A Glass Full of Water

They don’t make Morris Minor cars anymore. They were known as an economy car and were described as typifying ‘Englishness’.  My mum had a  ‘Morrie Thou’ (A thousand CC Morris Minor). It had indicators that popped out the left and right sides like tiny arms. Kind of cute and kind of comical.  Many years ago my friend Stephen invited me to go with him in his Morris Minor around the South Island of New Zealand. I accepted his invitation, knowing that our trip might take a few extra days as his car had a top speed of 70 kph going downhill with a tail wind.  A week or so into our trip and we found ourselves in a small town (whose name I can’t remember) on Christmas Day. It was around lunchtime and we were rather dejectedly watching family groups gathering for lunch.  As we sat outside a shop a stranger must have noticed our forlorn faces. He stopped and asked us if we had somewhere to go for lunch. We said no and to our surprise and delight he then asked us to come t...

I was acting principal of Silverdale Normal School in Hamilton for two terms in the early 2000’s. I enjoyed the formality of wearing a suit but on some late afternoons I would rebel and loudly play ‘Smoke on the Water’ by Deep Purple in my office.  One afternoon I got a call from the local police regarding the suspicious behaviour of a man in a nearby bush reserve. I decided to check out the area myself as a way of keeping our students safe while walking home.  Five minutes later I walked past nearby shops and entered the reserve that was networked by connecting boardwalks. Woah! Did I just see a shadowy figure lurking at the opposite entrance? My pace quickened but the figure moved out of sight just as I rounded the corner and as my feet slipped out from under me. The mystery figure had disappeared, unlike the growing smell around me and it was then that I realised I had slipped on doggie doo. Heaps of it. Yellow, stinky and smeared all over my suit.  Flustered, I made m...

Grandmas are everywhere. I’m married to one. Their many kindnesses to their grandchildren are honoured in this blog post.  Let me start with my grandma in Auckland. Grandma Webb would host her six grandchildren every Friday night for fish and chips, followed by calcium cookies for dessert. This can’t have been easy for her as we weren’t always on our best behaviour! My mum would let our daughters do baking, preparing cookies for the oven on her kitchen floor (covered with newspapers). They would create a tray each and according to mum were always perfect. With mums help they also created their own oil paintings.  My wife Val (Marzie or Jamma to her eight grandchildren) has spent countless hours over the years with them. Our oldest grandchild Jackson was picked up after school and did his homework with her. They have enjoyed many cafe breakfasts together and Jackson has never turned the offer of a breakfast or brunch down. Now, Jackson’s sport is MMA (Mixed Martial Arts) Val me...

Now, that’s a different looking caravan, I thought as I walked towards the Raglan Museum and Information centre. Crossing the road I looked closer at the wording on the side. ‘The Chat Room.’ Hmmm, Never seen one of these before.  I introduced myself to a silver haired man standing a few metres away. “Hi, I’m Steve.” “Hi, I’m Steve,” he replied. For some reason I still find it a little amusing when introductions sound like an echo.  Steve said his job was to take the caravan around and be a good listener. Within a minute or two I found out that the Chat Room is a safe space for men to talk when life becomes a struggle. It’s a free service for our smaller communities and visits scheduled include Waikato, King Country and Hauraki locations on a monthly rotation.  Steve, under the auspices of Male Support Services Waikato provides professional support, care and confidentiality. The more we talked the more I began to trust Steve. I thanked him for his work and for the comfort...

Looking at the photo gallery on the ‘Surfing for Farmers’ website I couldn’t help but notice a happy bunch of people playing in the waves.  One night each week over summer, a growing number of farmers near Raglan (and at 27 other locations around New Zealand) trade the paddock for the beach. Farming can be an all consuming job and this ‘surf break’ encourages exercise and connection with other farmers and their families. Lots of yarns and laughs while enjoying a post surf barbecue is just the tonic for farmers (male and female) wellbeing as they enjoy quality time in their community. By engaging in these activities farmers gain a renewed perspective and prioritise their own self-care.  Jay, a Te Uku dairy farmer, who is a committee member of the Raglan Surfing for Farmers shared with me a couple of days ago that farming is very much a routine type job and surfing helps to break up the monotony of routine. He added that his job can be an isolating, so catching up with surfing f...

A friend Helen suggested I should go to the Raglan Old School Arts Centre and see a photography exhibition about a volunteer kitchen in Ukraine. She added that a Raglan resident, Fiona McNabb recently worked as a volunteer for three and a half weeks in Lviv alongside Ukrainian and international volunteers, who prepare meals for soldiers that supplement army issue rations with food that tastes like the food the soldiers would get at home.  The kitchen works 7 days a week with three parts to the operation. The preparation kitchen where donated vegetables are prepared and dehydrated. The packing kitchen where the prepared ingredients are packed according to traditional recipes. The bakery where volunteers prepare and bake a range of pastries, buns, cakes and loaves.  At special times of the year like Easter and Christmas, they will bake traditional treats for the soldiers so they can mark the occasion like they would at home.  Many of the volunteers are elderly and come to t...

A week ago, while visiting our neighbours Judy and Dayle, I couldn’t help but notice a few handmade woollen dolls in their lounge. My curiosity was piqued and I asked Judy what sort of dolls she was making. “Izzy dolls Steve.” Of course, my reply was, “What’s an Izzy doll?”  In brief, the story of the doll is that it’s a symbol of Canadian peacekeeping and humanitarian work. It was inspired by Master Corporal Mark ‘Izzy’ Isfeld, a Canadian military engineer who lost his life while clearing land mines in Croatia. Mark often carried these dolls made by his mother Carol to give away to children in war torn areas. The dolls brought comfort and joy to children who experienced loss and trauma.  Volunteers around the world, still knit and crochet these dolls to give to children in need. They cannot be bought or sold for financial gain.  Jenny, a life long friend of Judy’s  who lives in Hervey Bay, north of Brisbane, also makes these dolls.  She leaves them in random pl...