purpose of life is to find this type of connection and when you find it, it's impossible to lose. It is one of the most comforting feelings because it's like coming home.

Even though 2 years have passed, time is endless. Our friendship is an odd one - there is a 13 year age gap - but that doesn't matter in the slightest. What we have is special and light and easy and free. All we do is laugh and laugh and laugh. I have to admit, hanging out with a 23 year old really made me put more of an effort into myself (she's gorgeous), which again wasn't a bad thing. I still look pretty damn good for a woman pushing 40 (okay in a few years... but I'm closer to 40 than I am to 30 - yikes!) but it's easy to get complacent and stop putting the effort in. I embraced the challenge! There was no way I was going to be an old lady! No way Jose! Nai recognizes me for who I am and she loves me. We have a lot in common which could explain why our bond is so strong. Regardless of why, it just is what it is and I hope it lasts an eternity. She is my family.

I had a great holiday. It was all about connection - to myself, to old friends and making new ones. Once again I was given a chance to appreciate my life and look forward to getting back into my "boring old routine" which I love and which makes me feel whole-some. But I've come back with a settled-ness in my soul, content in knowing that all I'm really missing out on is donuts, shopping and traffic jams.

Of course I also miss out on spending quality time with my overseas friends but as I said, true friendships don't need constant attention because of that "connection". Besides, in a world with facebook and skype, there's no need to be disconnected. When I'm lonesome, I can turn on my computer and there you all are. You're scattered around the globe anyway so no matter where I live, I'll always feel like I'm missing out on someone's life! So it's best that I live somewhere that makes me happy... and I can provide the ultimate holiday destination for any of you wanting a taste of paradise.

Fast and Dirty the CanTeen Way

2011-05-28T22:34:00.012+12:00

Today 12 members of CanTeen from Tauranga and Rotorua spent the day riding motocross dirt bikes with Pure Dirt Tours out of Rotorua.

We arrived just before lunch and split into two groups - the girls and the boys (no experience vs. some experience). Lucky me, I got to ride with the boys! I've ridden a dirt bike only just a few times on the farm but never for any real length of time so I was excited to get more experience.

The guys at Pure Dirt Tours were absolutely fantastic! They were so chilled out and relaxed, they made it easy to feel at ease and confident on a bike. After a quick explanation of how to use the clutch and change gears and where the brakes were, they sent us off to just give it a try. There's a track to practice on until you get the hang of it while they watch to monitor your skill. When they think you're ready, they take us off into the hills for a ride and on up to some rougher terrain tracks. We had an absolute cracker of a day - perfect weather - and the tracks had just the right amount of mud to make it really fun! Getting filthy was the best part!

There were a few minor crashes and spills - one of the guys in my group lost control and drove straight into the barbed wire electric fence on his first lap! He didn't get hurt at all but the bike was pretty tangled up. Later, another one of the guys plowed into everyone knocking them over like bowling pins. Very amusing. Lucky for me, I was behind him.... and stayed out of his way after that!

The girls hadn't had much if any experience on bikes at all but they all picked it up very quickly. If they were scared you'd never know it (CanTeeners are a pretty fearless bunch anyway). It was really entertaining watching them go around the track learning how to change gears (they only really just got to second gear) - there were a few more spills and minor crashes but they were all having a grand time! The squeals of laughter could be heard echoing across the paddocks. Rachel, CanTeen's Member Support Co-ordinator fell off her bike numerous times. You need to work those biceps girl! It's really amazing we got away completely unscathed and didn't need to use the first aid kit even once. I'd say that's an accomplishment for a group of novice riders!

I discovered a new sport that I really enjoyed and would love to do again. I love anything to do with racing (I've said it before, I'm convinced it's in my blood) and I think that if I had tried this when I was younger, I might have gotten into motocross. This was cool fun! Totally envying farm kids right now. Lucky buggers, they get to ride dirt bikes all the time!

Check out this link to the video for Pure Dirt Tours.

After we warmed up with our practice laps on the track, they took us up into the hills for a ride through the paddocks and then onto some rougher terrain tracks. We didn't have a camera with us but the video will give you an idea of what that was like. Fantastic! I'd highly recommend this if you come to New Zealand. Another fantastic CanTeen event. What a day! I'm still buzzing.

I'd better get some sleep though. Tomorrow I have to get up early. I'm joining my friend in her helicopter to do a tour of White Island (the world's only active marine volcano) and Mount Tarawera. I love my life.

A Brand New Version Of The Old Me

2011-05-22T18:04:00.014+12:00

It's been 14 weeks since I first signed on to do my first boot camp with Life Personal Fitness in Mount Maunganui. The camp is run by Luis Moresco and Dawn Kiddie. Have a look at what we did by clicking on VIEW VIDEO.

I was apprehensive at first because although I've been doing yoga almost daily for over a year, my fitness level was pretty low, particularly my cardio. I couldn't run non stop from my house to the gym across the road (about a hundred yards) without dying.

But the good thing was that just about everyone was in the same boat. There's something really good about training with people who are at the same level as you are - and I discovered my hidden competitive side. I didn't EVER want to be the last person in any challenge. So I pushed myself harder than I would if I was doing it on my own.

The first 5 weeks were definitely the hardest. We did a lot of burpees and press ups - which I really hated at first but now I have come to appreciate just how effective they are. I enjoyed the weight lifting portion of the boot camp but I really dreaded the running, particularly the long distance runs around the rugby field. I was always surprised when I would finish them without stopping (my competitive nature forced me to keep going so no one would pass me). I discovered that I was actually quite a good sprinter. I didn't mind the fast bursts but struggled with the endurance. It's great when you discover things about yourself you didn't know. I was changing the way I looked at fitness. I am a natural sprinter!

Halfway through boot camp I noticed a significant improvement in my cardio. I still dreaded the long distance runs but discovered that it was all in my head! I could do them but I talked myself out of it. So I started focusing on the person's feet in front of me creating a rhythm for me to follow - so long as I didn't fall behind, I would be okay (I also didn't want anyone catching up to me). It was a game I played to keep going. But once I lost focus or concentration, the negative thoughts would creep into my head and I'd start thinking about how much I hated running and I'd stop! It was so frustrating! But I was determined to keep trying and eventually I figured out that music was the answer, upbeat happy music.

But it wasn't all horrible. Luis and Dawn made the camps fun - they organized extra fitness opportunities to do on the weekends - whether it was an extra training session on the beach or a weekend away. We did one of the world's best top 10 day treks - the Tongariro Crossing - a 19km hike to the top of an active volcano. They say it takes about 8 hours - but we did it in 5 1/2. Challenging but what an experience! I would not have had the fitness to do it without boot camp.

At the end of 11 weeks we ran 9km along the beach - I did it in 46 minutes without stopping (thanks to my running tunes and my running partner Jo). I still can't believe it. I transformed my body from fat to fit. I lost 8% body fat, 4kg fat mass and gained 2kg of muscle mass. I finally got my waist back - losing a total of 11cm off my mid rift! I feel like I got rid of that horrible fat suit I was trapped in. When I started boot camp I didn't look fat, I was just soft and flabby. I didn't have much weight to lose, my goal was to tone and increase my cardio.

Now I just need to maintain what I achieved which is so much easier than starting back at the beginning. The other day I did a pump class at the gym with my work out buddy and running partner Jo. After the class neither of us were puffed or sweating profusely so we thought we hadn't pushed ourselves hard enough... but realized it's because we are actually really fit! We do a hard hill run every week and have increased the cardio classes at the gym. In a few weeks we're going to run another 10K and now I'm not really intimidated by it. I just might be tempted to do a triathlon next!

So if any of you out there are thinking about getting fit but don't know where to start, I can highly recommend trying a boot camp. You need to be disciplined, determined and focused on how great you will feel when it's all over but you'll never ever regret it. In three short months you can transform yourself - in the grand scheme of things, that's no time at all. An hour of exercise every day - that's it!

I haven't felt this good in a very long time. I'm fitter now than I was 10 years ago. Thank you Luis Moresco and Dawn Kiddie and Life Personal Fitness. Don't limit your challenge, challenge your limit!

My Mom - Brenda Temple

2011-05-21T17:28:00.014+12:00

Last week on May 16th my mom celebrated her 65th birthday. Yes, I have two Taurus parents! I'm sure that explains a lot! Since I wrote a little story about my dad, I wanted to write one about my mom too. Happy Belated Birthday Mom!

Mother-daughter relationships are complicated. I didn't really appreciate my mom until I moved to the other side of the world and until I raised children. Then I truly realized how much sacrifice she made for us and what an amazing selfless heart she has.

My mom lost her own mother when she was 8 years old. It's a tragic story. My maternal grandmother - Ann Catherine Temple was only 38 when she died from a pulmonary embolism. She left behind a loving husband and three girls - my Auntie Maureen, my mother and my Auntie Debbie (my mom is on the right in that photo). My grandmother was giving the girls a bath when she suddenly felt ill and needed to lie down. She died before my grandfather got home from work - he was a doctor. Back in those days, adults thought it was best to shelter the children from death so they were told that their mother had gone to Florida and she wasn't coming home.

You can just imagine what that would do to someone. My mother was never allowed to ask about it and she never got closure. Only recently after our step-grandmother died did the truth start trickling out... 50 years of secrets and silence. But that's a whole other story!

She always had a twinkle in her eye, she was very smart and I know for a fact that she was always into trouble... she just flashed that smile and got away with it! My mom had brains and beauty, a dangerous combination. She clashed with her step mother who was quite tough on her step children and ruled the household with an iron fist. Her father disappeared into his work as a very busy doctor. He changed after Ann Catherine died. He rarely smiled and photos we found 50 years later prove that he was very much in love and a very different man. My rebellious mother didn't like rules and often danced to the beat of her own drum. Her upbringing would be considered upper class - the best education at a good Catholic boarding school but my mom was certainly no snob and didn't care for any of it. She just craved attention and love... it's no surprise she went running into the arms of a "bad boy" looking for a nice girl. I think she caused her parents as much grief as I caused her. (Karma eh mom?)

At the tender age of 16 she had fallen in love with a boy who was from the other side of the tracks and by 17 they were married (shotgun) and had my brother. By the time she was 22 she had 4 kids! They had a volatile relationship and split up after about 7 or 8 years together. Being "separated" in a predominantly Catholic neighbourhood was not common in those days, much less at the age of 24 with 4 kids. My mom was ostracized by most of the women in the community. She had a handful of friends but she mostly just kept to herself and raised her kids as a good Catholic mother would. She never asked her father for help, she was too proud. She taught herself how to fix cars - mainly out of necessity. She got an old Austin Mini and joined a racing club. That's when she met my dad.

My mom always told me that I was just meant to be. Like my dad, she also said that I was conceived out of pure love. That's why my middle name is Joy. Obviously I wasn't planned but I know that the relationship she had with my dad forever changed the way she looked at love. They really loved each other - but it just wasn't meant to be. They were just too different and it never would have worked. It's one of those love stories movies are made of. My mom dated here and there but she never loved anyone else like that again. I hope she doesn't mind me saying that because it's the truth. She never remarried.

When I got sick at the age of 10 with cancer, it was tough on my mom and it was very hard on our relationship. I was a pre-teen and she was trying to deal with it her own way. Things got complicated after that. Maybe she pushed people away, maybe she was just left to deal with things alone. I'm not sure. All I know is that it changed her and she went inside herself then. I felt like I lost her and I resented her for a long long time. That was also an opportunity for the women in the community to blame her for my illness. She was told I got sick because of her sin and this was God's punishment. She stopped going to church and has never gone back. Those must've been the loneliest years of her life. I'm so sorry you went through that mom.

