Kiwi Tales

Teddy bear's picnic

Have I ever shared that The Kiwi has a rock fetish? Stuff the common rice crispies, The ROCKS have to speak to The Kiwi before she will even flex her aging muscles to pick them up. That factoid said, I'll continue my story. Yesterday we packed up "FLICK" our trusted fire engine red jeep and drove off into the mountains to our beloved Forest Falls, the home of many a rock slide, ensures the valley is littered with rocks, choc of granite, minerals of pink and stripes of green. I am sure there is one with the complete outline of the Virgin Mary somewhere out there, however The Kiwi is leaving that for one lucky rock loving Catholic. Before I go on, Ranger Bob, actually it was Ranger Sheila, at some time said " There's plenty of them, isn't there?" when we asked if we may take some for our garden. That being said, did set a precedent in The Kiwi's mind. It gave universal permission to cull the rocks and bring a little bit of the mountain range back to our Riverside garden. Whilst we know the old adage of leave nothing behind but footprints in the sand, yadda yadda yadda and take nothing but sweet memories or however it goes, we decided it was OK. The Yank and The Kiwi are very much nature conservationist types of folks and dammit we were going to at least have the rocks to prove it. OK...
Hours passed blissfully in the mountain range. A rainbow cloud like no other ever seen by The Kiwi appeared not long after arrival. The air was fresh and crisp. It was going to be a good day. The Yank was breathing with two nostrils and the sun was shining minus the burn. We took our Greek pal Elli along. We had long been meaning to go together and had never quite been able to gel on a time to suit us all. If Elli were here with me as I write, she would tell you she had a ball. She had never been to the mountains here in CA. She too is a lover of rocks and is now herself in PIG HEAVEN. With the learned wisdom of The Yank and The Kiwi we had two vehicles at the falls = more rocks. We snacked with the squirrels and scrub jays then donned gloves and heavy duty footwear suitable for such an adventure then stepped forth each in our own direction, wherever the rocks were calling. Hours later, excitement still oozing we decided to call it a day and drive around the perimeter on the lookout for the ONE last BIG rock each. The piece de résistance, Mama rock, THE rock, whatever you want to call it.  We parked in a small space, bum facing the rock field for ease of loading and went off we went, eyes peeled for the tallest, thinnest most gorgeous rock with attitude that could be carried by the now exhausted gals. THEN...out of nowhere came the words. "BEAR, BBBBEAR BBEAR" The Kiwi looked around her and yelled "WHERE, WHERE, WHERE?"
Thinking The Yank was playing a prank, as she has been known to do, The Kiwi's usual, rapid response was somewhat quelled, pondering the validity of The Yanks words. Still hearing "BEAR, BBBBEAR,BBEAR" did get The Kiwi looking around and thinking "Its all very well for you up there to call out, Indeed, YOU must be looking directly at said bear." The Kiwi couldn't see no bear from where she was and hopefully the bear couldn't see The Kiwi. So The Kiwi did what The Kiwi hates to do... She ended up running, in a Kiwi sort of way, towards the excited voice of The Yank and Elli. ANDDD...sure as eggs are eggs, there was da bear. Granted it was a young bear, nevertheless, it was a bear, claws and all, guesstimation of age, around 2yrs. Of course The Kiwi had to get closer, whilst mindful of a potential mama bear lurking. One must always practice commonsense when out in the wildness. "NO, get closer Kiwi" said the crispie within. "CLOSER, It's just a baby, you big girls blouse."  The voices were loud and clear. "ITS A BEARRR!" said The Yank. "SOOOO?!" said The Kiwi. The desire to get just that bit closer and maybe touch it's fur gave me that overpowering uncontrollable urge that I can only imagine heroin addicts must experience. Then, The Kiwi's brain age finally caught up with her and she stopped. Shared a moment with the bear, with a respectable 20' distance between them. The bear and The Kiwi sniffed the air searching for a whiff of each other, licked their lips, posed for The Yank and then parted ways.  The tune of "Teddy Bears Picnic" filled the valley floor and was THE singalong song on the trip home. Another memorable adventure shared by The Yank and The Kiwi and their sidekick Elli. Now...what to do with all the rocks and who is going to unload them all?

