Six Month Birthday

I can hardly believe my little boy is half a year old already! He's changed in so many little ways this past month, and it all adds up to me feeling that he's so grown up all of a sudden.

At six months....

Sebastian is still a very social little boy. When we are around older kids, he loves watching them play. He kicks his feet and hold his arms out, shaking his hands, like he wants to join in. When we are out in the world he intently watches everything that's going on and he'll stay awake and alert a lot longer than if we were just at home.

He mostly only fusses if he's tired or hungry. But also if you make the mistake of engaging with him (talking to or looking at him) and then walking away when he wasn't done with the conversation. This makes him very sad and likely to just bursts into tears.

He can definitely tell me and Loren apart. As far as he's concerned, Dad is his go-to guy when he's feeling playful. But if he's tired or hungry it's usually Mom he wants, especially at the end of the day.

He's getting very close to being able to sit up on his own, but he still needs someone to sit behind him for support.

He's started playing around with solid food about a week ago; most of it ends up all over the outside of him, the chair, and the floor at this point. His favorites so far are banana and watermelon.

He's ticklish under the chin, especially when you lift his chin up to wipe his neck with a wash cloth at bath time. Raspberries on the tummy are still a favorite too. If he's in the right mood his feet are ticklish as well.

He loves it when I take a piece of cloth (blanket, towel, etc.) and wave it back and forth in front of his face. He wiggles and giggles and squeals gleefully. I think it's a combination of the way it looks and the breeze it makes, blowing his hair around. He also loves it if you wiggle a toy in front of him but just out of reach. He kicks his feet, waves his hand around, and makes little excited noises. He also loves it if you hold him over your head and almost-not-quite toss him up and catch him. This always gets a huge smile and a giggle.

The first thing he does when he wakes up in the morning is start to babble. The second thing he does is look over at Dad to see if he's awake. If he is, they have a little cuddle before Sebastian and I get out of bed.

He hasn't had another check up yet, but my tape measurer says he's 71 cm long, and my arms can attest that he's surely getting heavier every day. His eyes are grey-blue with flecks of brown, and his hair is a sort of straw color, maybe headed towards blond.

Five Months

After, oh my goodness, over a year, I am going to try to revive this blog. It will, as always, be about our life here in the Antipodes, and yes a lot of that right now will be about our son.  

Five Month Birthday
 

At five months....

Sebastian always has a smile for anyone willing to make eye contact and engage with him, including store clerks, strangers in the mall, etc. But after a smile, he sometimes get shy and turns his head, hiding his face on my shoulder.

When he's tired or hungry, he gets cranky and he tells you about it, oh yes. Sometimes he gets screechy and I call him Screecher Creature. Sometimes he gets fussy and I call him Professor Fusser. After a good feed and nap, though, he's bright eyed again and ready to play.

One of his latest tricks is pushing up onto his hands when on his tummy. He has also started 'standing' with one of us holding him steady.

Raspberries on the tummy are the best way to make him laugh. He also thinks it's hilarious when I make gibberish noises, copying his sounds. Kisses on the face and neck always make him smile.

He doesn't like loud, sudden noises when he's feeling tired. And he doesn't like getting his arms put through sleeves when getting dressed. 

This first thing he does when he wakes up in the morning is either blow raspberries or start 'talking.' This morning he woke up saying 'guh.' Then he grabs my hand and sticks a finger into his mouth. He's happy doing that for a while, but I try to get him out of bed before he wakes his dad up too much.

As of his last Pluknet visit yesterday, he is 70cm long (27.5 inches) and weighs 7.6kgs (16.7 pounds).

Film Festival Plans

I have become too precious about this blog, waiting 'til I have something really brilliant to say, and pictures to go with it. As this blog is really about keeping friends and family in touch with what's going on in my life here in New Zealand, I'm going to try for regular (perhaps weekly?) short, and imperfect posts about what's going on with me. So here goes.

I'm watching an orange-salmon-electric pink sunset over the hills of Johnsonville, and sipping my tea, and feeling self-satisfied for having gotten my Wellington International Film Festival tickets sorted this year.

Last year we were in 'hibernation' mode, exacerbated by the fact that we'd moved to the suburbs but hadn't yet accepted that we needed to buy a car. We ended up missing the Film Festival entirely, and this made me sad. So this year I got myself organised, reading the festival guide and picking out films ahead of time. I bought my tickets today, the first day of the festival, and still struggled to find good seats, and twice had picked something that was sold out and had to go with my second pick. Now, for some this would be considered leaving it to the last minute, but it was far more organised and planned out than anything I'd done in the past.