My mom had a difficult time showing her love in physical ways. Now I know that this has a lot to do with the fact that she didn't get much affection as a child and from her failed relationships. I could never understand her love language. I'm more like my dad, who wears his heart on his sleeve. My mom was more reserved, cautious (she was broken inside). I don't think she ever believed she was loveable. But not that she wasn't loving - she sacrificed everything for us. It just took me a long time to realize it. My mom gave us the gift of independence and freedom. She allowed us to make our own choices - and let us suffer the consequences. She wasn't a doting, over protective parent. We had very few rules but we were just expected to be responsible. As a child I don't recall having to ask to do something because the answer was always yes, but it was up to me to figure out how to get there and how I'd get home. There were no rules for homework, we were just expected to do it independently and get good grades. My mom taught me the value of writing a really good letter when I wanted to voice my opinion. She encouraged us to be independent thinkers, and to fight for justice. She wasn't raising children to be part of main stream society. The Pepper family was always different, we were a little on the wild side. We earned our own pocket money by delivering newspapers, running a local lemonade stand, selling stuff that we made at craft fairs, I even used to choreograph dance shows and perform for people in the neighbourhood for coin donations. We were resourceful. I remember my oldest brother used to run a lending library from the hundreds of books and National Geographic Magazines we had - he would charge overdue fees! He taught me the value of a dollar.

Our mom was a great role model. She finished university and got her Honours Bachelor Degree in Psychology when I was 7 years old. She worked, never went on welfare and never ever let us know that she struggled financially. She was a very proud woman. She never had any financial support from our fathers but she did the best she could on her meager wage. We got hand-me-downs from the church and at Christmas I thought everyone got a basket of food! She loved Christmas - and in our household we never got anything (and I mean anything) until Christmas. She would wrap EVERYTHING individually so that it always seemed like we got so much. It was always "from Santa" - she didn't take any credit for any of it. She was always dressed nicely and there was always plenty of food to eat - even if it meant that she went without. She definitely knew how to stretch a meal. I can recall being a little girl and mom had made the most delicious pork chops - she could only afford to buy a certain amount. The boys always got the biggest ones and usually mom would split one with me. But I was still hungry and so mom let me eat whatever was on her plate. I polished it off and she didn't say a word. She went without supper that night. It certainly wasn't the only time that happened. No wonder she was so slim!

I never realized that was love. I thought it was her job, her duty as my mother. I'm ashamed I thought that way. I wish I had appreciated her more. I wish I had told her what a great job she had done. We've all turned out so well - because of the way she raised us. She managed to raise successful, independent, good people. We know how to manage our finances and we're all very responsible and we appreciate what we have. We all like each other too - rare. I know so many people who don't speak to their siblings or who are feuding over silly things. We are all very different personalities but when we get together we have lots of laughs. I have a great family. We have our flaws, nothing is perfect, but my siblings are cool people. The older we get, the more we value each other. Family is so important.

Our mom is one of a kind. She's eccentric and even a little nuts now that she's older. She cackles like a witch and she still has that mischievous twinkle in her eye. She drives me crazy but I love her to bits. As I said, the mother-daughter relationship is complicated. Thanks mom for loving me the way you have. You can't argue that I have grown up to be a pretty special person - because of you. I want you to know that I appreciate everything you've done and I understand you a lot better now that I'm grown up. You are so special and unique and there's no one else who has a mom like you. Lucky us. What would we ever do without you?

My Dad - Roger Gagnon

2011-05-12T08:28:00.000+12:00

Today is my dad's 58th birthday - (well it is in Canada) I'm a day ahead in New Zealand. He was born on May 11th. I thought I'd celebrate his birthday by writing some of the things I love so much about him.

My dad and I have a unique father-daughter relationship. He wasn't around much when I was growing up but I adored him nonetheless. My dad was a kind, happy, quiet guy who was a bit of a drifter. He used to just "turn up" at our house unexpectedly once or twice a year. When I would come home from school and see his truck parked in the driveway my heart would race and it was the best feeling on earth - even better than Christmas! I'd barrel through the door and there he'd be sitting in the kitchen having a coffee with my Mom and a great big smile on his face. I'd perch myself on his lap and that's where I'd stay hugging him until he was off again. I can remember it like it was yesterday.

I didn't know what it was like to have a dad who stayed longer than a few hours a couple of times a year so it was no big deal to me. I absolutely loved that man. He was my hero. I was so proud to show him off that I'd always invite all my friends over just so I could prove that I had the coolest dad on earth - and they all agreed.

I loved the fact that my dad had a great big heart. He never said a bad thing about anyone. He was a hard worker. He was always helping others. Everyone loved him. Anyone who knows my dad would describe him as "a really great guy". You just can't fault him for anything. He loved my mother, even though they couldn't be together, he always made that clear to me. I knew that he adored me beyond words. He was and is incredibly proud of his only daughter.

My mom and dad met in the early 70's. My mom had 4 kids and was going through a bitter divorce. My dad was like a breath of fresh air for my mom who was married to an abusive man. They met while my mom was racing Austin Minis. My dad described my mom as "extraordinary", there just wasn't another woman on this planet like my mother. She was beautiful but didn't know it, she could fix a car better than most men and she would do anything for anyone and she loved her kids. My dad admired her for her strength and her heart. He was 8 years her junior, only 19 when they met and he was prepared to take on her 4 kids. It wasn't easy, I give my dad a lot of credit for trying. A year or two later, I arrived. My parents both tell me that I was conceived from pure love. I like that. I was a love child. It's very fitting. My dad chose my name as I was his first child (and only daughter). I looked a lot like him and as the years go on, I am more and more like him too. It proves the theory of nature vs. nurture. I am my father's daughter.

I don't remember much about those early days. My mom and dad split up when I was 3 and he came and went in and out of my life ever since. But despite the fact that I rarely saw him, you couldn't fault him for being who he was. He wasn't a horrible man or an absentee father... it was kinda like living with a time traveller - just like the movie. He would just turn up and then he'd be off again. I learned to love not knowing when I'd see him next. Every time I saw him though, he was so full of love. How could I get upset with that?

When I was 22 my dad got married to his longtime girlfriend Sandy and they had my little brother Jamie. Sandy is 10 years younger than my dad so she's more like a sister to me. She's the best thing that ever came along. I am not sure where or what my dad would be without her. So now my dad is more settled and has someone to love and who loves him - which makes me happy. I don't have to worry about him. :)

I still only see my dad once every year or two (now that I'm the drifter). Our relationship is strong but to most people probably very odd because we don't ring up to talk to each other. I said I'd call him once a month - but I don't. He never calls me - never has. He's not one to send birthday cards or Christmas presents. We have one of those telepathic relationships - I love him and he loves me. It's a beautiful thing.

I do remember a time when he called me out of the blue once. He said, "Hi Honey, I was just thinking of you and I didn't want a perfectly good thought to go to waste."

I'm thinking of you Dad. I think about you and send love out to you every single day. I know you feel it because I feel you doing the very same thing.

We're two peas in a pod. Happy Birthday Dad! I adore you and I always will.

Boot Camp

2011-02-18T21:57:00.004+13:00

I signed up for 10 week boot camp. I used to think people who did boot camp were absolutely crazy, but obviously my attitude has changed and here I am allowing myself to be yelled at and threatened with hundreds of burpees if I don't bend my knees during weight lifting or if I'm late (which will never happen).

So why have I signed up?

For most of my life I have been very slim, I could eat whatever I wanted and I never gained a pound. I was also very active, taking my fitness for granted. I rode my bike everywhere or walked or was paddling on a dragonboat regularly. I am naturally a small person with a small frame, a size 6. So when I started putting weight on after I hit menopause, I just haven't felt 100% comfortable in my skin. I'm not overweight and at first glance I look healthy and "normal" sized (sz 10) but I know that I'm carrying more fat than I should be. My body fat index is 34%. Too high. I should somewhere between 16-20%. Menopause slows down metabolism and because I no longer have ovaries, my body holds onto estrogen in fat cells. I am also prone to high blood pressure and the more weight I carry causes that to go up. My heart wins. The fat is going.

After just three weeks there are some very noticeable changes and I'm very pleased with the results. I'm also getting to know myself better through this challenge. I never thought I was competitive but I am a perfectionist (I knew that) so this experience proves to me that I need to do my best. I hate running or any cardio exercise but I hate being last even more so I'm determined to be in the top of the class. There's still 8 weeks to go (total of 11 weeks) and I'm excited to see the final results!

I am not going to post my before pictures. Nobody needs to see those... but I have posted photos of what I will look like at the end of this. The old me, the real me but better!

Poor Me?

2010-12-06T07:46:00.003+13:00

The other day I my spoke to my old accountant and friend who is based in Toronto. We haven't talked for 13 years! I knew Mark back in the day when I was a young entrepreneur earning mega money in Toronto. We belonged to the same weekly business networking group. That was the height of my earning - I was 22 years old.

It's incredible just how much I've changed. At the time, I was doing what most people did in Toronto - I measured my success by how much money I made and which neighbourhood I lived in and how nice my house and car were.

Then I went on my first big trip overseas. Three months backpacking through Europe on my own changed my entire perspective on life and what I felt was important. When I returned to Canada I just could not seem to settle back into that money making routine. My priorities shifted. The only thing that seemed important was living life... material "stuff" just didn't give me the same satisfaction.

12 years later I moved to New Zealand where life is viewed VERY differently. It makes more sense to me. You can get a job if you have the right personality, not the right qualifications. Houses are smaller, you spend more time in the garden. You own less "stuff". It's okay to have one television... they're expensive!

But the biggest difference is the fact that people seem to worry less about their future. The Kiwi Saver plans are slowly taking off but I think in general there is a very different take on money here than back in North America.

Until I had that conversation with my accountant, I was thinking that my life was pretty damn amazing. I live in a really cute cottage near one of the best beaches in the world. I don't have to worry about paying rates or taxes and if anything goes wrong, my landlord happily comes to fix it. If I want to save some money, I rent a room out to travelers. If I want to travel, I find someone else to move in while I'm off galavanting around. I work from my back garden and I make enough to comfortably pay my bills. I don't own a car but I drive a really sweet scooter - pink of course - which costs $8 to fill with premium petrol (and that's at $1.88/litre). I take care of myself mentally and physically by going to the gym (yoga class mainly) about 6 times each week. I volunteer whenever I can - which is often - for charities that feed my soul. I have a massive garden where I grow fruits and vegetables year round (pumpkin has become my favourite veg).

I don't have a lot as far as assets go but I also don't have any debt. If I lost everything in a fire or a tsunami or whatever, I know I'd be fine. I'm sensible, I have insurance. I have some money saved - not a lot - but plenty enough and I continue to save. I think I'm better off than most people I know.

BUT... that's not at all how I felt after talking to my accountant. He told me he was worried about me. Am I making enough money? Do I have a plan for my retirement? I felt inadequate because I don't have any assets. What happens if I can't work?

Don't worry, I have a plan! If everything turns to custard, I am going to move to Cambodia (or Thailand or Bali) and live in a hut and work with orphans! My accountant was horrified.

My friend Jen was over the other day for lunch. She has recently bought a lifestyle block (a small farm) with her husband. They were once big city people from the UK but always wanted a big piece of land to live their dream. She is working in a honey factory down the road... a honey FACTORY! She can't believe it herself. She is a little embarrassed to tell her friends back in the UK that she's a factory girl but she admits that she's happier than she's ever been. She has no workplace stress, she enjoys her job and it's 5 minutes from home. She is living the simple life. She doesn't have to worry about what she wears or how she looks. It just doesn't matter. She has more time at home and more time for herself. Isn't that all we really want? For some reason we think that we're meant to work hard now, save lots and lots of money so that we can take time off to retire... but why not just work in the honey factory a few hours a week?

Then I hear about people who earn hundreds of thousands of dollars a year, have exorbitant mortgages and car payments on ridiculously impractical vehicles, live WAY beyond their means and actually OWE more money than they are worth. I just don't get that. How does someone let that happen? But it does... more than a lot of us realize. The price that is often paid to be wealthy is the lifestyle that you have to maintain once you have it.

Recently I was talking to a male friend of mine who has met this amazing girl. The trouble is, they live in different countries - but he's never met anyone like her. I know he likes this girl a lot, so I asked him, "Can you see a future with her?" His response was, "How could I possibly know that?" Haven't you thought about it?

