Tuesday, July 30, 2013

ROFLOLWTIME but WTH!


I have had a wasted day today.  Well, almost wasted.  I did do a couple of chores, paid a couple of bills, had a couple of coffees, made a couple of phone calls, drafted a couple of training programmes, researched a couple of projects, did a couple of small good deeds, rubbed a couple of feet, had visits from a couple of sons, placated a couple of cats; but all in all a wasted day today.  Indeed my couple of butt cheeks have become so broadened today by the hours of sitting that it’s going to take a couple of major exercise days to get the squared seated shape out of them.

More than a couple of major exercise days actually, probably a couple of weeks worth of exercise – all due to the fact that a week ago I was finally hit by this nasty winter cough and cold virus that seems to have struck every second person this winter. 

I went away last Thursday for a couple of days with a couple of friends and methinks, guiltily, that I have probably infected the couple of friends with my bugs.  But am going to rationalise that by telling myself better they catch it from me, a good mate, than from some ugly blighter they don’t like!

In fact, I was away with them for three days and could write a whole article about the joys and pleasures of travelling the countryside on a Good-Bye-Pork-Pie-type jaunt with the two friends who were fondly referred to by another friend as Thelma and Louise.  High praise for the friends indeed – but after some of the happenings and stories to be told of the jaunt, I figure they better fitted the titles of Lucy & Ethel, or Lavern & Shirley, or truly more relevant, Betty & Wilma.

It was a pity I had become struck down with the bugs because I spent much of the time curled in a fetal position in the back of the little car, nodding off.  Or slouched on the couch in the motel room, nodding off.  Or in the little movie house, nodding off.  Or leaning on the lamp post during the city walking tour, nodding off.  Betty & Wilma were ever so sympathetic and never once berated me for being the wet rag in the trio.  One wonders if they feel the same way now, as I know Betty, or is it Wilma?... has actually been struck down with the infectious bugs.

Anyway … back to the wasted day.  One of the time wasters on this wasted day was sitting here on the PC and catching up with various emails and communications that I had not spent the time or more truthfully, the mental strength to do over the past few weeks.  In between doing those I thought I would catch up on Facebook happenings over the past period that I had missed.  It was fun scrolling through and reading what various friends had been doing over the previous months and what others have planned to do in the next months.  I can see how reading about where they eat, and play and exercise and sleep can easily become mind numbingly time wasting … because irrespective of how we all sling off at inane postings on Facebook, it’s still fun to read. 

Well some of it is.  That is, the some of it I understand.  I have concluded that Facebook seems to have trended a typed language of its own that is the language of acronyms.  I spent quite a bit of time trying to work out exactly what CNP, TY, TMA, K, IDGI and CSG meant.  I’ve always found LOL has confused me as inevitably I have to think, “Now is that ‘lots of love’?  or ‘laugh out loud’? or ‘lots of luck’?  So to come across these other unknowns…  grrrrr.    Was getting so irritated at misinterpreting some of what I was trying to read that I wasted yet more time Googling the acronyms to try deciphering what I was reading.  Grrr…

To think, I’ve promised myself for years now to go to night school to learn Spanish and/or renew my forgotten language of Maori, or even delve into a little French not only to sharpen my brain but to enjoy the knowledge of constant learning.   Huh!  Forget that, I shall now been searching Google to find where is the local school that runs night classes for the new language of acronyms!

OWTF, AFAICS, ICOCBW but IDI, to get understood nowadays YHBBYBD that we just have to STW to translate any FAQ about what one reads on FB or FCOL any PM or PS one must STFU and realise that TMI ain’t worth knowing. 

Oh well, oops, no, I mean OBYW, NVM it just makes me feel RVD that it took me so long to figure out what DTV meant!

(FYI, if you are as acronym illiterate as me, go to http://www.muller-godschalk.com/acronyms.html it’s got all the acronyms in the world listed.)


Except DTV.   
           


                                        

Monday, July 22, 2013

Hello, my name is Verna Cook-Jackson and I am an addict


Yes, I confess to being an addict.  I am totally addicted.  I cannot help myself.  

These past few months I have been trying to cover it up, trying to hide my addiction from friends and family.  But I have been covertly ingesting my drug of choice when all have left and there is no one around.

It has eased my pain.

My addiction has not been helped by (and I am EVER SO GRATEFUL, SO KEEP IT COMING) everyone's good wishes and goodwill by arriving regularly with cakes, slices, danishes, truffles, chocolates, more cakes, more biscuits, more slices, more fruit buns .... it's turned me into a secret cake-biscuit-gooey-slice-nougat-anything-sweet addict.

And how do I know I am actually an addict?

Someone dropped a slice of something ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFULLY GOOEY, YUMMY, STICKY and TASTY chocolate, caramel slice today.  Put it well away in the pantry knowing I have just come through 5 days of gooey, sticky, yummy total addictive behaviour - AND knowing I have not been able to move that 67 plus.... kg upholstery around my midriff.  Thus the pantry it was placed - away from frothing and foaming mouth and shaky hands.

Then rushed out to take the cat to the vet for an emergency appointment. Only to pull into the vet's car park and realise I had forgotten the cat   ... cause I had left the house eating the caramel slice ....