The SIX eyed monster

The day started out much the same except for two things. I have the Yank home 24/7 as The Times chose to save her from a death worse than misery itself by cutting the ties. First let me go back a step in time. As part as their pathetic attempt to keep slum landlord Sam Zells greedy aquisition of The Time afloat, the Chicago thugs...opps.did I say that? Ok...thumbscrewers came in and changed the healthcare package, part of their costcutting effort. Ho Hum. NOW...what does that mean?  I can hear you say. It MEANT that the WORKERS of the once prestigeous LA Times now have  a healthcare plan akin to a third world country. BUT...it cost the workers the same. Just more co pay and crappier people to deal with. NOW...I am writing this a little late but whats new lol. Its changed once again and we now currently have NO healthcare but that's not the story. My blurb is about eyes and the pariphenalia that must adorn them as we age.

The Yank and The Kiwi have been going to 20/20 vision for about 6 or so year. We love the Doc and we love Jennifer the ever so patient meticulous optometrist a gal could wish for. We loved our yearly visits. We trust them both with our eyeballs. When the healthcare package went to the dogs we decided to stay with Dr Everett as she knows our eyes inside out. She marvels at my tortured veins and is ever so grateful we haven't pulled apart any of her machines looking for interesting adornments to play with. Theres a real trust between us, something that is sorely lacking with most other medical professionals in our lives currently.

We had to go elsewhere to get our perscription filled and there the horror began, we couldn't take our Jennifer with us. A list in hand we started at the closest joint. ICK and the Jennifer wannabee was horrid. Nothing worthy of adorning our eyes and the wee suitcase holding the specs for the peasant class looked like something from the backstreets ofsome eastern bloc reject pile. Did I mention the PLAN Sam Zell had given the LA Times staff was a peasant plan? That's irrelevant now but I had to mention it for the story's sake.

Ok...onward and upward. OFF to Sams Club and Walmart... DOUBLE ICK...there was some HOSPITAL eye place somewhere in there but I threw a paddy and didn't want to even have anything to do with it. I missed my Jennifer! Hours and fign hours later we ended up at another joint, it looked promising, more selection, laughter and a gal that did her best to be our NEW Jennifer. The dreaded suitcase came out. Its a peasant thing. The suitcase and the peasant plan are one and the same, joined at the hinge. We both found glasses on the wall and decided on those. Hours had passed, we both felt a sense of loss . Its  a good thing though. Its very much a case of "tis better to have loved and to have hold then never loved at all." NOT to freak Jennifer out at all lol but we have her in our life and She comes to our "Art In The Yard " Do's and sometime we will all go for Thai together at our fave Thai joint. The Yank and The Kiwi appreciate the professional friendly treatment 20/20 vision has bestowed on them over the years and even though The Kiwi must now wear two different pairs of glasses for different tasks no personal grudge is held.

 

The Fly Whisperer aka The Kiwi

Just got in from rounding up some flies and herding them towards fly heaven. I don't know about you, but The Kiwi hates flies, especially when she is preparing food. Probably because the American flies reminds her of the Australian flies, badly behaved and totally irreverent. The Yank gets majorly demented over ants but that is another story. But with flies, she sure is a sight to behold as she flings herself around the kitchen puffing herself up to look ten times bigger. Its enough to scare the wings off the dirty wee blighters and make them drop the food out of their mouth whilst flying in fright. A gal can't even leave the backdoor open without the little buggers using the place like a drive thru. Now where was I?
OH... wherever I went, there I was [and so were the flies] To cut a long story short and save you all from the cliches. I've been a badddddd Kiwi blog mistress. So beat me!

Months have passed, seasons have changed, we have a new Prez, what else, hmmmmmm. We both have some new grey hairs and I am also pleased to say we have just had yet another "Art in The Yard" flingette. This time I really concentrated on our table display setting it up the night before under the covered patio.  I was remiss last time and totally neglected our space table as I wandered around like mother hen making sure all the participants were ok with their allotted areas, cooked breakfast for 25 and took care of any special needs. The Yank was busy with her tasks and before you knew it BAM... the gates were opened. Sooooooo... in a nutshell, we kicked butt with our area this time, lots of nooks and crannies with new creations made using a lot of YanKiwi product. From hand stamped earrings, bracelets and pendants; to cards, tags and stained glass sun-catchers made by the both of us. The Yank had worked hard and long at kicking the garden up a notch even threatening the grass to grow, or else! The birdlife was out in force, fountains were flowing. 100's of attendees/friends/buyers enjoyed a fine afternoon in our garden and a fun time, food and wine was shared. We even had a chair masseuse this time and she was kept busy.
    Currently, I am so excited I can barely contain myself as I have a new project underway. The Kiwi is inspired. Its been a while and I'm enjoying the flow whilst looking forward to the next show in November. The Yank and The Kiwi will be working on some garden art to include hypertufa pots, troughs and other gorgeous organic growths that we can think of when playing with said mixture. Watch this space for pics... In the interim I am off, back to the shade of the lower patio to work on my current itches. The Yank is uploading a pic to our SALE page at the virtual convention our ghosts are presently attending at The Rubberstampchat site. Check it out, it runs till Monday eve. I am not going to make any more loose promises to be frequent with my bloggett. I am going to work at the least to be better as the Yank threatened to send me to the fly farm where I will have no choice but to constantly run around in circles, fly swat in hand instead of the dremel. I am pretty sure that can be seen as the equivalent as limbo for some of you.

