Now, where was I? Oh yeah...

Convenience - an ordinary word with different meaning for different people.

When my Great great great grandmother Olivia Kensington came to the Coromandel in about 1879, she didn't have a washing machine. Oh, I'm sure she had a copper and a river or stream and a washboard and a rope strung between trees for a clothesline, but she didn't have a washing machine or a dryer. She still didn't have these things when she left her husband buried in the ground at Port Charles and moved to Oropi on the outskirts of a young Tauranga township with some of her adult children, about 1882.

She didn't have an electric iron or one of those fancy clothes press thingies. She probably had a couple or three flatirons that she heated in the fire, maybe even used a piece of wet cloth to steam a crease in the menfolks Sunday best, but she didn't have an electric iron. Colonial women made underwear out of flour sacks, wore petticoats and long dresses and made nearly everything they wore by hand. Storebought clothes were a luxury.

Olivia didn't have a TV or a radio or the World Wide Wait to deliver global occurences on a instantaneous basis. Oh, there were newspapers back then, of course, but they weren't just a short jaunt to the dairy away, cos there wasn't a dairy and there weren't any cars to jaunt in. News took months to arrive from "home" via ship. Olivia's son Bridge Kensington had a bullock team that he brought logs out of the bush with and transported a boat on all the way from Rotorua on, but the Tauranga/Rotorua road, via the Gluepot and the Mangorewa Gorge was uncomfortable at best and treacherous at worst and could take days to accomplish with a wagon and team. We drove most of that route today - that's what made me think of Olivia and write about her tonight. Tauranga to Rotorua in 45 minutes. Just the trip from Oropi down to Tauranga and back took a bit of stamina in the 1880's. And the trip over the Kaimai Ranges that back then took 3 days to complete, if all went well now takes us 20 minutes by car.

Back then, when people and their kids were sick, the community doctored them as best they could until a doctor could be summoned to provide healing or pronounce impending death - whichever was appropriate in the case. Oh, they had medicines and painkillers and surgical instruments, but they didn't have them within easy reach and you couldn't ring the hospital or call for an ambulance. There wasn't a phone and there wasn't an ambulance.

Kids were raised with staunch and demanding rules and values about respect for elders, property, self-discipline and control, politeness and damned hard work not only being the measure of a man or woman, but a necessity for the survival of the family unit in frontier New Zealand. Listening to and following directions helped keep them alive. Kids were beaten when out of line, worked hard from dawn to dusk from an early age and were prone to dying from common ailments and minor accidents.

You had to be hardy to survive childhood, back then.

Today, we shop for a huge variety of pre-packaged and prepared food at the supermarket, we drive 10 minutes to the doctor and moan about waiting 30 minutes to see him. We have every gadget and appliance you could think of available in our homes to make life easier. We cook with gas or electricity in clean, well organised kitchens, we wash and dry our clothes in a flash, we don't have to iron a lot of them and can take things to the drycleaners if they are bulky. We no longer read about long past events as if they were just happening - now we are participants on a global stage and are a part of history being made, not necessarily just remote spectators after the fact. And, 107 years after the passing of Olivia, we have something that she and the hard working women like her never really had - we have frequent and regular leisure.

In our modern society, we aren't allowed to use physical force to teach out children any more; they don't seem to understand respect, compassion, consideration or reciprocation because their parents didn't necessarily bother to teach it to them. Political correctness has taken over common sense and our kids are ultimately going to be the losers. We no longer have much contact with our neighbours - our survival doesn't depend on it any more. We wear comparatively scant amounts of fast drying, easy care clothing made in some third world sweatshop of some manmade fibre that doesn't warm the body, doesn't protect us properly from the elements, and we have all the gadgets in the world to keep them looking pristine in the shortest amount of time possible with the least amount of effort.

And we think we got it tough?

Pussies.

