A Glass Full of Water

Our New Zealand educational aid team was staying in Dehradun, the capital of the Indian state of Uttarakhand, near the Himalayan foothills. Despite the snakes, monkeys and the biggest black spiders I/we had ever seen, we were enjoying working with the local teachers.  On one of our recreational days we travelled to Rishikesh, a city bordering the Ganges river. The city is known for its ashrams and adventure sports.  The first thing I noticed was the grey, turbulent water and a huge suspension bridge. We walked over this bridge to watch masses of people placing tiny boats with a lit candle in each of them, then sending them on their way to ‘who knows where’. The amazing sights, sounds and smells of India surrounded us again. Time to cross back over the bridge. One of our team was getting rapidly tired from the walking and  within a few minutes, it seemed like all her energy had gone. In a surprisingly determined voice she said, she would try walking again. With a team memb...

 A story written by our oldest daughter Sarah. On the brink of tears, clutching a painfully tight budget,  I stepped into the curtain store I’d been told about. My new house stood bare, windows exposed, walls echoing. To some, curtains are decor. To me, as a single mum, curtains meant sanctuary. Cindy the shop technician took one look at me and knew. Through snotty tears and crumpled paper measurements, she somehow translated my chaos into centimetres. Calmly and steadily, she moved between measuring tape and calculator. Back and forth she went - rods, brackets, those mysterious hooky things - assembling not just curtains, but a sense of order. My budget was $500. Cindy worked her magic. $497.80. Every window covered. Every detail considered. Every dollar honoured. I asked if I could hug her, but before I’d even finished the sentence, I was enveloped in the kind of embrace only a mum can give - firm, grounding, wordless. All aroha. She had other customers to attend to, so I ca...

“Morning Bill!” I said in a happy voice to our school caretaker. Normally he would have replied in a positive way. Not today. “Someone’s graffitied the back concrete block fence. I’ll have to paint over it, ” was his reply. Just as Bill wandered off I noticed three people walking towards me. I recognised the parents but not the teenage boy. They stood together in front of me in an awkward silence. “Phillip*has something to say to you Steve.” In a quiet voice he said, “I’m sorry for tagging your fence.”  Now, I’ve done some dumb things in my life, most of them during my teenage years, so I easily identified with him. I accepted his apology, but the problem wasn’t fully resolved. “I’m going to organise with Bill some paint and a brush for you. Every Friday afternoon, you can repaint a section. It will be after 4pm, so no students will be in the grounds. I have no wish to shame you.” We shook hands.  So, every Friday afternoon for five weeks, he turned up on time and worked hard ...

The Narrows bridge spans the Waikato River, near Mystery Creek, Hamilton. It’s a bridge with a long way down to the dark, swirling waters below.  ‘Back in the day’ thousands of mostly young people were attending the nearby Parachute Music Festival. A few people taking some time out from the crowds were jumping off the bridge, until a ‘jumper’ didn’t surface. Frantic friends and bystanders began looking for him. No sign of life as small whirlpools moved around in decreasing and increasing circles.  A little while later, I got a phone call from a nearby resident who knew I had a kayak. “We’re now looking for a body, Steve. Can you help?” “Yep.”  Within the hour I off loaded my kayak next to the bridge and began my search. Dreading bumping into him I kept on reassuring myself that finding him would bring closure to the man’s family.  Heading downstream and watching where the current ebbed and flowed, something in some tree branches caught my eye. Nudging my kayak into t...