I love the film festival because I've never lived in a place that has one. Actually Wellington has more film festivals than I can keep track of, but this is The Big One, the one everyone looks forward to, a bright spot in an otherwise cold, rainy, windy antipodian Winter bereft of holidays. Loren and I don't tend to see many movies in the theatre the rest of the year. Movies are so expensive, and so often not worth the money. But the film festival is a far better bet; any movie you pick is likely to be quite good, even if it isn't your kind of movie.

I've picked four films this year. A Japanese animated film based on the children's book The Borrowers, which I am looking forward to seeing by myself. A rom-com about a son and father and their respective romantic entanglements, which I will be seeing with friends. And two documentaries - one about the portrayal of women in media, the other about the nefarious things corporations do to protect themselves from lawsuits - which I will be seeing with Loren next weekend.

I ended up with a range of genre, which I is a good thing. It was hard to restrain myself from buying twice as many tickets. Indeed there are folks who take weeks off of work to see as much of the Film Festival as they can. I am not that crazy, but flipping through all the possibilities on offer, I can understand the urge.

Despite the fact that we don't go to the movies much, I like the move theatre experience. I am looking forward to spending some time eating popcorn (or scoffing jaffas, or sipping flat whites) in dark theatres this weekend.

Day Five: Hamilton to Rotorua

In the morning we asked our host at the backpackers what there was to see in Hamilton. The only sight I knew of was the Riff Raff statue, but our host was clearly unimpressed by both the statue and the movie it represents, and stated that the botanic gardens were the best attraction Hamilton had to offer. Having already seen the Riff Raff statue in all its splendour the night before, I was dubious of this claim, but we decided to check it out on the way out of town.

It did not disappoint. I have never before experienced a garden that appeared not just planned and tended, but actually curated. We entered a central courtyard, and picked one of many doorways labelled as various garden collections. We chose the "Paradise Collection" which took us to a hedge-walled courtyard with a plaque explaining what the collection was about. There were archways in the hedge walls, labelled with the names of six different gardens, each representative of the style of a particular place and time. Following the one to the far right, we started with the Japanese Garden of Contemplation, and found that by simply following the paths, one garden lead eventually on to the next. Walking through a gate or archway to each new garden felt like entering a separate place, complete with architectural features representative of the culture and era. And each garden had a plaque, putting the garden in both cultural and philosophical context. It's hard to explain the effect of this. I'll have to rely on a few of the many pictures I took:



Indian Char Bagh Garden



Italian Renaissance Garden



Chinese Scholars Garden

As you can see, this is no mere display of plants; it is an exhibition of the art of gardens themselves. The Waikato River runs right behind much of these gardens, and river outlooks are incorporated into many of them, so that you can alternately imagine the Waikato is any one of a number of famous rivers around the world.

From here we pushed on all the way to Rotorua. We stayed at a holiday park right on the lake, which we were pleased to discover made good use of the geothermal activity in the area. The bathrooms, and all common rooms were heated by geothermal steam directed through radiators, and the same treatment was given to the cabin Loren and I stayed in. They also had several thermal hot pools available, and a thermal hangi. A hangi is a Maori tern for an oven made constructed by heating stones in a pit in the ground, similar to the Hawaiian imu. But a thermal hangi uses thermal steam for heat. And in this case the structures the steam diverted into were built above ground level:



Steam rising from the hangi catches the morning sunlight

We were fortunate enough to find an excellent South American restaurant that evening called Sabroso, which featured dishes from various countries of that continent. And of course we had a lovely soak in the thermal hot pools before heading to bed in our delightfully thermal-heated cabin.

Day Four: Sheep World to Hamilton

When we woke, it was still raining. I could hear it quite loudly from my bunk-bed; it was hitting the roof approximately one foot above my head. We cosidered checking out Sheep World, but didn't make it past the gift shop. Entry was somewhere in the $20+ range, which seemed a bit steep for an attraction which appeared to consist mainly of watching people sheer sheep.