It's all arse about face now. No longer are children a convenience who pay for their tuition in Life with useful toil to increase the wealth and survival prospects of the family unit. Now we, as parents have become a convenience to our children. They have trouble with the concepts of speaking when spoken to, don't butt in or talk over an adult, do as you are asked the first time instead of the 5th, they seem not to understand self-discipline or self-control, personal responsibility is an alien concept of vastly humorous proportions and they don't give a shit about consequence. Lots don't seem to know the words "please" and "thank you", either. Television cartoons and X-box are God and parents are merely the avenue by which these are obtained.

Kids now have all the rights and parents have none of the power to parent. But some of the modern parents don't deserve to have children reliant upon them, anyway. Some of them are too busy enjoying their precious leisure time to bother making sure their kids are adequately clothed, fed and have enough rest, can't lead by example. "Quality time" is a misnomer - it's only quality for the lazy parent, makes them feel that they are enriching their child's life. "Quality time" is "Bullshit time". And maybe Bullshit time is all there is if kids spend their waking hours unnecessarily handed over to a childcare worker to raise cos Mum can't friggin be bothered caring for them herself. Anyone can pop a baby out, parenting needs constant work.

People only really need three things in life; shelter - warm, dry clothing and dwelling; food - nourishing, healthy and wholesome; and love - love of a parent, love of a spouse, love of a friend. Why, with more resources than ever to sustain us, is that so bloody hard to follow?

I do wish Olivia was here today, I have so many questions that I would ask her. But high on the list would be "What was it like to stand at the top of Oropi on June 10, 1886 when Nature had a wee hissy fit and Tarawera erupted, turning night into day and day into night?"

We have become a shallow, grasping, throw-away society; Life is handed to us on a disposable plastic plate and all we have to do is nuke it for 5 minutes on medium and it's ready to enjoy.

Bon appetit.

~~ One's first step in wisdom is to question everything - and one's last is to
come to terms with everything ~~

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Now, where was I? Oh yeah...

The Aussies creamed us and ran away with all of New Zealand's Rugby World Cup hopes. The better team won on the day.

Their really odd shaped balls are to blame, I feel.

~~ Is three-in-a-bed sex fucking odd? ~~

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Now, where was I? Oh yeah...

Baby Tiggers are born with all of their stripes
It helps the wee Tiggers to grow up just right
Pristine striations for everyone to see
That each one can be all that a Tigger can be

Eeyores are glum from the time they are born
Eternally gloomy and filled up with mourn
Drabbily gray like an elephant's hide
Yes soft enough and big enough for a Piglet to ride

Kangas are jolly and loving and safe
And caring's no problem, a commitment won't chafe
Fulfilled in her role of caring for Roo
There's nothing else on earth that she would rather do

Owls have a wisdom that none can deny
You don't see them laugh and you don't see them cry
They pontifficate and opine from high in a tree
While Rabbits plant veges to eat for their tea

Pooh Bears, oh Pooh Bears, what more can one say
But that someone has stolen their brain cells away
Even easier than parting a fool and his money
Is parting a Pooh Bear from his big jar of hunny

Maybe if Tigger-stripes were changed into spots
And gloomy old Eeeyore's had a smile on their chops
If Owls could talk sense into slow-witted Poohs
Then perhaps Life would be fairer, not so damned hard to chew.

I have no idea why I wrote that... shit I must be bored, or tired... or something.

~~ Growing old is mandatory; growing up is optional ~~

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Now, where was I? Oh yeah...



Colours mean stuff. Everyone associates some colour with some feeling or memory or object or person. Colours can have a broader cultural meaning or a closer, more intimate and personal meaning. And their definition is completely subjective. People generally attribute emotions to colours - green with envy, blue when depressed, red with rage; pink is for girls and blue is for boys and black is for mourning and white is for purity.

And the sky is blue, too.

Or is it...?

We all know that people use the word "Blue" as a general colour reference because there are lots of members of the Blue family. But their existence depends solely on our own interpretation of how our own brain "saw" the colour and stored it in memory as a unique member of the Blue family.