Yet we live in a world where we're expected to put our money into a retirement fund. We're supposed to be planning for a future that isn't even guaranteed. It's easier for us to think of money than it is to think about investing wisely into our future with a person who awakens feelings in our heart. Now don't think that money doesn't provoke feelings... just ask someone who has won heaps of it or who has lost heaps of it or who needs some of it. Money has become more important than love.

People say you can't live on love. Oh I believe you can. What good is it to be stuck alone with bucket loads of money? When you're in love, it doesn't matter where you go or what you do, all that matters is being together.

What if I don't live to 65? Boy, I'll be really ticked off knowing I could have traveled more while I had my health.

If I'm still alone and I have no money in savings at 65 I'll be living with my friend Jen on her lifestyle block working at the honey factory down the road... unless something really terrible happens... then I'll be working with orphans.

But that's assuming I'm going to be an old maid! I hardly think that's possible. I'm gonna be JUST FINE. I just have to not worry.

Atonement

2010-10-27T22:32:00.007+13:00

Two posts in one night! Wowza!!

I go through periods of writers block. Usually, when I look back on the period I haven't written about, I realize that it was necessary. I needed to take the time to process my thoughts until they made more sense. Sure, I could write about whatever comes into my head (which is what I'm doing now) but often it reflects a time that is clearly what I'd like to call "a growth spurt".

But it bothers me when I don't write. I can't seem to formulate words to describe anything that is going through my head. I have a zillion thoughts but not one word.

I hope this is the end of my writer's block. I have SO much to say. I just want to chose my words carefully so that they do the lack of words justice.

As always, I think about life - my life - and my purpose. What am I truly doing here? Have the choices I've made been smart ones? Am I living my life to its fullest potential? Am I truly following the path that I'm intended to follow? What is next?

Last week my dear friend Chalium preached a sermon at church. It was a wonderful sermon... but what really resonated with me was the word "atonement". That's the word I've been searching for. The rest of the sermon (as wonderful as it was) escapes me... but the word atonement repeats over and over in my head.

That's exactly where I am. I'm in atonement.

I went to see the movie, Eat Pray Love last week (and I'm going to see it again tomorrow). I can relate SO much to the main character, Elizabeth. She goes off on a journey to discover herself after realizing that she was in the wrong life. The only major difference is that she found herself after one measly year... and here I am how many years later? I'm still finding myself!

My life was so restless for so many years. I was SO terribly dissatisfied, unhappy, unsettled. As a result, I couldn't just stop and allow anyone in. Looking back, there were some really wonderful teachers who came into my life - most of them men - who just wanted to show me how lovable I truly was. The trouble was, I didn't love myself then. I was a funnel, love came in and just went right out the other end. I didn't even know it was happening. I had no idea how lucky I was that there was always another wonderful teacher (man) wanting a chance at loving me... it was fruitless. I could not open my heart to love no matter how great that love was on offer.

Hindsight is always 20/20. I took love for granted. I thought everyone had offers of love like I had. There always seemed to be opportunities to find love around every corner. I was SO friggen' lovable but I couldn't see it! I was blind and I was spoiled. I was clearly not ready for it.

I see now that I needed to change my environment... and that's when I came to New Zealand. My experience with love was TOTALLY different here. So the lesson began...

One of the first things I noticed when I got to New Zealand was that guys just weren't hitting on me. In fact, when I walked down the street no one even seemed to look at me. I felt totally inconspicuous. It was such a strange feeling, I kinda liked it (at first). That NEVER happened in Canada. Everywhere I went, men would hit on me... but not here in New Zealand. My options got narrower. Before I knew it, I felt desperate. In the blink of an eye, I forgot how wonderful and lovable men thought I was. I never saw it in myself you see...

So that's when I went from being oblivious to love... to swinging the pendulum all the way to being desperate for love. I love this paragraph from Eat Pray Love... it pretty much sums up who I became when I moved to NZ:

Moreover, I have boundary issues with men. Or maybe that's not fair to say. To have issues with boundaries, one must have boundaries in the first place, right? But I disappear into the person I love, I am the permeable membrane. If I love you, you can have everything. You can have my time, my devotion, my ass, my money, my family, my dog, my dog's money, my dog's time - everything. If I love you, I will carry for you all your pain, I will assume for you all your debts (in every definition of the word), I will protect you from your own insecurity, I will project upon you all sorts of good qualities that you have never actually cultivated in yourself and I will buy Christmas presents for your entire family. I will give you the sun and the rain, and if they are not available, I will give you a sun check and a rain check. I will give you all this and more, until I get so exhausted and depleted that the only way I can recover my energy is by becoming infatuated with someone else.

Now as we already know, my "love" experiences in the 8 years I've lived in NZ have not been pleasant. I've had two very bad relationships. One relationship was incredibly controlling and became physically and emotionally abusive after I had "loaned" him $20 000 (the abuse started when he claimed I gave him the money and he didn't owe me a cent). The other emotionally as I tried to "save" him from himself and he gave me complete control of his life (which I never asked for or wanted). There were a few "obsessive" love experiences thrown in for good measure. Men who desperately wanted me to love them and I desperately wished I could, and my all time favourite - the emotionally unavailable men (who I am drawn to like a bee to honey) who happily string me along but have absolutely no intention to take things further. I am beginning to wise up and realize that love IS a two way street (and that I'm not actually desperate after all). I needed to experience those bad relationships in order to truly appreciate when a good one comes along.

So now comes my period of Atonement... which has been ongoing for more than 2 years... but has really only hit me recently. I have been feeling tremendously guilty for the way I rejected love. I needed to make amends, to acknowledge the hurt I caused and to ask for forgiveness. My recent trip to Canada brought closure to every one of my past relationships. As painful as it was for me to accept, they have all moved on and they are all in happy, solid relationships now. They all have loving long term partners and they all have families. They forgave me a long time ago. I was the one who hadn't been able to forgive myself. I was finally free to move on.

I am such a different person now than the person I was... these last two years have been especially important in my personal growth. It's been the first time since I was 14 years old that I haven't had a boyfriend. I've been entirely on my own - quite a humbling experience when you aren't used to being alone. In many ways I've really enjoyed it - I love the freedom of my independence, I love not arguing or having power struggles with someone, I love the things I've accomplished on my own, I have impressed myself with what I can achieve and do... I have totally and completely fallen in love with the woman I have become. I couldn't say that before. I really didn't like the girl I was.

I went from being a taker, to being a giver (to everyone but me)... and now I'm finding the balance between both by listening to my own needs and giving them freely and generously (to myself - no more void to fill for anyone else). I am doing yoga every single day and it's amazing the changes it's made both mentally and physically. I'm saying "no" to others and saying "yes" to myself. I'm putting my needs first for a change.

But I have missed having companionship. I miss sharing all these exciting moments with that one person who is there to support me and I him. I miss having someone around to take care of (cook dinner for, mend shirts, scratch their back) and who is there to take care of me. I miss the physical intimacy. I miss the partnership. I'm afraid that I'll never find that again. But I don't miss it enough to go out with any man who comes along. This time I'm going to be choosy. My greatest mistake was not being choosy enough. If you wanted to love me, I'd take you on board... either to fill the void or because I needed a project. That was where I went wrong.

This blog entry is my most revealing, most vulnerable piece yet. Writing it is a cathartic experience, providing relief from held-in, deep emotional trauma. I know that it's important as part of my letting go. My life has always been an open book, I've written about my childhood, my relationship with Brian, my hysterectomy, my faith experiences... so writing about my heart should be no different. It's my life and it's here to share with whomever wishes to listen.

I am no longer looking for love. I'm going to stop worrying about whether someone is out there or not, because deep down I know he is and he will appear at just the right time and he will have no trouble loving me despite my quirks. I love my life just how it is and I'm in no hurry to change it. I am however, open to receiving it if it happens to cross my path - but only if cupid's bow hits both of us in the heart (no more one sided love). I will recognize it as the real thing this time... and I will cherish it. Until then, I'm happy to see where life takes me. I may not understand it at the time, but just like my writer's block, there's always a good reason for it to turn out the way it has.

CanTeen Wax Wars

2010-10-27T21:01:00.018+13:00

On Saturday October 23rd CanTeen held another big fundraiser - Wax Wars. Our local Police and Fire Departments raised over $5000 for the single event and our brave boys in blue stripped down to their superman boxer shorts to have their legs, backs and chests waxed for a good cause - young people living with cancer.

There were also opportunities to have moustaches, beards and heads shaved. Men gave up their Tom Selleck look to reveal a younger, softer side. Imagine not knowing what you look like without facial hair... the last time this gentleman saw his upper lip he was starting puberty!

And let's not forget the wonderful brave souls who shaved off their gorgeous manes, who worried whether they had a nice round head or not. This shows dedication and tremendous support to those who don't get a choice in the matter.

Even our local MP Simon Bridges came out to support the event. He hardly flinched when his legs were being waxed... at one point he said it was actually a fairly pleasant experience. The girls from the beauty school admittedly did such an amazing job to try to make this as painless for the boys as possible... but Simon had far less "fur" than this...

Ouch is right. Poor lad. He won't forget this experience.

I was there to offer pre-waxing massage to help ease the tension. I was surprised more of them didn't take me up on the offer - but apparently they couldn't tolerate a distraction from the mental preparation they needed to "psyche" themselves into it. Still I found a willing participant or two...

Take THAT for the speeding ticket I got doing 57kms/hr in a school zone! ;-)

But when you think about what it feels like to have cancer, this pales in comparison. If this is all it takes to raise awareness and funds to send 30 teenagers to camp or a group of survivors and their peers off to jump out of an airplane or to swim with dolphins... well doesn't it seem worth it?

White Water Rafting vs. The Lake

2010-09-09T07:59:00.011+12:00

I've just spent the last 5 weeks in Canada. The number 1 question people ask me is, "Why do you live in New Zealand?" Many people couldn't imagine living so far away from their family. So I thought I'd write about why I decided to make New Zealand home.

First of all, I just want to say that I have strong instincts (and learning to trust them more and more). For whatever reason, I always felt very restless living in Canada. I was the sort of kid who always suspected I was adopted because I never felt like I fit in. In school I was "popular" but I didn't fit in to any particular "clique". I floated around and made friends with everyone. I changed highschool 4 times. I made loads of friends but not a lot of very strong bonds... that came later... with lots of work... and facebook.

Recently there was an article published from CBC saying that facebook attracts narcissists with low self esteem. Of course I am going to disagree (being the narcissist I am - yeah right). Facebook has allowed me to get to know my friends on a much deeper level. I love people. I am friends with every person on my facebook page. I like to think that they are on my page because they like me too. I don't think there is anything wrong with your friends posting a comment on your photos telling you that you still look great after 20 years or living vicariously through your travels. Friends are there to boost your confidence. When did that become a bad thing?

Sorry... I digress... back to my blog;

I moved a lot too. I could never really figure out where I wanted to live. My problem is that I like everywhere. I am one of those people who wants to experience everything. It's a blessing and it's a curse. I had moved 15 times in 13 years. It really started to get to me. With each move, I had to start all over. Having my own business helped but if I had stayed put I would have established myself in my career... but that's not what I wanted. At the time, I had no idea WHAT I was searching for.

So when I took a trip to Australia and New Zealand in 2003, my expectations were low. I knew very little about NZ and came here only because so many people told me how beautiful it was. I planned a little jaunt over from Aussie, intending to stay for a few weeks tops. It's hard to explain what I felt when I got here. All of a sudden, it became clear that this was where I belonged. For the first time in my life, I felt switched on.

New Zealand makes sense to me. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE Canada and I had a lot going for me. I had settled in Stratford Ontario which I absolutely loved, my business was thriving, I had great friends... but I was so dissatisfied. I enjoyed my job but I needed more freedom. I was TOO busy and I couldn't turn business away. The busy-ness of life felt overwhelming. I was always off to do things with friends on the weekend or chasing after family that it hardly felt like I was ever able to just relax. I was absorbing all the stress. Thing vibrate at a higher frequency in Canada and so was I.

Life in New Zealand ticks along at a much slower pace. The vibe is slower and I can feel it inside of myself too. It actually took me some time to learn to allow my body to slow itself down but ultimately I knew that I would extend my life on this frequency. There are fewer people, fewer cars, fewer options, fewer distractions... and that's just what I needed.

