Christchurch

Just yesterday morning I was listening to a news report about how people put out of their homes by last years earthquake in Canterbury were coming to the end of the accomodation cover provided by their insurance.  It set me to musing about something I had read about an earthquake that had affected Canterbury  in the 19th century.  I can't find reference to it in any of the places I thought I had read it now.

What I thought I read was that in the 1800s Christchurch was hit by a mildly damaging earthquake, followed within a year by a much worse one which knocked the tip from the Cathedral Spire.  Either I dreamed it, and am more of a prophet than I thought... or it's in "The Brick Book" which I borrowed from the library to research things for my studies in construction, and which contains a section on masonry performance in earthquake conditions.

Anyway, enough about me.  Whether I dreamed it and am a prophet, or I read it and noted something about Canterbury geology which nobody else has bothered to bring up, It happened again today.  I felt it, waited ten minutes for the geonet site to update, texted a friend to say I hoped they were ok and then turned on the radio.

This is the earthquake we were all so thankful we didn't get last September - everyone was tucked safely in their beds at 4:30 that morning. This time the town was busy, and the workplaces relatively full.  This time people died.

I'm not the sort that feels my sympathetic comments mean much in the face of something like this, but here, if you like, are a few things that come to mind that we can still be thankful for over this event.

12:50pm is right smack back in the middle of the primary school lunch hour, so the little kiddies were all (comparatively) safe outside in the playground.  I heard a report from one of the school principals who'd been in communication with the other schools saying "they're all safe".

Our building code has, for a signifcant time now, enforced the inclusion of bracing elements against exactly this type of event in new buildings.  We don't always get it right, but it was heartening to see behind the footage of collapsed historic buildings (and one relatively new one I do admit) a number of newer buildings still largely intact, and therefore capable of allowing the occupants out safely.   We take the earthquake risk seriously when we build and it does pay off.

We saw on the TV something of the stoic kiwi I identify with - people calmly helping each other out and showing comfort and affection to the distaught with little of the staged hysterics the movies have taught us to expect.  We still just muck in and help each other.

Alright... that's all I can think of.  I watched the news this afternoon and seeing one of our most beautiful cities strewn with rubble for the second time in less than a year; seeing the cathedral fallen; seeing people milling, wearing a mixture of shock and their own blood; and hearing of a rising number of fatalities has the whisper of tears pressing around my eyes this evening.

My best wishes to all affected  and to their families,

The Gedle

Danger

I started a book last night and it could be a problem. Reading one I mean.  It was late when I started and there was a bit on my mind and despite that it was starting to grab me even though I knew I had to go to sleep.  It's just lucky that somebody woke me this morning to give them a lift somewhere and I didn't get time to lay my hand on it then or that would have been me till bedtime tonight.

After I'd given that lift I came home to discover the rim of the toilet bowl had broken off again.  I glued it together with superglue about three months ago, because at the time the landlord didn't sound that keen on replacing a broken loo, so it's done pretty well really.  (As an aside I can say from this that toilet duck doesn't clean under the rim). Anyway it's not that much fun ringing up to hear the landlord wince at the thought of maintenance, so I decided there and then that I needed some araldite.   We also needed  bit of school uniform from town and some cricket gear and apparently some shelf brackets for shelves I'm going to put up, from Mega. So those of us that were left bundled into the car to go foraging. The book, for now forgotten lay by my bedside waiting.

It was a short trip, only about two hundred dollars long, and when we got back I put together some toasted sandwiches for lunch.  While I ate them I thought with distaste about gluing the loo back together.   I decided (buying some time) that I might be able to do some of the assessment for that QS course I'm doing by correspondence if only I could find the bit of paper with the questions on it.  I had, for the moment, forgotten the book, which is by Clive Barker. Clive Barker is one of those authors I don't read often, but can't put down once I start reading.