Tootles for now.

The Kiwi

OH...p.s. The Yank wanted me to mention that the reason we have flies is the WEATHER and the fact that I leave the door open with no screen. Its NOT because I leave crumbs on the bench. I repeat. It is NOT because I leave crumbs on the bench... that would be countertop for the American readers.

To dye or not to dye

That was the question and now for the answer:
Alas, The Kiwi is NOT growing old graciously, in fact a wee tantrum was just thrown when CSS kicked in just now. For those of you in tender years and those of you with a tempered tongue let me explain CSS to you, as my Darling explained it to me... Bottom line = Can't See  #*^% or for those of you that can't interpret symbols that are used when there is a naughty word, let me give you another hint. DOODOO. {Can't. See. DooDoo} Get it? It's that THING that happens when one turns a certain age and overnight, BAM, papers are hard to read, pedestrians better look out and all of a sudden one feels strangely OLD.
I have done the thing that oldsters do, got the peeps checked, got the glasses, upgraded to bi-focals then to transionals and have become so dependent on wearing them, in fact most of the day  I feel as dependent on them as I can imagine a broke meth Mom must feel on her drugs. But I digress. I was merely expressing myself as I sit here in front of Mac, dye in hair, unable to wear my glasses because the dye is in the hair, cooking my head, transforming my looks, making me youthful looking once again. Ok... so that ain't going to happen, I know that. I just turned FIFTY and its all downhill from there. Let it be known. The Kiwi has stopped counting. THAT'S IT. I will forever be fifty. GOD that sounds horrid. If I was Catholic I would think I flipped the coin, lost and ended up in purgatory or best case scenario limbo.
Now where was I? Ohhhhh...yes. To dye or not to dye. Excuse me if i repeat myself. You know...even the sackers aka baggers at Ralph's now call me Ma-mam and ask if they can help me out. Such a disgusting practice to call someone MA-MAM...makes me feel like a throw up from "Gone with the Wind" era. I still wear jeans! My shoes may be comfortable but they aren't strapped with Velcro. I only wanted to color my hair BECAUSE I CAN! I just had a cut, ready for a change, why frign NOT?
So...dye if you want to, I don't care. Its your hair. Please excuse me as I go rinse off the residue and see what color I have turned and NO...for those of you who may have been wondering, let me state it here and now, The Kiwi has NOT joined the blue rinse brigade or the lilac lids and I will NOT ever, ever be seen in a red hat.

Now this may seem a wee disjointed and purposeless, in fact as clear as mud, however, the real reason I am mentioning about glasses and aging and grey hairs etc is because I was on a roll making Valentine's Cards and being in my 51st year I get easily distracted. One thing led to another and BAM! another reality check bounced when I was filling in time as my hair miraculously underwent transformation. It may be true that fifty is as fabulous as forty and all that huha people say to keep you calm in case you get the knives out, but deep down, it is simply not true. However, to be fifty and in love and looking forward to Valentine's Day like a rabid teenager, Well... I wouldn't trade that for anything, even if I can't read my smoochy cards anymore without my glasses.

Tomorrow the roll will continue and more gorgeous cards will be created. It doesn't really matter what age you are as long as there is love in your heart. Truth be known, I don't notice much difference now that my hair is dried, boofed and tweeked with product but that could be because it is night time and even with glasses welllllllll... that is one part of the aging process this kid could do without. I won't even mention about my favorite tweezers, Nooooooo... some things have to remain private. hahaha

Deadlines looming...