So, what happens if the colour your brain "saw" and stored was actually the same as someone else's green? How do you know it's really blue anyway... cos someone told you it was?

That would have really fucked up Louis Armstrong's anthem, wouldn't it...

"I see skies of chartreuse and clouds of aubergine"... just doesn't have the same ring to it, does it...?

Shari has been breaking things. Things in my kitchen. So far, the score is 1 x coffee mug, 1 x drinking glass (stolen from the pub many years ago) and 1 x white plastic chinaman's hat lamp shade thingy (common or garden variety).

She feels very bad when she breaks something and has insisted on replacing each and every one of these items with a new version. Hence a bigger and better coffee mug, a taller and prettier drinking glass, and a larger and definitely very much redder chinaman's hat lamp shade thingy (definitely NOT common OR garden). She brought the new lamp shade over last night and installed it in it's new home. Then we all went to the Matrix. When we came home, the light was on and casting an exciting (yet strangely nauseating) "whorehouse red" tinge to the entire kitchen. Mr Sez asked me what I thought of it. I said I honestly wasn't quite sure what to think of it, yet. He said it was excellent advertising.

I'm waiting for her to break the TV... I would really like a big, new widescreen TV. I wish she would hurry up.

**AFTERTHOUGHT**

Just as I was finishing this, Shari emailed me to say, and I quote..."Fuck hope I dont break the dunny!"

I don't think I'll let her use our toilet any more, just in case.

~~ Whenever I feel blue, I start breathing again. ~~

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Now, where was I? Oh yeah...

10 DOG PEEVES ABOUT HUMANS

1. Blaming your farts on me... not funny... not very funny at all!
2. Yelling at me for barking... I'M A FRIGGIN' DOG YOU IDIOT!
3. Taking me for a walk, then not letting me check stuff out. Exactly whose walk is this anyway?
4. Any trick that involves balancing food on my nose... stop it!
5. Any haircut that involves bows or ribbons. Now you know why we chew your stuff up when you're not home.
6. The sleight of hand, fake fetch throw. You fooled a dog! What a proud moment for the top of the food chain, you nitwit.
7. Taking me to the vet for "the big snip", then acting surprised when I freak out every time we go back
8. Getting upset when I sniff the crotches of your guests. Sorry, but I haven't quite mastered that handshake thing yet.
9. How you act disgusted when I lick myself. Look, we both know the truth, you're just jealous.
10. Dog sweaters. Have you noticed the fur? Imbecile!

~~ Never judge a dog's pedigree by the kind of books he does not chew. ~~

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Now, where was I? Oh yeah...

Tomorrow I'm going to the Matrix with Shari and Mr Sez.

Oh, luscious Keanu Reeves in his long black coat... and the leather.... with all those big, manly weapons... ***swoon***

I am such a leather slut, even more than I am a suit slut.

Mind you, his butt looked pretty damn fine out of the leather pants in the last instalment. Shari and I have been trying for weeks to steal the big promotional Matrix - Reloaded cutout thingy with Neo and Morpheus on it from the video shop, but Damien the Omen-Boy keeps catching us at it and says "do it on someone else's shift, will ya?" It isn't easy you know, trying to flog a 6' high rigid cardboard cutout thingy. I mean, shit, we deserve points just for trying so many times, not to mention our truly exquisite taste in wanting to in the first place.

I dunno, no sense of adventure, that man. Considering he works right next door to the Massage Parlour and the Naughty Knickers shop with all its glorious paraphernalia on display in the window, you'd think he would :-)

Just wait until I start writing about the musical condoms you can buy... coming soon to a blog near you.

But while you are waiting, you can check out what your name really means HERE. Mine means "Raven haired Moon Goddess of more than ample prowess in all the important womanly arts; exciting, raunchy and the ultimate sexual playmate"

Or was that "Raving lunatic that blows goats...".

I'll get back to you on that.

~~ Traditional condom packet warning: "My Dad says these things don't work" ~~

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