Sadly the piece of paper was exactly where I thought it was.  I had no choice. I laid a dirty towel on the puddle in front of the loo to kneel on and began drying out the broken pieces of rim with an heat gun.  Then I mixed up all the araldite (my dad used to be so measly with it) and smeared it over everything I could think of and pushed the pieces back into places.  My hands were all over it when somebody came in and asked me if I would make some more toasted sandwiches when I had finished. Do you really want that? I thought, looking at where my hands were.  The book lay waiting.  Do you know somebody once gave me a trilogy for Christmas and I didn't speak to anybody until the day after boxing day?  No books for me at Christmas please, save them for the winter holidays when there's more of an excuse.

Well, it all seemed to be sticking and the araldite had filled them holes from missing shards quite nicely, so I got up and made those toasted sandwiches.... no wait... I got up and washed my hands and then made those toasted sandwiches.  Then I sat down with the question paper, the plans, the course book, the take-off paper, the calculator and my copy of NZS4202 to look at the assessment.  It consists of taking-off-quantities-for-sheet-vinyl-flooring-in-an-amenities-building-making-allowances-for-extra-value-over-coved-upstand-skirtings-and-enumerating-all-internal,-external-and-irregular-mitres-and-for-cutting-and-fitting-to-openings,  all laid out neatly according to the conventions described in the standard and not missing anything out.  I got up to find a pencil.

You know obsessive reading runs in the family... I remember when I was eight or nine my brother would come home  from university exhausted.  After sleeping for thirty hours or so he would rise and make his way to the bookshelves in the hall.  When he'd selected ten or twelve books he would return to the lounge, pausing only to grab the fruit bowl from the servery, and lie face down on the three seater couch, his feet dangling over one end and his head over the other.  To one side he would stack the pile of books and to the other he set the fruit bowl.  I remember watching for hours on end in fascination as he rhythmically turned page after page. The pile of unread books gradually got lower and lower, and the stack of read ones grew.  By dinner time he'd read them all and emptied the fruit bowl too.

Anyway I've now got half of that assessment done, and a list of questions for when I ring the tutor in  the morning.  Everyone's in bed and the lights are all out and I've just remembered that book.  I won't be able to find it in the dark... but when I get home from work tomorrow it will be waiting...

All the best,
The Gedle

Terrifying Tim

For anyone who's interested the hedgehog problem seems to have been contained.  The cat-biscuits are now on the shelf in the pantry, and, at least while summer lasts (Ha! Summer...) both cats are being fed outside.

I just went out there to get something.  The tortoiseshell (Coco) was sitting looking quizzically at me through the glass of the door as if I ought to do something.  Then, when I stepped out, there was a clunk by my foot of her dish returning to position and a desperate scurrying noise as the small hog tried to force itself in the dark into another too small bolt-hole.

It's nice to know I'm that awe-inspiring.

Boxing Day

The Queen of Night is busy making her own incense sticks on the floor of her bedroom.  It's eleven o'clock and she should be trying to get to sleep, but since she is genetically incapable of directly following a given suggestion she's doing this instead.  She's happy, even though she's forgotten two things. Firstly, she really should have spread some newspaper on the carpet, and second, she nearly died today.

'Twas the day after Christmas,
we left the tree's lights-on,
packed up our towels,
and drove out to Bright-on...

:)

We got in the car at one-twentyseven, in a bit of a hurry, forgetting the boogie boards and the sunscreen, because we had arranged to meet Nana there at one-thirty.  It's always good to be on time for Nana because she grumbles if she is made to wait for anybody.
Nana was also bringing the Queen's togs because they had been left at her house Christmas day when we thought it might be hot enough for swimming.
"Can I text Nana and remind her about my togs?" said the Queen, eager for a chance to use her new cellphone.
"Already have," said Mum.
"Oh..." said the Queen. "...ok.  Thanks".
And so we drove, not hurrying but I had my eye on the clock.  We pulled up in the carpark at Brighton Beach at one-fortyseven. I made sure to park right up near the surf club, right beside the path to the beach so that Nana wouldn't have to wait for us any longer than was absolutely necessary.  As I pulled on the handbrake Mum's phone buzzed in her purse.
"Mum says - running late - just having lunch now so maybe three quarters hour - no schedule today" she read out.
"That's not fair!" cried the Queen "Now He'll be able to swim and I won't be."
I looked over at The Slug*, who had wrapped himself in two towels and was trying to manoeuvre his way into his togs without letting anyone see anything.
"It'll be ok.  Nana won't be that long.  You can still paddle and we'll be here a while." One of us said.