                                              chocolate-caramel slice

Saturday, July 20, 2013

It's Tony's birthday today

  


A thank you to those thoughtful ones who have sent me messages in the knowledge that today is the toughest day yet since Tony passed away.
Today is Tony’s birthday.

It has been comforting to learn that many folk realise it was never going to be an easy day for me.

We always celebrated birthdays.  Well, I always did.  Tony tended to rebuff my desire to celebrate his annual day of birth, but the rebuffs were never that convincing.  Everyone likes to be acknowledged, to be celebrated, to feel special sometime in their life. So why not on the day that one was born?
We had some very happy birthday celebrations for his day.  

The first major one was his 60th when we hired out the local YMCA foyer, installed a juke box and had a catering company come with a constant supply of canapés.  That day/night was particularly memorable for a number of reasons – but the one I hold dear most is late in the night, when everyone had gone home, including us – that Tony hugged me and thanked me for making him feel that he was a special person to me and for loving him so much.   I remember that hug as though he gave it to me this morning.  And the words he used, they were so heartfelt and sincere;  if only I had written them down.

The next major birthday of his which we celebrated was his 65th.  The birthday he treated as a joke – because he found it so hard to believe he was so old, that he was of pension age, that he would forever get free coffees at McDonalds and each fortnight the government would put some money into his bank account.  At 65 Tony was really only 45.  Mentally, physically and spiritually. 

That was a fun birthday.  We hired part of a local restaurant out and squashed everyone in to enjoy pasta and pasta and lovely red wine.  The photos keep coming up on the PC when it has been resting for a while – everyone is laughing, everyone was happy.

Then the next major one to celebrate was a far more poignant birthday celebration.  

It was his 70th and only seven months earlier he had been given the life sentence of twelve weeks due to having a brain tumour.

At the time I thought it would probably be Tony’s last birthday celebration.  We never discussed it.  We never talked about an inevitability.  But by the 21st July he had extended by months his predicted ending.  That in itself was worth celebrating.  But it was his 70th and as much as he really did not want to acknowledge he had reached that incredible age, I was determined we would celebrate as we had such a lot to be grateful for and to enjoy.  Besides, he was still fit and ‘healthy’;  he had done Ironman only four months earlier, he was still biking, swimming, running and enjoying Yoga and Pilates and anything and everything else that was normal in our lives.
So it was a Sunday at home with Tony.

I think most people who came to enjoy the Sunday with us that day were of the thought it would be the last birthday they would celebrate with Tony.  Irrespective of their thoughts, the photos taken on the day tell me that everyone was happy to be there, and Tony was chuffed they were.  Yet again, he was more chuffed that I had organised the day. 

Today would have been Tony’s 75th.  Hard to think of him being 75 actually, particularly when you think that only 16 months ago he was doing Ironman.
Today has been really, really difficult.  This whole last three weeks has been difficult.  This past week has been the most difficult.  Buckets of tears have been shed, still are.  In solitude.

So it’s been of much comfort to have had the messages.


We are still celebrating Tony’s birthday though.  At this very moment some of the family are at the theatre, watching Tony’s sister-in-law in a production (my sister), I am babysitting young Anthony and we await the arrival of everyone back home so that we can enjoy an evening repast of birthday celebration of Tony.  

For the occasion I have made his favourite dessert.  Apple and rhubarb crumble.  He was never hard to please!




Earlier posts that were deleted when blogger.com was revamped


Dated according to their dates of publications

1.   
9


Must do.  Folk are giving me every indication that I do.

The very first blog on this blog site that ‘F’ set up for me was a copy of an email sent to a friend which was written to explain to him why I had not carried out a task he had asked me to do.

I was justifying the lack of time I have to myself.

Then today, on not one, not two but on three occasions have had someone insinuate or indicate that I must be having great difficulty filling in my days now that I don’t have Tony around to look after.

The first time the hint was put across that I was lucky I had time on my hands to do nothing but be laid back actually made me grin externally, but scowl internally.  On an almost daily basis someone will make a comment or ask the question on how I could possibly fill in the whole 24 hours of the day now that it’s just me.

The second time it happened today was as I was rushing down the street (on foot) to get to the YMCA as I had a commitment with two ‘athletes’ from my favoured bunch of athletes who have major sporting goals ahead of them and were wanting to attend the Y as part of their new fitness regime.  As coach, it is my duty to be there with them, happily.  But as I rushed down the road a neighbour called out, “Great for some, being about to go to the gym whenever you want!  Some of us have to go to work!”

Guess the man thought he was being funny, or friendly or neighbourly.  Had I not been in such a rush to get there I would have stopped and bopped him one.  Or five.

It’s now 4.20 pm and I have just waved goodbye an unexpected visitor who came to the door around 1.30 pm today.  Someone who thought I might need company to fill in the many hours in the day when I must be sitting in the front room gazing out the window at the birds and butterflies.

That person arrived just after I dashed downstairs to do some ironing – yes boring domestic stuff – that has been sitting awaiting ironing for over 3 weeks.  Why has it been sitting and waiting for over 3 weeks?  Because I have been too jolly busy to find the time to do it, that’s why.