Allow me to use this metaphor to explain it:

To me, Canada is like a white water rafting trip. It's a lot of fun when you're in the raft (often with lots of other people). You have to keep alert because the rapids can get really fast which causes the adrenaline to pump in your veins. But if you aren't careful, the raft could tip and then all of a sudden you're traveling down the rapids on your own trying to keep your head above water. It's a thrill but I always felt like I was drowning.

New Zealand is more like a lake. It's vast and clear and safe to swim in. You pretty much know what to expect the moment you step foot in the boat. It will be a smooth and pleasant (and dare I say it, boring) experience. I have been learning to swim here for 7 years. I am pleased to report that I am very gifted at treading water.

As much as I enjoy white water rafting, I couldn't to do it every day (I'm the rowdy one in the middle of the raft in the photo above btw which was actually taken in the Swiss Alps which is a pretty laid back sorta place). The constant adrenaline isn't healthy. My blood pressure was through the roof and I needed to look after myself. I have less in New Zealand - less stuff, less money, less options, less stress. When I want more, I just go to Canada for a few weeks and that does the trick. I feel like I've made the right decision. The swimming lessons are paying off. I've toyed with the idea of moving back to Canada but I'm still testing the waters. I'd definitely need a swim coach.

Another thing I love about living in New Zealand is that I actually feel like I can make a difference here. It might be the simple fact that there are fewer people therefore less competition but it is also a place where personality goes a long way. My community needs me and I feel valued being here. I'm not saying I wasn't needed or value in Stratford (because I know I was) but it was more about gaining confidence to make a difference through volunteering my time on whatever needs doing whether its on a charity committee, helping at church, visiting rest homes and running errands for people, or just popping in to have a cuppa tea with someone who needs company. The biggest difference between NZ and Canada is the amount of extra time I have in a day. I don't necessarily want to get paid to do these things. I do them because they make me feel really good. It's amazing how many people just don't get that. I wonder if it has anything to do with not growing up in a close family (we are close as adults but as kids not so much). Being in an environment where I feel loved, valued and respected makes me feel good about myself. It's ultimately what we need for a healthy self esteem. Of course it might also have a lot to do with age and maturity. I'm a different person now to who I was 10 years ago.

The big question I have to ask myself is, "where next?" I can't imagine treading water for the rest of my life - what does that mean? Do I even want to leave NZ? Is that just complacency talking? Am I getting too comfortable? All that talk about "living the simple life" but am I challenging myself anymore? These are the questions that I'm asking myself right now.

Going back to Canada this time has made me think that it might be time to start testing the waters again. I've been paddling around in this lake for 7 years now. I have come back from my white water experience feeling unscathed and refreshed. Is it time to think about doing it more frequently? Is it time to get out there for longer trips? Is it time to get out of my comfort zone? Am I ready to start over? Start over or fresh start?

All I know is that life is so good right now and I'm just taking it all in stride. I've got my eyes wide open to any opportunity that presents itself. I have a good life that I know so many people would give up their busy lives to lead. The truth is, I only seem to become conscious of how little I have when I return from the rafting trips, but living at the lake means not needing much at all. Somehow I feel the link lies somewhere in the whole self esteem issue. I need to mull that one over a little longer...

... in the meantime enjoy this photo from my hometown of Hanmer Ontario overlooking the peaceful Onwatin Lake from my best friends parents home. Note: there ARE lakes out there besides New Zealand (but there is also snow... and that is a whole other issue)!!

Tuesdays with Monty

2010-05-12T08:38:00.005+12:00

Every Tuesday for the past 2 years I spend my mornings at the local rest home where I had a brief job for 3 months (I enjoyed chatting with the residents more so I quit).

One of the youngest residents has muscular dystrophy. She's only 60, has no living family and is living in a rest home with elderly patients. It's not easy for her but there is no where else she can go. She's incredibly lonely and under stimulated. She hasn't received adequate physio and her wheelchair is falling to pieces. She asked me if Massage Therapy would help and I said "definitely!" so every Tuesday morning I go to massage the edema out of her feet. We also chat and I help her with other tasks that she can't do. I know how much she cherishes our visits.

Next I'd go visit a sweet old man by the name of Montegue Bate. Monty was one of my favourite residents at the rest home. When I first started at Bernadette, Monty heard my Canadian accent and it reminded him of the time he spent in Halifax with the Royal Navy. Monty was blind but he had these huge blue eyes that looked right through you. He had a photo of himself when he was a young man wearing a tuxedo, sitting on the top of his wardrobe. I would always tell him how handsome he was... but I think he already knew it. Monty loved women. He was so charming, it was incredible how the nurses fluttered around.

Monty had a sad life. He grew up in England with a tyrant of a father who wouldn't allow his mother to show any affection to him - thinking it would "soften the boy". According to Monty, his father beat him very badly attempting to make a man of him. It sounded like Monty was a real rebel and didn't often do what his father wanted which resulted in more beatings. When Monty went off into the Navy, he didn't have much respect for authority which of course resulted in multiple reprimands and eventually he was suspended. You can only imagine how his father reacted. So it's no wonder that he left England for life in New Zealand. He married a woman whom he admits he didn't love and although he never admitted it, I'm almost certain he was a flanderer. He had a large family (I think he told me he had 5 sons). He was also an alcoholic and I'm almost certain he was a tyrant like his own father was.

Every week I would sit with him as he told stories of his past, the same stories over and over. I suppose that's what happens when you are aging and coming closer to the end, your mind recalls all of the suppressed memories. The brain seems to "short circuit". Monty was also convinced that his doctor was trying to kill him. Once again, there was that distrust of authority.

But the reason I loved Monty was the way his face lit up as soon as I knocked on his door and he heard my voice. I'd knock and say, "Hello Monty" in my singsong voice and his baby blue eyes would sparkle and he'd say, "Come in darling. I've been waiting for you." Monty was blind but I was never invisible to him. He truly appreciated my visit. One of his daughter-in-laws would visit occasionally but his own sons never step foot in the rest home the entire 8 years he was there. Monty never spoke kindly of them often saying that they were waiting for him to die so they could have his money. I'd like to think that wasn't the case and that they were probably afraid and angry at him for being so hard on them.

Last year Monty kept talking about marrying me. I didn't have the heart to tell him that he was too old for me. Then I realized he was plotting to marry two of the carers in the rest home as well! Here I thought I was special! He was clearly going through a marriage phase (fear of dying alone?) which eventually passed. One day he announced that regretfully he couldn't marry me because I deserved to be with someone much younger who could offer me more. I told him I would always be his friend. Phew.

Monty had two loves. Women and dogs. Once the talk of marriage ceased, he started talking about his chocolate Labrador. His eyes lit up when he spoke about this dog. I brought my cat Mac into the rest home a few times to sit with Monty. Mac is so big that he feels heavy like a dog. Monty just LOVED it. I even brought Monty to Pet Sunday at church. You should have seen the smile on his face. As Monty got more and more frail, I bought him a stuffed cat which feels quite real, which he kept on his bed.

Last month Monty fell and broke his hip. The hip replacement went well but Monty didn't do well at the hospital. I went to visit him a few times but I couldn't get there every week. He hated the doctors and nurses, wasn't co-operating with them at all. He stopped eating so they had to put him on a drip and luckily I happened to be there when they put it in because I was the only person who could convince him to allow them to do it. The last time I went in to visit, Monty didn't perk up when he heard my voice. He was grouchy and even I couldn't make him happy. The nurse at the hospital said they were thinking of sending him back to the rest home because he was so unhappy and he needed to be back to his familiar surroundings.

Last week he went back to Bernadette but it was too late. Monty passed away on Saturday.

I will miss him. Monty was probably so misunderstood. He lacked love as a child and was unable to open his heart until he was nearing his death. I am sure he had a lot of regret and ultimately he died alone. Let this be a lesson to all of us. Make amends. Take every opportunity to let those closest to us know how much they mean. Recognize our faults and take every measure to change them. God Bless you Monty. Rest in Peace.

Happy 25th Life-iversary to Me!

2010-05-03T22:56:00.019+12:00

Today is May 3rd. I can never forget this day. In some ways it's more important than my birthday. Life as I knew it changed on May 3rd, 1985. Twenty five years ago, on this day, I was diagnosed with terminal cancer.

My life leading up to that day was fairly ordinary. I was the youngest of five children in a family that was pretty self absorbed. My mom raised us all solo. I only saw my dad once a year when he was passing through to see his mates and if I was lucky he'd take me out for breakfast at a dingy old diner where one of his girlfriends worked. I had a free and easy childhood with very few rules or boundaries. I was virtually invisible. I could do what I wanted. I came and went as I pleased. No one seemed to notice if I wasn't around. In fact, everyone seemed happier when I was away.

Then on May 3rd, I made my mark. I secured my place on the family map... or so I thought. Surely they'd notice me. Surely they'd love me. Surely they'd talk to me. Surely they'd include me.

I'll never forget that day or the year that followed. I had been suffering from stomach pains for months - years even. They were worse at night and I'd wake up crying. I learned that when I woke others up, they got grumpy... so I'd quietly sneak into my mother's room and lie at the end of her water bed on my tummy. The warmth of the water bed soothed my pain. Occasionally when I complained at breakfast that I felt sick and I couldn't eat anything, my mom would take me to the doctor. I was diagnosed with growing pains and a school phobia which didn't really make sense since I was really tiny and I absolutely loved school.

On May 1st I was in school doubled over with pain. I couldn't stand up, the pain in my stomach was so intense. My teacher, Mrs. Labelle rang my mother to come pick me up. We went straight to the doctor who happened to be away that day so we saw another doctor. He thought it might be appendicitis and told us to go straight to the hospital.

The pain was intermittent so one moment I'd be doubled over, the next I'd be acting completely normal. For this reason, people doubted me and thought I was "faking". There was one thing certain, my stomach was so distended, I looked like I was pregnant. Was I in labour? I heard the nurses whispering and called my mother over to ask a few questions before sending me in for an x-ray. The way they looked at me made me think I had done something bad. I wanted to cry. No one knew about the older neighbourhood boys who forced me to do naughty things to them when I was a little girl. I didn't know how babies were made and I started to worry that I might have one growing in me!

X-rays showed a large mass in my abdomen. That night my mother and I took the overnight train from my hometown of Hanmer, Ontario to Toronto where I would be admitted to the Hospital for Sick Children for immediate surgery.

What an adventure! I was so excited!!! I got to travel on a train - AT NIGHT! I got to skip school... for who knew HOW long! I got to go to Toronto and my brothers and sisters had to stay home! I got to see my awesome cousins (that's a photo of me with my cousin Karin just before I was prepped for surgery) and stay with my Auntie Debbie in the big city! I got to go to this really cool hospital where the doctors and nurses actually talked to ME and made me feel like I was important! It was one of the most positive experiences of my life. I can honestly say that cancer was the BEST thing that ever happened to me. Of course at this point no one had any idea how sick I was.

We arrived in Toronto at some gawd-awful hour of the morning and it was pouring down with rain. My mother was advised to pack for a reasonable period of time so we had 4 or 5 bags (back in the day before wheels on suitcases). My mother knew very little about Toronto, much less about how to catch a cab, so she asked someone to point us in the right direction and we proceeded to walk from Union Station to Sick Children's Hospital... in the dark... at 4:30am... in the pouring rain. I don't know how many blocks or miles or kilometres it was... but it was a LONG walk! And my tummy really started to hurt. I remember walking a few steps and having to put the bags down to rest. I was crying. I didn't want to walk any more but there was no other option.

Children are incredibly resilient and I have a very high pain threshold. I was admitted immediately and after meeting with my team of surgeons was prepped for surgery early the next morning - on May 3rd, 1985. My mother chose not to tell me what she already knew - this was very very serious and I might never wake up. Not necessarily the worst decision... ignorance is bliss. I went into surgery feeling euphoric (the drugs they gave me might explain my giddiness). One of my attending surgeons names was Dr. Zultz. He was young, handsome and funny. I thought we were the perfect team - Pepper & Zultz. As the anesthesiologist started to put me under I remember telling jokes and had all the doctors and nurses laughing.