So we trudged down the path to the beach, our feet sinking in the dry sand which made for hard going.  I wished I'd remembered a book, and started to wonder if I should have worn shorts.  The tide was low and the rocks, usually a long way out, seemed scarily close. Still, there were people in the water.  The Slug dropped his towel and ran down to the water.  The Queen stood and looked at her mother and me, her hands on her hips.
"Nana won't be long."  we said.  "Go see what the water's like."
The Slug was already running back as the Queen headed down to meet the surf.
"Too coooold!" he said, and proceeded to curl himself up in a ball on the sand and cover himself completely with a towel - to avoid sunburn.  He would stay that way for most of the visit - until we lured him out with the promise of ice-cream.

After a while of lying on the sand enjoying the warmth of the sun, The Slug comfortably wrapped up in his towel, The Queen busy dancing the waves, as deep as she could possibly be without getting the short shorts she got for Christmas wet, I decided to explore the rocks.
The rocks at Dunedin's Brighton Beach look like the rotten, worm eaten remains of some vast, ancient tree. But they are hard, brittle, and nearly as sharp as glass. My feet, thanks to my North island habit of wandering around barefoot, have soles like leather. So, with my jeans rolled up I wandered down and along the water, took a small leap over a puddle of swirling water and began gingerly making my way around the base of the rock hill on the right hand side of the beach, gripping the hole-ridden surface with my toes. I reached a point where I had a choice of path.  I could follow the low ledge further around the base of the hill or start an easy climb upwards toward the top. The ledge sat roughly level with the incoming water.  If I went that way the waves washing across its surface would pull at my feet and send the thick kelp that lay across it swirling menacingly. 

"Hi Tim." 
I looked, and saw the Queen had materialised at my heel.
"Where are you going"
"Just having a wee explore." I said.  Now I had company I decided on the safer path. "Shall we climb to the top?"
"No." said the Queen, and began making her way around the ledge, the waves washing her feet.
I began making my way up the other path.  I watched the Queen hoping she would see me, and that her own trepidation might make her choose to come join me. When we were just far enough apart that I knew I couldn't do anything to save her if anything happened, I did a silly thing.
I have said that the Queen is genetically almost incapable of following a suggestion. So what I said was sort of calculated, and probably true.  I wanted her to decide herself to walk back my way and join me on the easy climb to the summit.

"The tide's coming in." I calmly said.  "A big wave might sweep you off of there."
She appeared to be ignoring me, then the next moment she turned to the worm-eaten rock wall and began climbing the near vertical face before her.  If she made the full ten feet she would come off on the path ahead of me.  The rough, craggy surface gave her plenty of hand-holds.

I stayed calm.  When I met the Queen and her brother, nearly eight years ago now, they were four and five years old.  They were climbers even then.  At that time they would start in the corner of the kitchen, pulling out the drawers to make a staircase and climb on to the bench.  Then they would walk the length of the bench jumping the kitchen sink and tip-toeing across the stove top, which usually wasn't going, to the windowsill.  Hanging on to the net curtains for support they would make their way along the sill 'til they could reach and open the pantry door.  Then they would scale the pantry shelves and then hook themselves onto the ledge above and crawl along to the end where they would lie grinning at you, eight feet up.  As long as nobody closed the pantry door they could reverse the process and climb down again quite safely.
I quickly learned the trick was to remain calm.  If, at any stage in the process, you were to panic, reach out and cry "Oh My goodness what are you doing?", they would look you in the eye, let go of everything, and fall.  The resultant impact would entail far worse drama than a bit of dust on the knees of their trousers and the inconvenience of the drawers being open.

So today I stayed still and watched the Queen climb. Five feet... Six feet... Seven...

Finally she was near the top.  She reached her hand for the last hand-hold and I began breathing again.  Then, the thin rock broke off in her hand and I closed my eyes on the image of her lurching backward, arms flailing.  I imagined a cracked skull... bright blood swirling in the surf.