Today is a perfect example.

Up at 4.15 am to do some emailing that was worrying me and had kept me awake for some hours.
Out of the household front door at 5.10 am to head to the swimming pool so that I could be in the pool as soon as it opened at 5.30 am to enable me to get in a much needed 2 kilometre swim.  Much needed because I am only just now trying to get some regularity and pattern into regaining the fitness I deem necessary to be able to move forward in my soon to be new vocation as a professional triathlon coach. 

And why at 5.30 am?  Because at 7 am I am due at the Auckland Museum to attend our fortnightly Toastmaster meeting, thus am to do the swim, shower, dry body and hair, dress, make myself look non-glum, rush out to the vehicle (in the rain), drive to the museum, pay my dues and be seated by 7 am.
Meeting finishes around 8.30 am giving me the perfect opportunity to catch up with some fellow Toasties over a coffee to much needed friendship and even grief counseling.

Leave museum at 9.15 – 9.30, drive directly to the 3 places I have to go to, eg: Dick Smiths for a USB, AA garage to have them check my brakes as am worried about them, Citizens advice to have a JP sign something – then home with just enough time for me to rush in, unpack wet swim gear and bits, change into lycra and rush out the door to meet A & N at the YMCA at 10.45 am.  Via the neighbourly chortle.  Or better described as, a snide remark.

An hour and a quarter later when finished  at the YMCA  A asks if I have time for a coffee.  Never one to miss the chance of a coffee (and realizing I was quite famished by now and needed the milky protein), nodded in agreement.

Coffee with A & N was delightfully pleasant – made more so by the proprietor of the coffee shop granting me a gratis coffee in recognition of her knowledge that Tony has passed away.  That was kind.
After coffee zoomed back here to find the water metre man having trouble reading the metre due to the rain that was falling.  Conversation with him re the metre readings, then inside and go check my growing list of To Dos.  Top of the list today is ironing – yuk – but a must do as some unironed goods will soon be required.  Just start that when the phone rings, then while on the phone the door bell rings.  Cut off phone caller, go to front door.

A visitor.  A smiling, genial and jolly visitor.

The one who thought I might need a visitor to fill in those hours of bird and butterfly watching.
‘F’ was the one who rang earlier, to invite me to join her over some delightful culinary treat she has been creating today for her evening meal.  I did begin to try and explain that I did not have time to accept the lovely invitation, but sensed a questioning air there too.

You see, am hoping to go away for a week on Sunday and I have only 60 hours between now and then to get organised.  That sounds like enough but tomorrow will have to be up early as the tree man is arriving just after 7 am to do the much required tree pruning I have asked him to do.  Have tried doing it myself but am a little concerned about those power lines, so he can play Russian roulette with the lines and get paid for it.  I have 3 appointments during the rest of the day and was hoping to slot in a catch up with a friend, but that may not work because of my appointment times. 

Sometime tomorrow (probably tomorrow night)  I will be creating my own culinary dish which is to be my contribution to a meal I am attending with warm friends the following night – a dinner date arranged weeks ago – and we always contribute something towards the meal.  Looking at my diary for tomorrow, my contribution may be last Wednesday night’s left over crackers and cheese.

I digress.  I am concerned that will I be awake and perky for that dinner on Saturday evening?  As, on Saturday morning at 8 am one will see me at the far end of Te Atatu Peninsula where some of the ‘flock’ will be participating in a run/bike/run duathlon that I am encouraging many to do and as coach it gives me primo opportunity to see them in action.

From there I will rush home, change clothes, pack up vehicle and head out to the other far end of the earth, Pakuranga, for the second of this season’s winter cross country running events.  Must be there by 12.30 pm.  Won’t be finished my own race and formalities until 4.30 pm at which time I will be driving back to middle earth to shower, change and be at the dinner date at 6 pm.

Sometime tomorrow I would like to catch up with one, or two, or three of our sons – touch base, so to speak. 
Oh, I should be able to do that; I can just take myself away from bird and butterfly watching.
Posted 9th May by Merna Mook
  
2.     
8

Am working toward completing Tony's life story in book form and have been searching through computer files looking for some of his memories and among all his files came across a file of my own writings which is rather relevant.

A couple of years ago I attended a writing course at Auckland University and on the first day we were all given 10 minutes to write on the theme 'Who am I?'


I recall all others in the course wrote about who they were - ie, where they were born, where they live, married or unmarried, children or no children, employ or not employed, hobbies and interests.  


All very interesting for the rest of us on the course to enable us to learn who our fellow writers were.  But seems my mind works in a different way, the following is who I am.


Who am I?

"And here she is, coming down the finishing straight, Verna Cook-Jackson, wife of Tony Jackson…"

There it was again, the same words, the same annual call.  I was finishing an Ironman triathlon event, an event that has me swim nearly four kilometres in a lake, ride a bike through tough and undulating countryside for 180 kilometres then run a marathon of forty-two kilometres. 

It was my tenth year of doing this event.  Some years it had poured with rained.  Some years it froze, had incredible winds, or was a blinding scorcher.  Ten or twelve hours into the event my body would scream to end the pain.  Scream for rest and gentle hands  to rub tortured muscles.

