Note To Future Self

We are now at the developmental stage where emulation is a big thing.

Which is why, if you are so unwise as to sit on our living room floor, a small person will “sneak” up behind you, cackling manically at the top of her lungs, and poke you in the armpit while saying ‘Ick. Ick’.

If your armpits are out of reach, she will tickle herself instead. Somewhat surprisingly, it seems to work.

… is coming

Oh Nigel, I didn’t want to cause such a scandal.

I admit it. The biscotti aren’t even yours.

Yes, yes. I’ve been dallying with the (wonderful) Treasury of New Zealand Baking.

And I enjoyed it. Particularly the chocolate cake. And the hazelnut orange cake. And the lemon bars. And the ginger slices. And ….

The scones are pure Edmonds, tho.

I have a huge man crush on Nigel Slater. It all started when I bought Anna a copy of Tender, vol 1. Even that title. This isn’t just the cookbook of the moment, perhaps to be followed by some cynical follow-up which relies on the a cheekily inserted “more” to indicate a sequel.

No, we’re in Gibbon territory now, boys. Magnum. Opus. Volume I presages Volume II, and next thing you know, you have an entire bookshelf shrine dedicated to Nigel’s gustatory delights, decorated with candles and oranges,

The conversational tone. Recipes which marry posh to stodge, with a hint of the far-flung empire. Is this British soul food? Hugh for the urbanite? Oh Nigel, who needs a farm in Dorset when we have the potted vege on your verandah?

Nigel, drop by some time. We’ll make biscotti.

Bring Nigella with you.

“Bo-Bo”

“That’s your knee. Knees are like elbows, but on your legs”.

“Bo-Bo”

“That’s your wrist.”

Another dreary June, another Sir Edmund Hillary Day. We decided to celebrate with a visit to the wild, wet West Coast.

There was bush-bashing

and waterfall watching

beach browsing

and tussock tromping

and eating lots of sometimes foods.

Key lesson learned?

“Wow” cannot be overused.

Fin.

After three years (!) as wild colonial boys (and girls), we’ve been granted NZ residency. This actually doesn’t mean much in day-to-day terms, although it does mean we won’t be deported if Anna changes jobs, which is a big plus.

A few notes:

• For those considering a similar journey, we didn’t really have to wait three years on work visa to get residency. I’d say it’s pretty feasible for “desirables” (i.e. young, healthy, educated, skilled professional, big hands, must provide own boat, etc) to be granted NZ residency, particularly with a job offer. The work-to-residency path was what was offered and we happily took it … in the long run it worked for us.
• For long-term visitors the NZ system is quite rational. We were able to access health care, schools, etc. There were very few “rough edges” where the distinction between long-term work visa and residency became apparent. That’s a good thing!
• I’m always a little appalled when I hear stories from folks who’ve done similar migrations to the States. It’s amazing how ignorant most Americans (i.e. myself) are or the machinations and deprivations of the US immigration system.

I was going to put up a heavily-edited scan of my residence permit, but Anna nixed that idea … probably for good reason.

Instead, here’s a picture of a man in an MC Hammer costume, and a picture of our daughter, in case you’ve forgotten what she looks like:

With fall just around the corner, we carpe’d some diem last weekend to take a day hike to the Packhorse hut from the trailhead at Gebbies Pass. This tramp is well-known in the area for being pretty easy (guidebooks note “a gentle introduction to tramping for the very young and the infirm”) and also just about the simplest way to stay overnight on the Banks Peninsula. In fact, the hut is accessible (from a different trailhead) via public transportation. Amazing.

We didn’t exercise the overnight option, as I didn’t think our nighttime routine was particularly hut-friendly, what with the screaming and atonal warbling of lullabies. And reading six or seven books over and over. Perhaps some of the trampers might be interested in Rosie’s Walk once, but after a few readings, it does lose some of its magic.**

In any case, the walking was nice, the gorp was tasty, and all toddler transport was in our fine (and exceedingly heavy) backpack.

Will there be more tramping? I hope so.

** I just noticed that one of the Powell’s entries for Rosie’s Walk is an audiobook. Then again, I’m pretty sure our library has theVery Hungry Caterpillar book on tape. Sigh.

I know this sort of thing keeps you up at night. So I thought I’d reassure you.

Yes. The wholesome tomato-saucing carrot-eating family does in fact really enjoy pigging out on fish and chips wrapped in greezy newspaper.

And we look cool doing it, thanks.

(image from Amazon UK)

We recently borrowed Alex Higlett’s Egg and Bird.** On first blush it seems like the usual repetitive inanity accompanied by pleasant but underwhelming sketch art. But the conclusion is a pure metaphysical cliffhanger sure to mess with kids’ heads. I love it!

** I understand your keen disappointment at not having a credit-card-stealing Powell’s link. Apparently, this book is only available in righteous Queen-fearing countries. Uh, which means none of you will be able to borrow the book and understand what I’m on about. Bugger.