Then I heard the beginnings of a thin gentle wailing.  I opened my eyes to see her scrabbling to the safety of the ledge and immediately began making my way towards her saying "Wow! That was a good save.  I thought you were going to die..."
She had given her shin a nasty scrape, blood winked brightly out of a couple of shallow puncture wounds.
"The rock broke off in my hand"  she sobbed.
"I saw." I said. "But gosh you did well. Those rocks are sharp. You must be glad you didn't fall."
I told her the best thing for her graze would be the salt water.  She assured me it would sting.  I helped her back to our base and we showed the injury to Mum.
"You know the best thing for that would be the salt water." said Mum after a consoling hug.
"I can't! It'll sting too bad..." Wailed the queen.  She sat on the sand, hugging her knees, determined not to enjoy the beach any more.  The Slug peeked out from under his towel, checked his forearm for sunburn.
Mum and I looked at each other.  We suggested ice-cream.

After a bit of coaxing we made it to the shop.  The Queen and her brother ran to the tip-top fridge, seeking out the most expensive items.
"Can we...?" they began.
I nodded, sighing, and turned to order a frosty-boy. I always get soft serve at the beach.  The Queen and the slug deposited their mega-magnum-supernut-trumpets on the bench  and then watched as the lady extruded my much cheaper, $2.50 soft-serve.
"Can we get one of those instead?" they both begged.
I sighed, nodding, and they ran back to return their mega-magnum-supernut-trumpets.
"Make that three" I signalled the lady.

After that the beach visit returned to normal.   Nana arrived with the togs, and within twenty minutes the Queen was chest deep in the surf, dancing at the outer edge of the swimmers. The Slug was once again safely curled up under his towel, still happy, but complaining his shoulders had burned in the ten minute walk to the shop.  Eventually, when the Queen was cold enough, and the Slug bored enough,  we trudged our way back to the carpark.

So sated with ice-cream
surf swimming, and foam,
We climbed in the car
and we made our way home.
                                           
The Queen of Night is busy making her own incense sticks on the floor of her bedroom.  It's eleven o'clock and she should be trying to get to sleep.  She's happy, even though she's forgotten two things. Firstly, she really should have spread some newspaper on the carpet, and second, she nearly died today.




*"The Slug" is the Queen's brother. We might meet him in more detail if these bulletins continue.  It's possibly an unfair name considering he can do a back flip from standing (which I can't), and once hit a six for the school cricket team (which I never did).

The end of the week before Christmas

Gosh it's been a year. 

As each year draws to a close I find myself going faster and faster, working longer hours (when they're there to be worked), and - as Mr Einstein said would happen when we approach the speed of light - noticing everything around me melt into a blur.

This used to stress me a lot.  But this year I've finally come to realise that, what ever the race is for, it suddenly comes to an abrupt halt on Christmas Day, when the only work to do is Dishes. I know I've said it myself on a few occasions in the past, but this year when anyone said "Oh I'm so over Christmas!" to me, I found myself trying to jolly them out of it, or distract them onto a  more positive thought. 

There's just nothing like that release of tension when Christmas Day hits.  For me it's the beginning of a week when you realise that no matter how well or how badly the year has gone, there's no changing it. You've done all you can, and, thanks to the fact that we're  here in the southern hemisphere, the time has come to take a moment to sit in the sun and take a breath.  Even the thought of working the days between the holidays seems easier to me when I look at it from the near side of Christmas Lunch.

Don't get me wrong, it's been a really messy year. Things haven't gone well.  It's been emotional at times (just everyday stuff, but lots of it). And it's ending on a cliffhanger.  I don't know how next year will go.  It could be really bad too.

But at the same time I've made acquaintances in a couple of different places which could lead on to wonderful things.  I've learned a bit about people, and I've had ideas I want to follow through on.

So what's on the next page?

I'll have a look after lunch...

Merry Christmas,
the Gedle

P.S.  If I manage a poem this Sunday I'll try to make it a bit more jolly