The last two hours in the dark of night are the hardest.  I would have been in perpetual motion for at least twelve or thirteen hours. 

So, for the tenth time I had only 300 metres to push this anguished body down the finishing chute to cross the line.  I am the only one in the chute, the spotlights are all on me, and the music is blaring. Hundreds of spectators cheer, chant, clap and celebrate my own victory over my body.

And yes, yet again, for the tenth year in a row the announcer on the microphone screams out, "Here she is, coming down the finishing straight.  Verna Cook-Jackson, wife of Tony Jackson who …"

That is the last they will hear about me, it is now all about him.

And do I mind?  Not at all.  I love every moment of it.  I love hearing others talk about my Tony.  My hero.  My mentor.  My superman.  Their hero. 

I know who I am. I am Verna Cook-Jackson, wife of Tony Jackson.


Posted 8th May by Merna Mook
  
3.     
6


Seems my last blog entertained a number of folk whilst they drank their morning tea or coffee at their work PCs this morning.

Have had lots of chuckling (and knowing) texts, phone calls, emails and FB comments.

To be fair to my WONDERFUL support team – it could not have been an easy task having to spend an entire day at the beckoning and calling of a woman in grieving who is taking full license to behave irrationally and irritably at anyone daring to push my limits.

But then again, 32 kilometres is one hell of a limit to have been pushed …

I digress …

To ‘The Team’ – I now pull my tongue out of my cheek - I really am grateful to you. And you know it.   Emotionally it was a really hard day for me and your antics eventually touched a funny bone….   

And I did tell you I couldn’t let it go by without a blog….  
Posted 6th May by Merna Mook
  
4.     
5


I went and did the Rotorua Marathon yesterday.  Me and five wonderful supporters.  We did a day trip to Rotorua and back.  It was a long day.  Longer for some than others.  

Indeed, it was a very long day for some …… one ....

Excerpts from the mental kilometre by kilometre diary….

At the 19 kilometre mark I thought, “My body will probably be a bit depleted by the time I see them.”

At the 20 kilometre mark I thought, “Can’t wait to see them.”

At the 21 kilometre mark I thought, “Ooww.... body's feeling a bit empty. I’ll be really relieved when I see them.”

At the 22 kilometre mark I thought, “I’ll ask one of them to go to the dairy on the road and buy me an ice cream.  A boysenberry one, in a cone. My body needs the protein and sugar.”

At the 23 kilometre mark I thought, “I’ll tell them if the shop hasn’t got cone ice creams, then get me a pineapple fruju instead.  The sugar will give me some immediate help from my depletion.”

At the 24 kilometre mark I thought, “They must be waiting by the dairy, I’ll tell them to get me fruit yoghurt now instead of the ice cream or fruju because my body really needs the protein with the sugar and fat to restore its empty muscle cells.

At the 25 kilometre mark I thought to myself, “Where the hell are they?!”

At the 26 kilometre mark I thought, “Where the flippin heck are they?!”

At the 27 kilometre mark I thought, “My body is dying.”

At the 28 kilometre mark I thought, “This is one hell of a way for them to help me with the 67.6 kilograms!”

At the 29 kilometre mark I thought, “Where the ………… are they?!”

At the 30 kilometre mark I thought, “I’m gunna die…”

At the 31 kilometre mark I thought, “I think I'm dead …”

At the 32 kilometre mark I begged an anorexic fellow competitor for her banana.  She gave it to me.


Just before the 33 kilometre mark I saw them, up ahead, happy as sand boys (what is a sand boy?), waving to all the competitors, smiling and laughing and having a good time.

At the 34 kilometre mark Peter had got such an ear bashing that he wished he had stayed in bed that morning.

At the 95 kilometre mark on the drive home I thought, “As much as I would love to blog about this experience today, I really can’t.  They were lovingly good hearted enough to give up their whole day, their Saturday morning sleep in, their day messing about at home, to come all the way to the Rotorua marathon, not get home till dark, and in the rain, just to support me.  What wonderful , marvelous, loyal, kind, generous people they really are.  

Crickey, how could I possibly write a blog about this   ……
Posted 5th May by Merna Mook
  
5.     
3


She tells me all my blood test results are fine and dandy.  

But she tells me I need to get out more.  

She says I must get out and about and do some exercise.  

She tells me exercise will help me get through this grief I am “suffering”. 

She tells me that getting out in the fresh air is also good for the endorphins so it would be good for me to go for a good “brisk walk” or even a ride on a bike.

So I’m taking my doctor’s advice.

I’m going to walk a marathon tomorrow.

That should about get rid of the grief all in one hit.