Back on the road, our plan was to make it as far as Auckland by the end of the day to pick up Loren. We picked a nice beach park to visit along the way, involving a short detour along scenic ridge of land, one of many little peninsulas making up the convoluted coastline along the Maharangi Harbour. We ended up at a lovely little beach near the mouth of the harbour. Retracing our steps, my best guess puts us at Otarawao Bay. We had picked it more or less at random, but it was a beautiful spot, with little islands dotting the harbour. The rain and clounds cleared out for a little while, and we had ourselves a nice walk on the beach.



Mom and I spent some time exploring the interesting cliffs along one end of the beach



The surrounding area was mostly farmland, so we felt pretty lucky to find a cafe along our path, and even luckier when the food turned out to be good. I had a memorable twice-baked kumera - the guy was reluctant to divulge the secret recipe but would admit it involved sour cream and curry. We were the only patrons in the place and the owner (who turned out to be the guy behind the counter) came out and chatted with us. Dad soon discovered that the motorbike out front was his, which gave them something to talk about. He described the dangers of not only the winding roads, but also the pukeko - a colourful native bird that doesn't always have the good sense to get out of the way of a speeding motorbike. We had spotted a few in the pastures on our drive; we would encounter them in greater abundance when we got to Rotorua.

Our next stop was Orewa so I could pick up a pair of pants I had so cleverly left in the laundry room during our stay. We were in an internet cafe plotting our route through Auckland to pick up Loren at the convention centre when he text-ed to say he'd had some bad luck and dropped out of the running early, and couldn't wait to get out of Auckland. So we made one more daunting trip through Auckland's motorways in our campervan, picked up Loren, and promptly got back on the road again, putting Auckland behind us without a second thought. We had thought to stop at the nearest holiday park, but the appeal of a real bed for the night was too great, and we pushed on to Hamilton. It was a long trip for us drivers (me and Dad) but we did appreciate cozy Eagle's Nest Backpackers where we landed at the end of our day's journey.

Day Three: Whangarei to Sheep World

We woke up in Whangarei to a moody overcast morning. Dad made poached eggs on toast with the free-range eggs we bought the day before. I went down to reception to see if they would sell me some salt and pepper for our breakfast. The lady came out in her bathrobe and sleepily gave me a handful of individual salt and pepper packets for free.

Our first stop was the Quarry Arts Centre on the outskirts of town. This turned out to be a pleasantly rambling chaos of artist studios and sculpture, every nook and cranny - down the niches in the brick walls - filled with art.




Mom under lanterns, Dad in the background
 





Me in front of one of the artist studios





Weird and wonderful sculpture pond/fountain

After a leisurely walk through the grounds, Mom and I followed some vague signs pointing the way to a pa site. Our trusty guidebook told us that a pa site was some kind of ancient Maori military encampment or fortification - we'd been seeing signs for them here and there and decided to find out what all the fuss was about. The trail lead us on a pleasant hike up the wooded hills that rise up directly behind the artist village. I was expecting the ruins of some kind of fort, maybe some crumbling rock walls - but when we got there it was just a flat piece of land with a good view overlooking Whangarei.

Next we headed to an area along the river where we strolled along the waterfront, checking out the boats on one side and the many art galleries and other shops along the other side. Our destination was Clapham's Clocks (aka The National Clock Museum). This turned out to be one large room crammed full of every type of clock imaginable. We got in half way through a tour of the museum: a docent going around the room discussing some of the highlights of the collection, making the cuckoos do their stuff, and so on. Not two clocks were in synch with each other; chimes and tinkling tunes and pirouetting miniatures were going off at random intervals. Not to mention the constant sound of thousands of clocks ticking. There were grandfather clocks and cuckoo clocks and the ticking machinery of clock towers. There were hour glasses and slick digital clocks circa 1980, and everything in between. It was more impressive than I would have thought a room full of clocks could be.

The day was winding down and it was time to hit the grocery store to restock our supplies and hit the road. We were headed back south so we could hit Auckland by Sunday evening to pick up Loren. We ended up in a holiday park that sat cozily adjacent to a tourist attraction called Sheep World. There was a paddock of bright pink sheep out by the entrance. It was raining in earnest by the time we pulled up to the reception area. Dad and I got out and knocked, rang the door bell, and attempted to use the courtesy phone all to no avail (some of the buttons seemed to have stopped working). We were starting to wonder if the place was even open when a guy about my dad's age came trundling across the park in the rain, wearing shorts and gumboots and carrying a battered umbrella, his dog in toe. He greeted us kindly and explained he had been off tending to his sheep. He got us sorted out for the night, all the while he and dad grumbling congenially to each other about politics, the weather, and the evils of modern technology.