My mother's experience was much different. She waited in the family waiting area as I underwent surgery. Families were gathered together waiting for news of their children. My mother sat alone. She recalled the date. Forty years earlier, on May 2nd her own mother passed away from a pulmonary embolism at the age of 38. My mother was 7 at the time. She prayed that her mother would keep me safe. One hour went by. Doctors came through the door and she sat, expectant that her turn was next. Two hours passed. The room was quiet. Finally she was the last person left, the doors opened and two doctors walked through. Their gowns were speckled with blood. She recognized them as my surgeons. Dr. Zultz motioned her to a quiet corner where they could sit down. She looked at them expectantly. "I'm sorry, it's definitely cancer. The tumour was quite large and aggressive, it was twisted around other organs but we managed to remove it. She was a real trooper." My mother asked, "How big?" Dr. Zultz threw his surgical cap on the table, "About that big" the size of a football. It weighed 2.2kgs.

A series of questions were asked... what type of cancer? How does that go undiagnosed? What is the prognosis? It was all very vague at that stage. I had stage 4 ovarian cancer - incredibly rare in a child who hadn't even hit puberty. I was born with it - it was called an yolk sac carcinoma or an "endo dermal sinus tumour". Something didn't develop properly while I was in utero and I had an ovarian dermoid cyst which left undiagnosed could develop into cancer. The rareness of the type of cancer meant that the diagnosis was poor. At the time, there were only 19 diagnosed cases (I was the 20th) and no survivors.

However... (I like howevers)... there was hope. I could be used as part of a clinical trial to test some new chemotherapy drugs that had just been approved by the Canadian Health Care System. Trialing the drugs gave me a 50/50 chance of survival... but it could come at a great cost. The drugs had never been tested together on a human being and the side effects could be fatal. Some of the side effects were; kidney damage, lung damage, hearing loss, seizures, memory loss, liver damage, tremors, depression, brain damage, nerve damage, heart failure, death. Long term side effects were virtually unknown - that's what they needed me for. Without treatment, the cancer would permeate my organs as the tumour had started to metastasize and there was evidence that it had already spread to my lymphatic system. It was a long shot, but at least I would help to pave the way for someone else. My mother agreed... I was officially signed over to be used as a guinea pig.

Can I just tell you how blissful I was that first month while I was recovering from surgery in Sick Children's Hospital? It was the first time in my life that I felt loved, wanted, spoken directly to and not at. It was a turning point in my life. I knew that even if my family didn't appreciate me, others did. I was important. My life was important. Of course, I still had no idea how sick I was and for that reason I didn't really act like a kid who was dying from cancer. This made my brothers and sisters confused... so of course they assumed I was just milking the attention and that made them hate me even more. You can't really blame them because no one told them anything either.

I started my rounds of chemo two weeks after surgery. I cannot even begin to explain how awful chemotherapy was. Back in those days all chemo was administered through IV needles directly in veins in my arms. I would trial up to 4 different drugs at a time for a whole week, which meant I'd have 2 needles in each arm and my arms would be strapped to boards so the needles wouldn't get yanked out. I was a very sick and very unhappy little girl - and that made it even worse when it came to getting sympathy from my family. But I was very good at putting on a smile because it made me uncomfortable if someone started to cry or fuss over me.

After a month in hospital, I was discharged to go home. I got a nice stylish hair do hoping that it would help prevent it from falling out in clumps. I was so excited to get back to school and see my friends! But it wasn't at all what I expected. They were happy to see me at first - because I looked healthy and fresh with my new hair do and modern city clothes and I brought goodies to share with my classroom (Auntie Debbie worked for a major candy company at the time) - but it wasn't long before my hair started to fall out. There would be piles of hair around my desk at the end of the day and I'd wake up in the morning with clumps of hair on my pillow. One day I went to school with a little page cap and didn't take it off. As soon as I looked "sick", I became invisible. They just didn't know what to say so they pretended like I wasn't there. If I wasn't invisible, I was teased and bullied. Those were tough times. I didn't want to stay home because it was so hostile there, all I wanted in the whole world was to feel "normal" with my friends.

Halfway through the treatment - about 4 or 5 chemo sessions in - the veins in my arms and hands collapsed. There was no where left to stick needles. My little body couldn't handle the strength of the chemo. I had burn marks up my arms from where it literally fried my skin. I can still remember the metallic taste as the drugs entered my body. This is where I was used as another monumental first - I was selected to be the recipient of a new gadget called an "infuse-a-port" which would forever change the way chemotherapy is administered. The gadget is inserted under the collarbone on the front of the chest through a minor surgical operation. It feeds the chemotherapy directly into the jugular vein and the best part about it - only ONE needle for ALL chemo! It still freaking hurt... but my arms were free! I could go down to the playroom and do arts and crafts if I wasn't barfing all day. Whoo hoo!

At this stage I remember feeling isolated and alone. No one visited while I was on treatment. I was moved to a quiet ward and shared rooms with REALLY SICK kids who always died. I was no longer allowed to go to school when I was home between treatments. I couldn't have friends over... not that my friends wanted to sleep over anymore anyway. I was bald, skinny, grumpy, sick and I slept a lot. It wasn't fun. It sucked - big time. I was really angry too. I was invisible again. We didn't have organizations like "Make a Wish Foundation" or anything like that. I never got any cool stuff for having cancer - not like now a days. I might have been a bit more popular with my siblings if I could have taken them to Disney World.

What I didn't realize (because no one told me) was that I was not responding to treatment. My alpha-fetoprotein levels were high indicating the cancer was still active and could possibly be in my liver. All they could do was finish the trial and hope and pray for a miracle. I believed in God and I knew I had a team of angels watching over me (including my grandmother Ann Catherine and Saint Therese). I "felt" them, I even had moments when I saw them and I always talked to them. They were my only friends. Everyone else seemed to have given up on me.

I had my last chemotherapy treatment at Sick Children's Hospital in November 1986. The nurses made me a big cake - which seemed odd, I couldn't eat any of it because it would make me throw up. I hope they enjoyed it.

I was discharged from Sick Kids but I had to be admitted to Laurentien Hospital in Sudbury because I was not well enough to go home (I was expected to die there but no one told me). I had zero platelets, zero white blood cells and suffered severe anemia. I couldn't fight off an infection and if I was knocked I could bleed to death. I looked beyond pale... I was grey. A week later, I was still alive so they sent me home to die.

Now this is where the miracle happens.

I slept in my mother's water bed for three whole days. At this stage my brothers and sisters were so fed up with my illness that they had all left home. It was quiet and peaceful for a change. My mom would come in to check on me just to make sure I was still alive. My breathing was so shallow that she'd have to hold a mirror under my nose to see if my breath would fog it up. I didn't move a muscle. I didn't stir. She said I looked like a corpse. At one stage I remember her calling Sister Fredrika over to bless me. Sister lived in the house across the road. I was too weak to open my eyes but I distinctly remember being really embarrassed because I wasn't wearing my hat and I hadn't let anyone (outside of the nurses in the hospital) see me bald.

On the third day she decided to get into the garden to do some weeding. Weeding is therapeutic and she had a lot of pent up anger and frustration and sadness. She was so angry at God for putting the family through such turmoil (my illness ultimately caused total family breakdown). She thought of the rose bush that my dad planted under my bedroom window the year I was born. I was named after Saint Therese - the little flower - who sent roses from heaven. I wore her pendent around my neck and I spoke to her often when no one else talked to me. The rose bush was a dud. It had never produced any flowers so that day, my mother decided to rip it up.

To her amazement, when she walked to the front of the house where the bush was planted, on it was one single rose. It was a sign from God, from Saint Therese, from Heaven above. My mother cut the rose from the bush and placed it on the bedside table. Shortly after, I woke up and I was SO hungry! And from that moment, I started getting better.

The doctors say it's a miracle. There's no scientific answer. When I had a biopsy, my body showed absolutely no sign of cancer. The surgeon told my mother that if she had not done the initial surgery, she would never believe I was the same child.

When I write this story, I feel incredibly mystified. It hardly feels like I'm writing about my own personal experience, rather it feels like I'm telling a story. But it's my story and it's an incredible one. I'm humbled by my experience and I try to give back as much as possible because I know that my life is a gift and I mustn't waste it. I paved the way for Ovarian Cancer. The chemotherapy combinations I trialed are now used worldwide to cure women and children from the disease. Ovarian cancer is becoming more common - likely due to the effects of pollution and chemicals in our environment. Endo dermal sinus tumours are the most common type of ovarian cancer in children these days - but now the prognosis is good. We know which drugs work.

Sadly, my experience hasn't put me on the map with my own family - where I still feel invisible. But it has enriched my life so much and allowed me to mentor so many young people who were dying from cancer themselves... like Krista Porteous who died in 1992 and Sally Ainley who died this past February. I think I brought comfort to their families as well as I was able to support the girls right through to their deaths. Not to mention the hundreds of kids who I got to know through camps like Camp Oochigeas and CanTeen and was able to connect with and share hope with. If that's not what it's all about, then I don't know what is.

When I work with these kids I am reminded of how lucky I am to be alive, and not just alive but how virtually unscathed I am after such a traumatic experience. The long term side effects have been manageable and I know I'm really incredibly lucky. A lot of kids have disabilities as the result of their chemo - hearing loss is very common as is severe depression and learning disabilities. The fact that I can't have children seems minor. Even the fact that my organs are not likely to take me into old age seems a bit far fetched for me to accept. I've lived much longer than a lot of people I've met along the way. I am grateful for the life I have, in whatever state it comes. I look after myself by eating well, exercising and trying to avoid stress.

I would like to continue to provide support or offer words of hope to anyone who is scared. If you know anyone who needs me or an organization who needs a guest/motivational speaker, please don't hesitate to contact me. It's my life's mission to bring hope to a world that has been told there's none.

Never Take Life For Granted

2010-02-12T20:29:00.004+13:00

It has been a year, a WHOLE year that I have actually been able to sit down to think and write about what has been going on in my life. All of a sudden, when life wasn't already busy enough - it got busier. Now I will spend the next few months recounting all of the amazing adventures I have been having in 2009.

I have been truly blessed and I am so grateful for life and everything that I have been able to achieve in it.

But in order to really appreciate life, we must find balance, which for me, is finding time to sit and reflect on the lessons I've learned from the experience I have gained... and write it all down so that I can always look back and remember how lucky I am to be here.

Today I received the tragic news that my cousin Katie died. At the age of 22, in the prime of her life, driving home late from work, she was struck head on by a drunk driver. She died instantly. Her 18 year old passenger lies in critical condition and the 25 year old drunk driver (who entered ongoing traffic to avoid being pulled over by the police) received minor injuries.

Once again I contemplate life and why must it be so unfair sometimes? Katie is the youngest in her family, the only daughter of my Aunt (my Uncle has two daughters from a previous marriage). She was a glorious gift to her family. My Aunt will never see her only daughter get married and the thought just breaks my heart.

Why do some of us live and some of us have to die in order for life lessons to be learned? What is the lesson in this tragedy? Who is it for? How many people have to die from drunk driving accidents before people actually STOP doing it? Why must it hit close to home before it registers? The rules are simple... if you drink, do not drive. You are playing Russian Roulette if you do... and that makes you a calculated murderer.

In this past year I have been hit hard by three separate drunk driving incidents. In my hometown, Hanmer Ontario, three teens were hit by a drunk driver when they were walking home from a night at the movies. Two were killed instantly as the car drove into them like bowling pins. The third was dragged under the car a few hundred feet. The driver slammed his vehicle into the side of a house and tried to run away. He escaped without any injuries. The tragedy shook the small town - even those of us who didn't know the victims.

Then a few months later another cousin of mine lost her boyfriend to a hit and run (suspected drunk driver) when he was walking alone back to their campground. They had just bought a house and were about to move in. He had a lot more life to live. I still can't even fathom the loss she feels and will carry with her forever.