(I'm joking... really... don't take me too seriously... )
Posted 3rd May by Merna Mook
  
6.     
2



Upside – Shelley & I were heading out of Auckland Tuesday to stay with warm friends who now live in Whangamata.
Downside – On Sunday I found I was 67.6 kilograms. 
On upside – I am going to do something about that.
On downside – Friend Shelley and I had already committed to travelling out of Auckland for an overnight bender with some friends in Whangamata.
On the flip side – we always overindulge when we stay with them.
On upside – they love food and wine. And the cook and delight in it.
On downside – we will be helping them consume it.
On update – we will be helping them consume it.
On downside – it will tell on our bodies and this is one body that has just gone upside from 63 to 67 kilograms.
On upside – the food and wine we will be consuming will be first class, nothing less.
On downside – we produced the cheap stuff.
On upside – it was all delicious, particularly the Annabell Langbein’s  pork, cumim and apricot dish.
Upside – dessert was um.  As was the rich think fudge cake consumered during the middle of the day
And wine.
Indeed, the first bottle of Rose was opened at 12.30.  The bubbles soon after then the white before heading to the heavy reds,

Now despite all of this waffle, approximately 20 minutes ago I consumed one of those fancy littlie blue tablets that is supposed to create instant sleep.  Seems the doctor feels I need to do more for the next period and asked for monitoring of my  sleeping tablet pills. Very night for 5 nights.  Most particularly tonight.
Methinks it quite appropriate that it has self regularation on those as at this poinr.
He/She tells me to take one onlyl  so AI alooliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

Think that last bit is gobbledeegook  It is – the funny little blue pills are having an effect.

They neeed to – it has been a very hard and horrible day today.  One of a long period of inconsolability during which Someone came knocked on the door.  I could not answer. The sadness of others beats me up even more.  I waited till they left and then spent an uncontrollable period of deep and dark.  It’s hurting my head still.

Back to the determined up..  Today, after all that wine, food, sweets (didn’t tell you about those) for that period, I lost an enormous 200 grams.  That was an UP!

But I've also lost 80 kilogrames of Tony  - that caused hours of down.  

But spent some time tonight, at the Auckland Museum , where they discussed family Zeus and Hera and how much divergence there is in the nuclear family..  I was trying to make the brain function and take brain off the loss – didn't  work…
Tomorrow will be a better day. I am sure. …..  I have things to look forward to.  Like Fiona's fruit cake ....  and 67.6 kilograms to lose.   Then 42kilometres to marathon to walk through the next day.  Arrghhh...  Where are yo Mr J when I need you?   Watch out for me.  Night, night...
Posted 2nd May by Merna Mook
  
7.     


It’s every woman’s nightmare.  The nightmare of standing on the scales and finding out that you have added the winter upholstery to your frame before winter even arrives.  It happened to me this morning.  I stood on those scales.  They said, for the fifth time, 67.6 kilograms.  That seemed impossible.  Hence the five times onto the scales, just in case the digital needle had got stuck somehow.

What a shock it was.   It was the shock that it has happened so fast.  In less than three weeks I have put on an extra four kilograms of weight.  “How did that happen?”... I asked myself.  

Oh so munchingly easily, unfortunately.

Didn't take long to work out how.  Have had lots of lovely friends who have been looking after me.  By “looking after me” they are visiting (for which I am eternally grateful) and bringing all forms of treats around for me (for which I have also been eternally grateful).  My pantry, fridge and freezer shelves have been bending with the weight of the givings of so many kind and good hearted people. 

In the good old olden days one would visit a bereaved other with loving gifts of homemade vege soups, or stews, or casseroles, or sides of lamb, or a slab of beef from the recent home kill, or sacks  of spuds and kumeras, or bundles of silver-beat or rhubarb plucked out of the garden, and even cartons of eggs their brown, clucky hens had laid. 

Nowadays those equivalent lovely people are giving to this bereaved one boxes of chocolates, or boxes of chocolate biscuits, or packets of my favoured marshmallow Easter eggs, or lovingly baked cakes and loaves and muffins and biscuits, and lamingtons, and ginger crunch, and apple pie, or hand made truffles, lemon meringue pies made from Great Aunties recipe and one person even visited with the most amazingly decorated cup cakes that tasted better than the decoration looked.

Such wonderful people.  So kind.  So good.  So thoughtful.  And ever so appreciated.

Buuuttt……  I ate them.  All of them.  I shared little for fear of offending the giver by giving to others.  I ate every morsel, every crumb with as much love and affection that they were delivered with.  That’s what one should do.  Isn’t it?  Given with love, consumed with love.

And now I am 67.6 kilograms.  When yesterday I told someone I was 65. 

I checked on my training diary and only three weeks ago I was a svelte 64.4.  ONLY THREE WEEKS AGO!

You are now reading the writings of a woman on a mission.

Sure, if anyone’s heart still wants to make me feel warm and fuzzy, by all means bring what you have at hand – but now I will share.  I will share with all my friends.  They too will enjoy the lovingly given goods.  Or, bring fruit.  Lotsa fruit.  Or veges.  Preferably green ones.
On a more serious note and with my coach’s had on – I have realised that it is not only the input of calories that has created this self imposed little mini drama, but it has so much to do with the output.

The reality is that I would have been taking on board almost as many calories in the months before Tony passed away, at times I would have been eating even more.  But over the past twelve months looking after Tony had been a very physical role.  And as the months progressed the physicality became more and more intensive.