The place was nice if a bit rustic; you could see how the open-air kitchen looking out onto a little pond complete with tiny waterfall would be lovely on a warm summer day. The caretaker mentioned glow worms down by the waterfall, but the rain was really getting going and night was falling. After settling into what turned out to be our best camping site yet (we got our own personal bathroom literally a couple steps from the sliding door of our campervan) we holed up in our camper, cooked our backup stash of pasta-and-sauce for dinner with salad on the side, took luxurious unhurried hot showers, and pretty much called it a night.



Our camp site at Sheepworld Campervan Park




Dad and I investigate the kitchen




The aforementioned pond and tiny waterfall

The Adventure

This was written October 18th, and I'm just now getting around to editing and posting it. It is a partial account of an adventure I had with a friend who was visiting from the States. This happened the very day she got off the airplane in Wellington.

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First day, and already we've had an adventure. Wandered right back to that place where we were before, when we were looking for her sister's wedding tree. We walked past the same eviscerated piano, and emerged from the bush to see a lady and child walking down the dirt road. Behind her we could see the marae; it was more impressive than I remembered.

She asked us where we were from and where we were headed, and I thought for sure she we had stepped onto her land and she was there to send us on our way. Then she invited us onto her marae. "Have a wander around, I've got to go feed the chooks, but I'll catch up with you later. Just remember to take off your shoes before going inside."

Despite the explicit invitation, I was hesitant to even walk through the gate, with its ragged white flags fluttering in the wind. Carvings everywhere, in stone or in wood. And the place all simple timbers, but built so grand as to look somehow palatial. It looked all of one style, yet it had wings sprouting from it of all shapes and sizes like it had been added to over generations. We very timidly inspected those rooms which were left open (most rooms had their own entrance to the outside). And the grounds, the fountains, the gardens sprouting chard and collards, tucked into every corner. Murals of all styles on the walls, and old black and white photos, and a single poi left on a large rustic table.

We had decided we'd explored all the areas that felt public (some buildings clearly looked lived in) and were just turning to head out when we caught up with the caretaker who had invited us. We expressed our delight in the place, and she invited us to meet the builder. She ushered us into a part of the area we had skipped over because it looked lived in. We had been correct. A large man with white hair and beard sat in a wheelchair in front of a computer. The wall he sat facing was covered in crowded bookshelves.

We were invited to sit at a bench by the window, and he talked to us for some time. I do not remember all of it. The land was his. He bought it from the Sisters of Compassion - a Christian charitable organisation whose grounds adjoined his. He bought it, and then he gave it away, to be the marae, to belong to his people. He got unemployed youth to build the it "But the buildings built them" he told us. The place is actually constantly under construction, still mostly by unemployed youth. Now he is making it into a village, he is building houses. Actually he is overseeing things now that he's in the wheelchair. He said his tireless efforts at creating the marae left him disabled. He told us all they have undertaken on that land, and all he hopes to see accomplished.

A girl of maybe thirteen years came in the front door. "How are the baby chooks? Can they make it up the ramp into the house?" He asked. We just built a new chicken coop today, he said, got to make sure they settle in okay. Then he asked her to show us around some other parts of the marae. She took us outside and we pulled on tennis shoes while she stepped into some slip ons. "You have to wear slip on shoes when you live on a marae." She told us. She took us up a shaded path, onto a pavilion, across a little catwalk and opened a door for us to enter. "This room is celebrating women, the pictures show the steps a woman has to go through to prove she is a leader for her people" she said. We quietly made our way around the room, examining the carvings on each supporting beam. Meanwhile the girl and her little sister waited in the doorway, discussing their newest house cat, who cheekily tried to follow us into the room.

On the way out she pointed to a shady little garden with fountains that sprayed a fine mist over the trees. One for each of us children, she said. That one is the most rare tree in the world. Its for her (the little sister) she's the youngest. We caught up with the caretaker then, and expressed our heartfelt gratitude at being invited onto the marae and bade her farewell.

Back on the street, as we sat on the sun-warmed curb re-tying our shoe laces, I said "why is it we always end up having these sorts of adventures when you're here?"

"Oh, I thought it was just New Zealand, you know, how kind and open the people are here."

"Well, I've certainly never been invited onto a marae before."

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When editing this today, I found a website for the marae, so you can get an idea of what it looks like.