Now Katie is gone. Once again reminded that life is so precious and in an instant it can end. We are all on borrowed time and none of us know when we will be called back to meet our maker.

Everyday I am grateful for my life, especially when tragedy strikes. 25 years ago my life was threatened by cancer and for some reason my life was spared - defied the odds - so that I could help others who are affected and need support from someone who understands exactly what they are going through. Each time another young person passes away with the disease, I thank God and pray that I am doing good work of this gift of life he has given me.

And sometimes when I feel that it's unfair that I could not have children, I have to remind myself that I am here to help hundreds of kids. I will never feel the love that is only shared between a mother and her child, but I will also never have to experience the pain of losing a child either. I'm sure it's a pain I would never want to bear. So Auntie Lise, I am praying for you and sending you all my love right now. You have the strongest heart of anyone I know and somehow I know that it is going to end up even bigger.

Katie is going to look after Grandpa and Nanny, Uncle Ray and Cody. I think they all needed some sunshine. She'll bring lots of it to them.

Camp is where the HEART is!

2009-02-04T19:38:00.008+13:00

When I am away at camp, I take on a completely different personality. It's my "camp persona". There's just something about camp and being around the kids that transforms me into Peter Pan - and I never want to grow up. I love it and I hate it all at the same time. I love the high I get... because I can let go and be my crazy self... without feeling incredibly nuts (because everyone expects me to be a bit nutty at camp). The kids let their guards down too which I absolutely love.

The one thing I hate about it is that I can't switch back and forth between "crazy camp Tracy" and "normal, clever, business person Tracy". It's one or the other... and crazy camp Tracy is a lot more fun. Luckily I don't often need to be normal at camp so it's all good. It's exhausting though... and I'm thankful it's just for a week because it's hard work!

This was my first year at CanTeen National Camp. I was super excited to be a Volunteer and get the chance to see how camp here might be different from Ooch back home. Of course Camp Oochigeas is a two week summer camp for children ages 6-18 whereas CanTeen is for teenagers aged 14-24 so there will be obvious differences. One of the main differences is that Camp Ooch is staffed entirely by volunteers... and for that reason, the organization can use funding to make camp as pleasant and healthy as possible for the volunteers and the campers. The food was always pretty amazing at Camp Ooch... because kids with cancer need a balanced diet. I'm not saying CanTeen wasn't pleasant or healthy, but the standard wasn't quite as high.

CanTeen staff are paid to be at camp (what a fantastic job!) and they have a handful of volunteers. For this reason, the budget is a lot tighter and funding has to be used for necessities and transportation. CanTeen National Camp brings teenagers from across the country together which means flying most of them to the site. That's gonna cost a lot of moola! Let's not forget that Camp Ooch is the only camp in Ontario (or is it Canada?) that offers on site chemotherapy... and is strictly for kids with cancer. So even kids in the middle of treatment can still make it to camp. CanTeen is for survivors, patients, siblings of patients and survivors and bereaved siblings. I love the concept of BOTH camps. I couldn't choose one that I liked better. They are both critical to the support and development of kids who are affected by this killer disease.

When I was diagnosed in 1985, both Camp Ooch AND CanTeen were both starting up on opposite sides of the globe. Ooch was started in Toronto and CanTeen in Australia. Unfortunately, I was diagnosed in the early stages of the whole "support network" so I missed out. I didn't discover how wonderful Camp Ooch was until I was 16... but that was only two weeks during summer. CanTeen is a year round support network which meets once a month. I really could have benefited from that.

As an adult, I benefit. I get so much out of being a volunteer - which is why I feel so blessed. While I was away at camp, I got to meet most of the campers and I learned a little bit about how cancer has affected them. It humbles me each and every time and this is what propels me to do it. I know that I am lucky to be alive but I often take my life for granted... and volunteering reminds me to be grateful. When I was sick, I was given experimental chemo. I was part of a clinical trial. I WAS the clinical trial. The list of side effects was long - deafness, brain damage, lung failure, kidney damage, chronic depression, infertility, memory loss, death... yet here I am 24 years later with what I'd consider minor issues. But I have NEVER been offered support or counselling. I've dealt with it all on my own. This is why I am so strong. Support would have been nice... but I never knew it was out there. I am just happy to be alive.

For this reason, I can really bond with these kids (I call them "kids" but I realize they are actually young adults - but I think of us all as "kids" so I use the word loosely. In this photo I am transforming a senior CanTeen member, Sean, into Seana for the Marty Casey concert). There is a camaraderie between cancer survivors... it's a private club... and you have to have had cancer to get in. I've had co-counsellors at Ooch who have had "cancer envy" because they can't get into this club. CanTeen is a little different because there are siblings there as well. Frankly I wish my own siblings had more support when I was sick. I know it was hard on them - in some ways I think MY cancer affected them worse than it affected me. I got all of the attention... they were left at home alone while our mom took me to Toronto every month for chemo. They just wanted life to get back to normal. It was a really tough time for our family. It would have been great if they had some support. Maybe we'd all be a lot closer now. In this aspect, cancer IS contagious. My whole family had cancer but I was the only one who got flowers and was excused from school.

As an adult, I can clearly understand what these "kids" are going through. I can understand what the families are coping with. I realize that things aren't always what they seem. Behind closed doors, people fall apart, they say terrible things they don't mean, they find ways to cope which might not be healthy and they feel helpless. Then when the chemo is finished and life is supposed to return to "normal", there is residual guilt, possible addiction and often unresolved resentment. This is why there's CanTeen... and this is why I am so passionate about it.

Needless to say, I had an amazing week at camp. I was in my element. I was reminded just exactly why I survived. This is what I was born to do. I'm a camp junkie. The week was jam packed with activities and games. I met some amazing people - both staff and campers - who will surely become lifelong friends. Oh and I got to meet Marty Casey - the runner up for INXS Rock Star who came to camp and ran a song writing workshop with some of the kids! He was such a nice guy. Most importantly, I know that by being there, I was a mentor to at least one or two campers who needed a little hope... and that's exactly what this is all about.

Unfortunately I injured myself on day three. I was doing a synchronized swimming routine and I thought the pool was deeper than it was... and I jumped in really hard. I got a hairline fracture and contusion of the calcaneous. Ouch. I didn't let that stop me though and I hobbled along for the rest of the week. It could have been much worse! It is going to be about 6 weeks before I can walk properly. If kids can go to camp while on active chemo - I'm not going to let a little fracture stop me! What would my Ooch friends say?

"You only fail if you fail to try"... a motto I live by every single day.

If you can stand up, that's surfing!

2009-01-18T10:07:00.011+13:00

On January 12th CanTeen Bay of Plenty had their monthly activity - SURFING - at Mount Maunganui. I've only tried surfing twice in my life. The first time was quite exciting and I was keen to learn. I spent most of my day just paddling out and riding waves in on my tummy pushing myself up onto my knees. It was challenging to say the least. I would guess it would be much easier learning to surf when you're young and nimble.

The second time I went surfing I experienced my first washing machine effect. That's what they call it when you get dumped by a big wave and you get disoriented under the water and have no idea which way is up. You usually swallow buckets of salt water in the process so that when you finally do surface, you are coughing and sputtering. It's really scary.

This was my third surfing attempt, nearly 3 years after my last. I am much more flexible now that I've been doing yoga for a year and a half so I figured it might be a tad easier. Plus we were renting these MASSIVE boards for first time learners... so it HAD to be easier! Dan, the Member Support Manager for Waikato/BOP gave us all a few pointers and we practiced going from lying to standing on our boards on the sand. That seemed easy enough...

So off we trodded into the rolling waves - perfect for learning how to surf. They were big enough to catch but small enough that if you fell off you wouldn't experience the washing machine. Now let me just say that although the waves look teensy... when one is approaching... it looks really big! I do not know how serious surfers get the courage to tackle those massive tubes. I can't even imagine what the washing machine would feel like when you get dumped by a wave that size!

When you're first learning to surf, the key is to try to get up on your knees and ride the wave. Eventually graduating to getting up on your feet. This isn't as easy as it sounds. First you have to paddle out and wait for the right wave. It takes patience. Sometimes you see surfers sitting out on their boards waiting for the perfect wave for AGES! Once you see that wave, you have to start paddlling like mad so that you "catch" it. If you miss it, you will have to wait for the next one... which could take ages again. Once you catch the wave, you then have to try to push yourself up while keeping the board steady. It's strange doing this on a moving board... and it's easy to get freaked out and fall off.

Now when that happens it is VERY important that you know where your surfboard is AT ALL TIMES. I learned this the hard way... because I popped up in front of my board and it hit me smack on the bridge of my nose! It hurt like a bun of a sitch... but I didn't want to make a scene in front of the CanTeeners or make them scared. I literally saw stars... and my nose started bleeding but I just carried on and made light of it... but I had such a headache. It's funny how strong you can be when you want to! If I was there with a friend I probably would have cried. I'm really lucky that I didn't knock any teeth out or break my nose. I hit it hard enough that I actually shifted the septum... but I was able to get it back into place. Don't ask how.

Surfing takes patience to learn but I can see how you can become addicted to the feeling you get riding a wave. Unfortunately for me, by the time I got through all of the steps... steadying myself, pushing up onto my knees, then feet... the wave was over and there was no more momentum pushing my board so I'd fall off just as I was standing up! Frustrating!!! Next time will be better.

Blues, Brews and BBQ's

2009-01-18T09:15:00.008+13:00

It is the drink of men who think
And feel or fear nor fetter -
Who do not drink to senseless sink,
But drink to think the better.

I'm feeling better. My cough is almost gone. It's time to get back out onto the social scene and what better way to start than a day out at one of the Mount's most popular events - Blues, Brews and BBQ's!

It was held on January 8th from 2pm-10pm. This was the 14th annual B,B&B - all profits from the festival are made available for donation to local community groups, charities and for youth activities making the Western Bay of Plenty a better place to live. A great reason to go out and contribute to the community!

Blues, Brews & BBQ's is a celebration of everything that is unique about the traditional Kiwi summer lifestyle; their love of outdoor cooking, great music and enjoying a fine ale or two with good friends and family. It's no wonder that it's described as an extravaganza of great music, fine ales and culinary cuisine! Let me tell you, the food was incredible! All we did was eat - ALL DAY LONG! Here I am tasting Kangaroo, Wild Crocodile and Ostrich skewers for the first time. They were really tasty! Kangaroo was a little chewy but it wasn't as gamey as I expected. I've heard that crocodile tastes similar to chicken but my opinion is that it didn't have a strong flavour at all and a firm fish texture. Ostrich was DELICIOUS! It was tender, juicy and had a really great flavour.

They had an incredible variety of food - wild pork sandwiches, whitebait fritters, mexican food, wood fired pizzas, lamb shanks, butter chicken, German soft pretzels and sausages... just to name a few. Check out this Paella - cooked on site including king prawns, mussels, calamari, baby octopus, chicken, sausages and bacon. OMG! So yummy!

B,B&B is the main fundraiser of the local service club - Tauranga Round Table - and through this they have been able to make a difference to many people in our community. This organization is comprised of a group of responsible men under the age of 45 (or so they claim to be responsible) with a strong sense of community spirit. Round Table offers opportunities for personal development, growing friendships, community involvement and promoting international understanding and goodwill. They are always looking for new members... so it might be something you'll consider doing in 2009. The president - Andrew Scott - is one of my clients.

Beer is one of the oldest drinks known to civilisations. It may even have been the cause of civilisation. Relics used for the production of beer have been dated back as far as 5000 years ago. The first beers are believed to have been made from bread, evidence of which has been found on stone drawings showing bread being baked and then crumbled into a drink that is recorded as having made people feel "exhilerated, wonderful and blissful". It was a great opportunity to taste premium beer made in some of the smaller microbreweries around the country. As a Canadian, I can really appreciate a fine lager. My favourite choice was this delicious Honey Beer...

A Quiet Festive Season

2009-01-18T09:01:00.004+13:00

Phew, I'm getting there. Nearly caught up. Now I'm into 2009! Christmas and New Year passed without much excitement. I got tonsillitis mid-December and didn't finish my course of antibiotics... so just before Christmas the tonsillitis returned with avengence! My immune system was pretty run down so I also ended up getting bronchitis.