When Tony came home just before Christmas his care was a total minute by minute caring.  His ability to do most things for himself had become greatly lessened, he required constant care.  His propensity to lose balance and fall, even from what seemed a stable couch or chair became more and more frequent.  So merely looking after him, moving him and making his life as normal as possible meant it became a full on and very physical caring. 

I recall the number of times would have run up and down our laundry stairs in one day.  There may only be thirteen relatively steep stairs – but some days I would be running up and down those stairs ten to 15 times a day – and always at as great a speed as possible as leaving Tony out of my eye sight for more than two seconds could result in something nasty happening to him.  If I needed to go to the laundry, and with the amount of laundry I had in those days it meant I did need to get down there, I would have to wait until Tony was well ensconced in the Lazyboy chair, or in the wheelchair before I did a mad dash down, push that machine button then rush back up again.

And the lifting.  From bed to chair, to loo to chair, chair to couch, to motor vehicle to wheelchair.  Just the lifting would have me perspiring buckets.

And the walks.  The walks in the wheelchair.  That couple of times we traversed the local streets to the Fridge in Kingsland, or up to the café in the Mt Albert shops in the beating midday sun.  Even the seemingly short walks down to Parkside Café or Kings Café were a major physical mission.  The heart rate would always be at almost maximum for a great percentage of time.

What better training could I have really had?  None really.  Thanks to Mr J I got in some unexpected strength, endurance, aerobic and anaerobic training all in one go.  At the same time giving me the best core stability ever.  You try lifting and guiding a fully grown man who has no sense of balance – that keeps you on the up and straight and strong.  A full core workout.

But now I don’t have the dear man to look after.  And I have become very much more a sedentary person.  Have had the odd burst of energetic enthusiasm – such as last weekend with a cross country race and then a little triathlon.  But done nothing since – due to the minor but painful injury caused by the sudden burst of cross country and triathlon in a 48 hour period.

And that, my friends, is where the 67.6 has come from.

Now, where’s that spinach & broccoli smoothie gone ……?
Posted 28th April by Merna Mook
  
8.     

Been doing computer work all morning and having to move files around and in my usual inefficient way, became side tracked when finding files on he PC that I had forgotten about.

I found this little story I had to write some long while ago and had forgotten all about it...  it is the story of Tony and I meeting for the first time.  Reading it this morning transcended me directly back to the day - and the time - a time us Kiwis were probably showing little intelligence in.  There is a little cringe factor in it .. but boy am I most glad I wrote it.   It has actually put a smile on my face.


It would never happen today in this day and age; that is a whole cynically based movement in this country at the time that followed the motto of ‘Punch a Pom a Day’.

But it really happened.  Must have been sometime in the early eighties.  A braggart of a sports radio announcer had come up with the concept of too many Poms in the country so why don’t we ‘Punch a Pom a Day’.  New Zealanders even drove around their towns and cities with bumper stickers stating… “Punch a Pom a Day”.

Seen at the time as an amusing antidote for what the average Kiwi working class bloke considered most immigrant English people were – a bunch of moaning and whingeing ‘Poms’. 

Indeed, despite his having some intelligence, even my father was one of many who thought the movement of punching a Pom a day as one of bemusement at the expense of the many “bloody whingeing Poms” that had immigrated to New Zealand. 

On reflection, my father was a working class man who had been a representative in his own workers union thus making him a staunch ‘union’ man, which now seems somewhat hypocritical as he was as ready as the next basic Kiwi man to complain about the fact that most of the New Zealand workers’ unions were run by “Poms”.  That is, relatively new recruits from the United Kingdom who had come out to New Zealand for a better life, quickly integrated themselves into their local worker’s unions, where they felt most comfortable as unions had always been the mainstay of the working man in the UK, and then quickly risen in the ranks to leading the unions and being spokesmen for the unions.

Of course this mean they were the ones being interviewed for the radio news interview and television news interviews and in the 1960’s and 1970’s the workers unions still carried much power in the working machinations of New Zealand industry and it’s continual disputes and strikes. 

Inevitability, whenever there was a dockside strike, the person the media turned to for comments would be someone with a strong working class English accent.  Strikes by metal workers, railway workers, driving unions, mining workers all had strong unions being led by strong willed and strongly accented English men.
And those English immigrants who were not members of unions but just normal people trying to get on with life were still categorized as being ‘moaners’ for one reason or the other.  Men and women moaners.  It would seem that for many English folk the transition from the UK to New Zealand tended to be more of a cultural shock than they had expected or were led to believe prior to their departure from their homeland.  This inevitably led to many English folk becoming quickly homesick for their homeland of family, friends and local pubs.

Consequently the phrase was often heard from the mouth of an English person, “…. Back home ….”  Indeed, it did seem that almost every English person was always talking about “back home”.  Basic New Zealanders soon came to the conclusion that there was hardly a happy English immigrant in this country and that they all bemoaned everything and anything in New Zealand that Kiwis treasured.  Whatever that may have been.

Therefore, generally speaking, the English were not highly regarded or respected by many New Zealanders but most New Zealanders managed to keep their derogatory opinions to themselves and were ever so Englishy polite to their newly arrived neighbours.

But, the reality was, my Dad did not have a high opinion of ‘Poms’.  And when I married an Englishman whose mother was a broad speaking but tried to be posh speaking Pom, my father was rather cynical in his outlook on my newly acquired mother-in-law.