The Kiwi has been spread thin since returning from Aotearoa. All the hours in a day mean ZIP really! I am sure it is a time management issue. I shall make a mental note to consult the head rice crispie. There has been a little writing, a little biz, OH...The Art In the Yard fest was a blast. I finished and started a project for Altered Art. A tribute to my dear Dad. It ought be in the mag an issue or two away. This was the first undertaking of this kind for me...a tribute. I stared at the large toasted tin which I knew was going to be the vessel. I sat there a long time looking at the tin thinking about my Dad and was temporarily stunted. You see... My Dad is already in a box, of sorts, sitting atop the TV in the lounge back home in New Zealand. There he sits surrounded by family photos. A pic of him in a suit taken at ANZAC day one year looking rather solemn as he is obviously remembering his mates no longer alive. We put some of Dads fave sweets around the box as a sort of tribute and it is unspoken that they just sit there, despite most of them being also some of the family faves. We raise our drams of scotch to him each night I am back home and we toast Dad and the Auckland Blues or NZ Allblacks when there is a rugby game on. Mum whispers good morning darling and goodnight each day. One could think it rather grim that a rather smaller version of Dad is still there, but as a family it does not bother us. We have all heard of weirder scenarios, like the folk who just let their loved ones sit in their fave chair where they died and take on that sort of dried up look about them. Or store their dearly departed in the chest freezer and then pray for no power outages. So in the bigger scheme of things, the Stubbs clan is not all that weird. Dad will be interred when Mum has had enough of this place and leaves us. That will be THE sad day. Anyway, back to my Dad project. Nothing quite seemed good enough and I think that is why I pondered and procrastinated. I didn't quite get to the point of dial-a-therapist but if it wasn't for the wisest of the crispies within, I could have. The worst thing was, ugh,  I had a deadline. Welllllllll...The Kiwi is not the best with deadlines and I felt the pressure to perform. That, mixed with the emotions regarding Dad, meant I wasn't going anywhere fast. I had many ideas, I could picture a look yet there was no way in hell it was all going to fit in a tin. I accepted my temporary state of being and continued to create in my head. I knew I needed a picture of him, I knew I was going to stamp an Amaryllis Lilly on the back as Dad grew them and most family members have a generation of bulbs going back to my late Nana Tyndall, so I just had to have a stamp created for YanKiwi, It was a given. I knew I had an old article from the New Zealand Herald written about the battle at Monte Cassino in Italy during WW11. Dad was a truck driver during the war herding troops and supplies from A to B  and of course it was a significant time for him as a young soldier. I had to somehow fit that in there. I continued my quest to gather symbolic bits and bobs and soon realized I had the bones, so to speak. I just had to start the assembling. Again I was stopped in my tracks. Eventually, I just let myself feel the feeling and did it anyway. My goal was to feel the feeling and create. I touched a lock of Dads hair and bent to sniff it hoping to smell him but couldn't. I smiled at the picture of him taken next to his prize Christmas Lillie's and pieced together my project by feeling all the feelings within. It was ok to feel. I soon had completion the day it needed posting. You all won't get to see much in the mag, at best their will be two shots and the whole enchilada won't be visible. All you really have to know is it is a tribute for my Dad, from me to him.

Thanks be given

Whilst Thanksgiving is still not considered a tradition for The Kiwi I have come to accept it as a special day for all you Americans and turkeys alike. If you get past Thanksgiving intact then you get to live another day and surely that is something to be grateful for. We didn't do the whole kit and caboodle this year. Tracy had to work and a pot luck dinner was shared by all the unfortunates who drew the short straw. We had our fill in an unceremonious fashion and I've been going from pen to paper to website surfing waiting for the hours to pass before we head home. The wine has taken effect and so has the turkey drug, its near on ten o'clock and I can almost feel myself snoring. To me Thanksgiving means being with the ones you love and if my love has to work than I am going to be there, its a long way back to Riverside from LA with a stickshift alone. So what really is Thanksgiving all about nowadays anyway. Seems to me to be a one day event doing your best to play nicely with others topped off with a huge shopping spree after midnight. Shop until you drop or get shot. Tomorrow is Black Friday...arguably the biggest shopping day of the year. But it is a different year...will people really be out there in their droves or will they have let their bodies succumb to the turkey drug and stay home belly up? I personally could think of nowhere I would rather NOT be than in the midst of a midnight sale...even if I was under the influence of turkey, its just not my cup of tea. So I am grateful to be with the one I love. It doesn't really matter where we are or the quality of the mashed potatos, the fact that we are together is what I cherish and hold high above all else. 10.06 pm and the newsroom is like a morgue. The workstation pods that house the unfortunates are backlit with computor glow, paper plates with chewed on turkey bones sit on any clear surface waiting for deadline to pass before they clear them away and head on home. The air is thick with pumpkin pie spice and I may need to go investigate. What's Thanksgiving without the trimmings eh? We are nothing without our traditions, our yearly rituals, our desire to eat some dry old bird once a year and believe it tastes nice. I still refuse to go shopping though. A gal has got to draw the line somewhere.