I managed to run the Christmas Eve Children's Service at church. It's my favourite service of the year - we dress the tree and the children learn the meaning of the decorations and the Christian connection to them. I dressed up as a beach angel and lead the service. It was loads of fun. Thanks to James who was my faithful sidekick and did all of the readings for the evening with his usual flair. A number of people told us it was the best Christmas Eve service they'd ever been to. I'm just sorry I don't have any photos.

I spent Christmas at home. The last thing I wanted to do was get anyone sick and I was not in a social mood. I needed rest. A few years ago the thought of spending Christmas alone would have depressed me but I actually enjoyed the solitude this year. I had a few invitations to Christmas dinner (thank you John and Bonnie) but I opted to stay home.

The same went for New Year's Eve. I was feeling even worse by then and my cough was dreadful. There were some good movies on television so I snuggled up on the couch and rang in the New Year quietly. I know this is going to be a great year.

Hope the same rings true for all of you.

Agrodome Adventures

2009-01-18T00:06:00.004+13:00

There's a lot to catch you up on. I'm shocked at how lazy I've been at updating this... and now I'm making up for it! I want to catch up before I head to CanTeen National Camp this week because Lord knows, I'm gonna have lots to write about that!

So this entry is about our Bay of Plenty branch CanTeen trip to the Agrodome. I've said it time and again - CanTeen is an absolutely FANTASTIC organization supporting teenagers affected by cancer. I didn't have this kind of support when I was a kid growing up with cancer... it's invaluable. As a kid with cancer, you may not want to be different - but you ARE. Once you have cancer, you will NEVER be the same. It affects you in ways you can't even explain.

That's why CanTeen and organizations like it are so important. It is a place where other people "get it". You are no longer the only "special" one... because there is bound to be someone you'll meet who is even more amazingly strong than you. For a young person with cancer, this is an incredible relief. It's hard to explain... but I "get it".

So as I said earlier, I didn't have this kind of support when I was growing up... but I'm making up for lost time now. How fortunate I am - how BLESSED - to be a part of this! As an adult volunteer, I can experience all this awesomely cool stuff with the kids!

We meet every month and this time we were off to the Agrodome for some FUN! The Agrodome has loads of stuff to see and do - sort of like an amusement park but with extreme activities such as the freefall extreme (simulates the freefall feeling you get jumping out of a plane)...

The shweeb (a monorail rollercoaster that you peddle like a bicycle)...

The agrojet (a highspeed boat that races around a small course and scares the living bejesus out of you)...

And the swoop (a bungy drop in a body bag with up to three people).

I did the swoop with CanTeener Megan and Member Liason Co-ordinator Bex. Have a look at our photos in the next blog entry. Enjoy!

Swoop Series Shots

2009-01-17T22:16:00.024+13:00

These are the photos of myself, Megan and Bex doing the swoop. Let me first say that Megan warned us that she was a screamer but she LOVES the swoop (she's done it a multitude of times - slightly addicted). Bex had never done it before and she was a little nervous. I've done it once but I absolutely LOVE rollarcoasters and the whole feeling of falling. When I am scared I laugh. It's my nervous reaction to fear. I screamed when the other two started screaming (I was in charge of pulling the rip cord) but then my screams turned into hysterical laughter. These photos are priceless.

We're getting secured in our body bags. It was all still very surreal at this stage. I'm not sure why I'm laughing so hard already... I think the guy was strapping me in and I was caught off guard when he fastened the strap between my crotch (like those lifejackets kids wear).

Megan is starting to psyche herself out. Bex is just totally oblivious because she's never done anything like this before... and we were still close to the ground. I am just thinking about how fun this is going to be.

The girls are getting a bit nervous now.

This is when the curse words start and the fear and panic set in. I'm starting to have second thoughts now. WHY was this fun?

PULL! OMG!!!

WE ARE GOING TO DIE!

Fear. Sheer fear. I'm sure you could hear the screaming all the way to Canada.

Now I start to laugh...

Hysterically.

Bex just realized how loudly Megan screams. My sides are splitting.

That wasn't so bad. Let's do it again!!! Look at Megan, she's such a little drama queen!

Happy Movember!

2009-01-17T09:19:00.009+13:00

My Auntie Maureen came to visit me for a month in November. She is my mom's older sister and she lives in Oklahoma. She has recently retired so took the opportunity to visit her favourite niece on the other side of the planet. Smart move.

We have had an early summer. The month of November is always a bit of a crap shoot... you just never know what to expect. But this year boasted lots of sunshine and fantastic temperatures (not too hot, not too cool).

I live in such a great spot, it's easy to spend an entire month just cruising around down at the beach, walks around the Mount and exploring the shops in town. That's mostly what Mo did. She was content to just wander. We have a good bus system - they're called "Hopper" buses. You buy a hopper pass for the day and you can hop on and off as much as you'd like. It's a great way to get around (although I have yet to use them).

Unfortunately I am not independently wealthy so I had to work while Mo was here but luckily (or not) November wasn't overly busy so I had lots of free time to enjoy being a tourist again. I love being a tourist. It's one of my favourite things to do.

Rotorua is high on the tourist list. It's a short 45 minute drive from my place and it has lots of neat stuff to look at - the biggest draw of course being the natural geothermal activity. I took Mo down to a place called "Craters of the Moon" which used to be one of the only free geothermal walks. Not surprisingly, they have started charging a $5 entry fee. If someone can make money out of something as natural as the earth, they'll do it. I like Craters of the Moon because it's still a very basic walking trail (it's not overly touristy) and it's constantly changing. The land is very unstable in this area with new steam holes appearing daily. You have to stick to the path... otherwise you might stumble into a boiling hot mud pit like this.

Another day we took a drive out to Waitomo to see the popular Waitomo Caves and the glowworms that inhabit the caves. Unfortunately I don't have any photos of these glowworms (too difficult to photograph) so you'll just have to come and have a look for yourself. It's a spectacle not to be missed. Imagine taking a boat trip in complete darkness and silence, the only sound is the water lapping the sides of the boat, and above your head is the most incredible light show you've ever seen. The glowworm is actually not a worm at all, but the larva of a fly. After hatching, the baby flies excrete sticky threads to make a "hammock" and "fishing lines". One each of the 70 lines (1-50cm long) is a drop of shiny stuff - the worm's waste product, lit up by the light of the bioluminescent larva itself. Withe the brightness of one-billionth of a watt, it is one of the most efficient wayf of producing light. After months of trolling with poo, the glowworm undergoes metamorphosis and becomes and adult fly.

Evolution was so busy figuring out how to make the glowworm's stool shine, however, that it forgot to help the worm develop a digestive tract. After only a day or two of adult life - flying, mating, and laying eggs - the fly dies of starvation (or from being oversexed). Tragic really. Being a worm would be the highlight of their life. So when you gaze up in awe of the dimly blueish stars of the cave's ceiling, you remember that the speck of light is a maggot fishing for its lunch with a glob of excrement. Ain't nature grand?

We also walked along paths through these fascinating caves and learned all about the beautiful stalagmite and stalagtites and other various cave formations and fossils.

On our way home we stopped in to catch up with Poppy Dick and Jocelyn who live in Omokoroa. I haven't seen them since last year when we met them on our camping trip down to Mokau. It was lovely to see them again.

Auntie Mo had a great trip. I wish I had more time to take her to more places but she was pretty happy with the things she got to see and do. She took a day trip to Matamata where they filmed parts of the Lord Of The Rings and where you can do tours of Hobbiton. She also spent a weekend down in Rotorua where there is a multitude of stuff to see and do. Natalya and Chantelle live there now so we all met up with Auntie Mo at a nature park called Rainbow Springs. There are a lot of native birds, plants and reptiles as well as a Kiwi enclosure which allows you to view Kiwi birds in natural surroundings foraging for grubs. Kiwis are nocturnal birds so you never see them in the wild. They are such fascinating little creatures.

White Island Tours

2009-01-16T13:09:00.008+13:00

I forget that some of you rely on this blog to keep up to date on what I am doing with myself. I have gotten lazy with only updating my facebook (but know that quite a few of you don't have a facebook account).

So I am going to write a few short blog updates to fill you in on the exciting stuff happening here... and lemme tell you... it's always exciting in my life!

Auntie Maureen and I had some good adventures together. The best one was probably our day trip to White Island off the coast of Whakatane (pronounced "fuck-a-tan-y") which is a 45 minute drive from my house. White Island is New Zealand's only active marine volcano.

We enjoyed a six hour eco-adventure tour aboard PeeJay yacht tours. It was a stunning day. I highly recommend doing this.

Once we reached the Island we had to board a smaller zodiac which ferried us in to the dock.

White Island is much like being on the moon... but it's really hot and smells like sulphur. It was an ever evolving landscape of hissing fumaroles, lava bombs, glittering crystals, unusual rock formations and hot thermal streams. These streams were highly acidic... how do I know? Well my curiosity got the better of me and I put my hands in it and then scratched my eye. D'oh! That burned for a while.

We were given gas masks to help us breathe when the acidity was too much. High levels of sulphur dioxide isn't the healthiest stuff to breath... and it makes you cough and sputter. The taste reminded me of chemotherapy! It's interesting how you never forget something like that. I remember tasting the chemical as soon as it entered my bloodstream. I wonder if I could have just spent a year on White Island?

It was such a wonderous place. We explored the ruins of the historic sulphur mining factory and learned about the catastophes and the eruption that killed 12 men and ultimately lead to the demise of the mining operation. There is something very daunting about wandering around a live volcano... like you never know if it's going to blow. The eruptions last approximately 1 1/2 minutes but the volocity of the blow is like a bomb going off. Massive boulders fly through the air like bullets. Something tells me our hard hats wouldn't really protect us much.

As we walked along the guided path I felt an odd sensation on my arms.... like prickles poking me. I wondered whether it was the hot sun and if I needed more sunscreen... but the guide told me it was just a bit of acid rain. Nice. It was like being a kid back in my home town of Sudbury Ontario in the good old days before the smoke stack. No wonder I got cancer.

The best part of the tour was reaching the crater lake in the centre. The water was bright blue with a ph-1 and a temperature of 75 degrees celcius. If we ever had a tsunami and sea water reached the crater, the explosion would be disasterous.

This was an absolutely fantastic day out. We were very lucky with the weather. I would definitely recommend it! That's another thing I can tick off my list of things to do before I die!

A day at the races!

2008-11-21T20:32:00.016+13:00

This is something we just don't do much of in Canada... well at least not in the world I grew up in! A fun way to spend a Saturday in New Zealand is to get dressed up (or not) and go to the horse races! You pack a picnic lunch, and if you go with a group of people like we did, you eat and drink in the hot sun (hopefully) and spend money placing bets on horses. Drinking and betting... healthy huh? Here I am with Kelly looking all snazzy in our race day outfits.

This was my first day at the races and I thoroughly enjoyed it! I relied on my friend Daz to help me learn the "lingo" (see my notes below). I studied the program and asked questions about which bets to place. It was a whole new learning experience. I won about $26 in the second race and I think that made me feel a bit over confident, overall I lost money... but it was still heaps of fun and I got a buzz from watching the horses race.

I would have liked to win instead of lose, but I think I might have developed a bit of an addiction so this was probably for the best.

Thought you'd all like to know a little about what I learned:

A Girl's Guide to Racing:

Let's face it - we all know nothing in life is a dead cert and that life itself is a bit of a gamble. While choosing a horse can be a science to those in the know, girls who just want to have fun can apply feminine logic…choose by names, the colours of the jockey's silks, the jockeys themselves or surrender to those who know and pick a favourite or take a tip from someone you can blame later (this was the method of choice for me).

Picking the form of a horse can be technical, but not nearly as dicey as picking a husband - after all you can see what they've achieved recently, how much money they've won and you can have a good look at them 'au naturel' before you commit.

All bets are placed in $1 multiples.