On reflection, he was right.  She was probably not quite the moaner he catagorised her in but she certainly was the first person in my life that had me experience racism.  A total shock for me as I had never experienced it before.  But I digress.

The point to all this was that us children grew up to not have a high regard for the average sock and sandle wearing Pom.

So, in the early 80’s when a bearded, sock and sandal wearing Pom walked into the retail shop my then husband and I owned and was introduced as the husband of my own husband’s very old friend, I recall politely shaking his hand, making polite conversation but immediately categorising him into the ‘oh, another moaning Pom’.

Little did I know then that some thirteen or fourteen years later I would fall in love with the bearded, sandal wearing Pom.

Posted 26th April by Merna Mook
  
9.     

Mission Bay is a popular venue for triathlon events nowadays.  Used to be St Heliers, that is until the events became really popular and the number of competitors grew, as did the number of events.  So Mission Bay it was for the final of the summer triathlons.  Mission Bay and mud.

Purposely did not go too early to the event.  I find I do not enjoy meeting up with people who I have not seen for a while as they inevitably want to come up and commiserate with the loss we have all had.  I understand they are doing the right thing, but find that if I can avoid meeting with anyone I can avoid the inevitable attach of grief where the tears just flow, no matter how much I try to hold them back.

There were a number of little events in this little event - mine being a mere 500 metre swim, a mere 40km bike and a mere 5km run.  

Was a little concerned as at the cross country the previous day I managed to give myself one deep and bloody blister on the bunion ball of the foot - a right royal beauty - and it was very, very sore and deep.  Therefore was concerned at how my bike shoes and run shoes would irritate it so took a couple of painkillers before the event in the hope they may travel through my svelte-like body and stick themselves right on the bloodied blister and kill any discomfort I may have.  Seems they worked.  

Swam and bikes OK, if somewhat slower than I would have liked, and whilst feeling some discomfort on that foot during the 5 kilometre run, it did not seem great enough to stop and walk or take my shoes off.  That is, until I finished and took my shoes off.  Then it became very painful as it would seem the bike and running shoes had indeed made the injury deeper and bleed more.  It is four days later and I can still not put any shoes on my feet, nor allow the bedsheets to rub on the injured spot.

So, triathlon over, took the offer of friends to go and shower at their home very close to the venue, returned to the venue for the prize giving, in the hope of winning a spot prize, any spot prize.  But won nothing except for a plastic piece of laminate that tells me I was third in my age group for the event I did.  There were only four in my age group.  And the sadness is that the forth lady is one sweet person who I would prefer to have seen come third.  I entered the event a few days earlier because of the bogeys I was trying to overcome without considering that this lady may too enter - and as I coached her to and through the 2013 Ironman event in March, I did not like the idea of racing against her.  We are in the same age group.  

All points to her though - she well and truly beat me out of the swim and it was not until well over half way on the bike that I passed her.  Good for her though as she hung in behind me to transition.  Good girl!  That's what I like to see, someone really trying and having their own competition.  

Therefore she beat me out of transition too.  Must work with her on her running ability....

Prize giving did not finish until almost 1 p.m. so it was the inevitable drive home to unload all the muddy gear.  ALL of it.  Muddy gumboots, running shoes, bike shoes, bike, wetsuit, towels, clothes .... everything, covered in mud.  That was one long unloading and washing down session as had to hose everything - most particularly the bike as did not want mud left on the chain or in the wheel cogs.  Have yet to go into the garage and double check it and fix the punctured wheel.  Oh well, maybe tomorrow.

Once unpacked there was little time left for me to prepare for the land-based swim coaching session I was to be holding in our home at 4 p.m.  Where up to ten people would be coming to go through the basics of good swim technique.  At 3 p.m. I had a massagee coming therefore I had approximately one hour to prepare for my coaching session - set up PC and TV and have some semblance of organisation.  

The worst occurred, the PC would not connect to the TV.  Some urgent phone calls across the city airwaves got no result for me.  All the IT people in the family were not answering their phones initially.  Fortunately one did and made the commitment to travel out of their way to come help me.  In the meantime, Massagee arrived, and with a little bit of luck, like pushing the connection fully into the PC, the system worked.  Right at the time the IT-expert-son walked in the door.

Massage done, 4 p.m. arrived, as did ten people.  One and a half hours later that session finished and once all the post chat was over the house became empty just after 6 p.m. 

Then began the hard part of my day.  Just me and the empty home, with cat.  Those empty hours in the empty home.  They are so very tough.  I try to fill the time in with anything to pass the minutes - usually acts of trivia.  Crossword puzzles, code crackers, FaceBook...  anything until midnight until I can go to bed and spend a restless night. 

I long for these hours to pass quickly ...  
Posted 25th April by Merna Mook
  
10. 


“What do you do with yourself all day?” was the question this morning.  “Oh, not much was my reply.”

Should have referred him to the previous couple of blogs.  The one that finished last Friday.

Every day since has been almost the same.