$1 for a win: means you will receive the win dividend posted on the board if your chosen horse should bolt in. Otherwise referred to as 'on the nose'.

$1 for a place: means you will receive the place dividend posted on the board if your horse comes first, second or third.

Each way: Otherwise known as 'hedging your bet'. It is a combination of a win and place bet. If your horse wins, you walk away with both the win and place dividend, and if your horse comes second or third, you will collect the place dividend.

Quinella: Not a trendy dress shop in Newmarket. Just pick two horses to come first or second in any order and you will receive the Quinella dividend.

Trifecta: Not some new name for a bug caught while on holiday in a far off land… pick three horses in the order they will romp home in and you will receive this dividend.

Box Trifecta: Not the packaging for the vaccine for the above - just pick three horses and if they win in any order you're a winner!

Easy Bet : A much hackneyed phrase also found off the track in a hopeful man's vocabulary. Just think of this as the dating agency of the racecourse - simply pay your money and let the computer choose!

Here's some other helpful jargon that you can slip into conversations to make you sound like a well seasoned racing guru!

Stayer: A horse who can handle long distances or someone who can drink all day. The Auckland Cup (held in March) is an historic staying race.

Mud-lark: A horse that likes rain-affected tracks.

Maiden: A horse or rider who has not yet won a race.

Birdcage: Actually for horses not parrots…the horses head to the track via the birdcage and the jockeys dismount here after the race. In the birdcage is where you'll spot important trainers and owners.

Photo finish: Not only flawless make-up, it is a finish of a race which is so close that they need to examine a photograph to determine the winner.

Spelling: Leave the dictionary at home…a horse will typically race until it needs a rest or is injured and then it will be turned out in a paddock to recuperate or 'spell' (if a horse had spelled recently it will be marked under the horse's form in the racebook as 'X').

Flutter: A small bet.

Plunge: Not a dress neckline, but a very big bet (we did this at the last race as a group bet - we lost everything).

Blinkers: Although batting your eyelids is a great flirting technique, blinkers on the racetrack serve to improve a horse's concentration by limiting their vision of the other horses running. The racebook will indicate which horses are wearing blinkers.

Blaze: A white marking on the face of a horse

Scratched: When a horse is withdrawn from a race before the start.

Length: Describes the distances between horses in a race. Horses can win by anything from a nose to a head to a length or a number of lengths. A length is approximately 3 metres, the length of a horse from nose to tail. (Anything over 5 lengths is commonly known as daylight).

In the money: When a horse finishes first, second or third.

The toppie: Horse number one usually has the most weight, which means it was the first to qualify for the race and will be carrying the most kilograms of extra weight.

Group one: A Group One Race is the best there is (kind of like travelling first class) and it is all downhill from there.

Favourite: The winner of the popularity contest for that race. Also known as 'a certainty', 'the banker' or a 'sure thing', it means that all of those in the know expect this horse to win. The favourite will be paying the shortest odds. Be warned: there is no skill in backing favourites but if anyone mocks you for playing it safe just say: "Better a short-price winner than a long-price loser".

Roughie: a roughie is more than just someone who has had a late night! Also known as 'a long shot' or 'a rank outsider', it is a horse with very long odds. Backing a long shot that wins takes a whole lot of luck and skill but if you win on a roughie, you will be basking in the glory all day.

So now that you know a bit more about the lingo I thought you might like to know a little about "what to wear to the races"...

Think about the occasion: Racewear sits in its own distinct sphere within the realm of fashion. It should be lady-like, elegant and feminine and most essentially it is daywear and not to be confused with cocktail or evening dressing.

Coordination is key: It's important that you're clever with your coordination. You don't have to match colours and fabrics from head to toe, but make sure you consider the bigger picture and remember that accessories can make or break an outfit.

A passion for fashion: Don't forget to be fashionable! While racewear is often very classic looking, it doesn't mean you can't have fun with the current season's trends.

Top it off: Nothing screams racing like a hat - don't underestimate the value of a fantastic headpiece or gorgeous feathered fascinator to make you stand out from the rest of the field.

Bearing in mind you'll be on your feet for much of the day, you may opt for lower heels - but take note of this quote from George Bernard Shaw: "If a woman rebels against high-heeled shoes, she should take care to do it in a very smart hat".

For the Guys

Entering the fashion event might make you feel like a poser, but fab prizes aside, your partner will love you, you will score the ladies and it is something you should try at least once (doing wonders for you confidence and making your mum proud).
Cup Day is a prelude to autumn fashion, beach season is over and interpretations of fashion are vast.
Study up on hats: once upon a time wearing a hat was mandatory - it also can make receding hair lines disappear for the day.
Think Ascot, top hats, morning suits, tails, three-piece suits.
If you have to wear a three button, the rule is fastened top two buttons; two button, fastened top button. Jacket on at all times - when you're seated is the only time you have a choice.
Shoes should be polished to military standard.
A tie is a man's jewellery - be bold yet cool with colour, create a story between the tie and shirt, accessorize with the satin in your hat band or silk handkerchief in your suit pocket. The bigger the Windsor knot the better and your tie should just brush your Christian Dior Homme belt buckle.
The Charcoal suit is now a uniform, so watch out for birds eye fabrics, which are the modern mans tweed. Prince of Wales checks are back with a vengeance as are obvious pinstripes. Light merino wools with mohair or cashmere are the new Ferrari in suiting.
If you're wearing a bright suit, make sure it's not cheap and you don't look like an out of date American anchor man. If you must wear double breasted, check out the latest European looks, very, very fitted and longer jackets.
Lastly, Miami vice pastels are still in so mix them up and try for new interpretations. You're the man.

Natalya and Chantelle

2008-11-01T17:54:00.012+13:00

Last weekend was our labour day long weekend and the girls came to stay with me. It was the first time they have been back since they left in June. Each of them had a friend over so it was a full on GIRLS weekend! Here they are with their adopted Granny Mabeth who has missed them terribly. Haven't they grown up so much?? I absolutely love these little girls.

They arrived Friday night and it was so good having them "home". Chantelle slept in my bed that night and I have to admit, it was so nice sharing my space and waking up to that smiling face of hers.

They are growing up so fast. They both have cell phones now as they are fairly independent. Brian works so much and they are left to look after themselves most of the time. I am so glad I gave them the skills they needed for this stage of their life. Brian tells me that I should be proud of myself for what I did for them - and I am.

On Saturday Rebekah and Bree arrived and that's when the party really started around here. First thing's first... teeth check!!! I made sure all four of them properly flossed their teeth! Just because I'm not technically a "mother" anymore doesn't mean I'm any less of a mother! Some things just don't change. Boy, don't I sound like loads of fun?

The girls had a movie marathon Saturday night while my friend Julia came by for a visit with her adorable baby Grace. I'm not normally clucky over babies but Grace is so perfect! I absolutely adore her and I crack her up. Seriously, this baby splits her sides with laughter when I talk to her. It's hilarious! Must be my funny accent or somethin'.

Sunday morning we all walked to church. It was drizzling a little... here's a photo of Bree and Natalya wearing the Canada umbrella hats.

I was teaching Sunday school... and the lesson that day happened to be all about unconditional love, what it means and how important it is to learn to love yourself first. How appropriate. During our discussion both Nat and Chan mentioned that they hated themselves numerous times. I was able to explain to them that they needed to love themselves before they could possibly love anyone else. We then traced the outline of a body and inside we wrote all the things we could think of that we could do to "love thy neighbour". It was a fun project and they all enjoyed it. I hope the lesson sticks with them.

They went to the buskers festival Sunday afternoon and then more movies Sunday night. Monday morning we all went to the Hot Pools for a long soak. I was exhausted at this stage... and just about ready to send them home. They both have a bad habit of fighting over who can boss who around the most. It can get very irritating. Sometimes I wish they would just love each other and stop trying to hurt the other one. It always ends up in tears and Nat having a major fit (she's almost a teenager).

Neither of them wanted to go back. I think they are terribly lonely. It was nice to see that they are living in a lovely home on a quiet street. Brian has done a good job. Unfortunately this is just life. They know that they are loved... and that's more than a lot of kids out there.

Tramping for a Good Cause

2008-09-15T22:43:00.016+12:00

On the weekend I was invited out to an "open day" with the Otanewainuku Kiwi Trust by my friend Nicky. You're probably thinking, "What the heck is that?" which is precisely what I thought too. Here's a little bit about it...

The trust was initiated by Te Puke Forest and Bird and the local community in 2002. The prime objective of the Trust is to ensure the long term protection and survival of brown kiwi and all the native flora and fauna in the Otanewainuku area.

Early settlers set aside 1200 hectares of virgin bush as a protected area. Otanewainuku is home to such birds as the kereru, bell bird, grey warbler, whitehead, tomtit, tui, kokako, fantail, robin and North Island brown kiwi. Other special species include long tailed bats, gecko, skink and the rare king fern. Studies show that predators such as stoats, ferrets, dogs, rats, possums and feral cats are degrading the forest and decimating the bird population.

The kiwi population in NZ is in serious decline with 99.5% of the population now lost. Kiwi numbers plummeted from 50 in 1986 to just 5 in 2006. Thanks to the pest control operation, numbers are recovering. Research has shown that less than 5% of kiwi chicks born in the wild survive their first 6 months. Scientists have calculated that around 20% of chicks need to survive for kiwi populations to maintain themselves. 70% of chicks are killed by stoats. Adult kiwi are killed by dogs, ferrets and vehicles.

(This is Irish Brian holding up an actual kiwi egg)

A most ancient nocturnal bird, the kiwi evolved about 70 million years ago. In many ways kiwi are more like a mammal than a bird:

They have loose, hair-like feathers and whiskers.
Kiwi cannot fly but they can run fast
They dig burrows with their feet
They are the only known bird to have nostrils at the end of their bill.
They have a strong sense of smell which they use to find food.
Their life span is 35-40 years.
They lay huge eggs.

In 2007 four kiwi were released into Otanewainuku. Each bird is fitted with an electronic transmitter so that they can be tracked. One of the female birds was found on the side of the road a few months ago - hit by a car at night while she was feeding in the soft soil on the shoulder. It was devastating news. The project is to build a 21 hectare kiwi creche. This would give vulnerable kiwi chicks a head start in safe surroundings so they can be returned to the wild. You can help by making a donation or sponsoring the "predator fence" which they are building around the reserve which will keep new pests from entering the reserve. This fence is specially made and will cost approximately $650,000 - it is dug deep into the soil and has and electric current running through it. You can get a group together and sponsor a post (and four metres of fence) for $950.

We learned how to set traps for these predators. The objective being to eradicate them entirely and keep new ones from getting in. The Trust depends on volunteers to set traps and check them regularly. It was a lovely day for a bush walk with my good friends Nicky and her Irish husband Brian (who reminds me of a Sprite and he has nicknamed me "Pixie"). They invited their friends who have recently moved here from Holland and I invited my new housemate Karel who is from the Czech Republic. We were the United Nations! The bush walk was beautiful and we got to see some beautiful flora - the trees are magnificent and they seem to grow gardens in their branches!

The hike was up to the top of the ranges which offers spectacular views. We came prepared with sugar sustenance. Irish Brian disappeared ahead of all of us (just like the true Sprite that he is) and left us a trail of mini chocolate bars along the the path. I like hanging out with these guys.

We didn't see any kiwi birds but I'm pretty sure this was a burrow that they were likely sleeping in. I was tempted to stick my hand in there to see if I could pet one... but knowing me, I'd stick my hand into the mouth of a ferret with razor sharp teeth and lose my fingers so I just pointed.

We did manage to see two little grey robins, a kereru (NZ pigeon) and a moose.

Just kidding about the moose. Just wanted to see if you were paying attention. There are no moose in New Zealand.

All in all it was a great day out. I signed up to volunteer once a month. I wouldn't mind going for a hike through native forests more often... all for the preservation of a living dinosaur - the sweet little kiwi bird.

And afterward we stopped at Irish Brian's favourite pub, "Molly's" for a pint, some potato wedges and nachos. Every Sunday should be like this!

For more information please check out www.kiwitrust.org or email info@kiwitrust.org