On the Saturday was up early as had someone to coach in sea swimming at Mission Bay at 7.30 a.m.  I had hoped she would not been keen to go what with the summer beginning to feel as though it is fading.  But no, she wanted to have her coaching session so there I was at the seaside at 7.15 a.m. squeezing myself into a wetsuit I had not worn for a while, looking out to the lumpy water thinking, “Bed seems such a good alternative.”

Give the lovely lady her due. She turned up, sans wetsuit and went straight into the sea without hesitation. So unusual.  For past few years have had major histrionics with women and sea swimming.  This new recruit of mine, all 57 years of her, looked at the lapping waters with nothing but enthusiasm to get in and power through those lumps.

Swim over at 8.30 but no time to shower and dash over to the café for the usual latte and scone – I had other commitments for the day so it was a zoom-zoom home in the van, still dressed in the entire rubbered wet suit.  It must have bemused the truck driver in the lane next to me at the lights – he kept staring into the van with a most quizzical look on his face. Guess seeing a 60 year old woman, driving a big Granvia van, fully dressed in thick rubber, at 9 o’clock in the morning on a Saturday must have given him some sense of unrealilty.

Once home it was into the shower, unpack the gear, repack gear, load the car up with more gear – have a quick bowl of cereal whilst perusing the headlines of Saturday morning’s paper and hope to have a few moments of quiet and being still before having to leave home again at 11 a.m.

This day was the first of the cross country running days.  Cross country running being a very seasonal affair – with a series of cross country running being held on intermittent weekends throughout the winter season.  As I am a great advocate of the benefits of cross country running for any athlete (no matter what age) who wants to improve their overall strength, endurance and anaerobic capacity and frequently espouse the virtues of cross country running, feel that one should lead by example so had requested an entry into this particular day’s racing.

Which is one of the reasons why there was some pre-thinking and pre-planning to do for this day as one must take various items of comfort, clothing, foodstuffs and survival equipment when heading out to cross country running.  For instance – spare bottles of water, not for drinking but for squirting off the mud that is splashed up on the legs when one runs the cross country fields.  Then there are the deck chairs to pack as once out at the venue there is no such thing as a grandstand, or seating – if one does not take ones own chair, the legs will be in a constant state of standing and after running around paddocks one does feel the need to sit for a while.  Then there are the gumboots to pack – the venue is inevitably muddy. Then the wet weather gear, the change of clothing gear, the towels and of course, the afternoon tea and hot thermos of water for the coffee and teas.

Thus, by the time I sat down to my bowl of cereal and freshly chopped feijoas, with the NZ Herald spread on the breakfast bench for perusing, I was already quite a weary little lady.  Then Son No. 1 walked in.  He had brought with him a spare cell phone he had at home, with the thought of lending it to his mother as she had sent out a notice the day before bemoaning the fact that her cell phone had died and Telecom merely shrugged their shoulders when she took it into them and said, “Sorry, it’s totally gone.  You will need to purchase a new one.”  Yeah, right.  Like I have a spare dollar or two to pay out for a brand new cell phone whilst this old and broken one still had four months of its two year contract to run.  Was not impressed.  So had to notify all via email that I was uncontactable by cell phone and land-line and email were the best way to contact me.
Therefore Danny decided to bring Mother his old phone.  Bit awkward.  Because some other lovely person had decided they would help out with a new phone and didn’t like to knock Danny’s generous offer but he accepted that it was probably best I keep his one just in case something happened to the other I would be getting.  

But then had to bundle him out as it was time for me to leave to drive to the great hills and paddocks of Pukekoheville, via picking up one Helen O’Shaunnesey who lives close by then a zoom-zoom down the Southern Motorway, off at Mt Wellington to head to Glen Innes to pick Shelley Clark up, then back on the motorway heading south to the cross country venue. 

Our guestimation as to how long it would take to arrival at the destination was a little out as we arrived a good twenty minutes or more ahead of time, so Helen’s suggestion of driving into the township to have a coffee seems to hit the “mmmm” factor with Shelley and I; so off to coffee we went.

Interestingly we seem to have found the best and most interesting café in the Pukekohe district – coffee was good, management most entertaining, décor was art décor, clientele was interesting. 

Post coffee – off to the cross country – lovely course, perhaps the only real cross country course left.  All others in the season tend to be manicured and flattened grass running only. 
Us ‘masters’ women only had five kilometres of field to run and despite the fields being greatly diminished in recent years, there were enough of us ‘oldies’ to give ourselves our own little competition.  Things were looking up for me this year as I was only third to last.  I do think I was second to last in 2012. 

Post race we had an open invitation by young Peter Forbes to drive what he called “ten minutes” to his and Jean’s home to “shower and coffee”.   Ten minutes was a slight under exaggeration but we did not care, the country side was pretty and the roads were ones we had not travelled before so it was a pleasant sojourn and turned out to be an ideal finish to the racing day.  We showered and coffee’d and were entertained by the visiting dogs to the property and learnt much about their horses.  Leaving their home it was a 45 second drive to the Pokeno township where the girls had decided that Pokeno bacon had to be purchased.  They visited the butcher’s shop and came out reeking of Cumberland sausages, whilst I enjoyed the crook and nanny of the local art and craft shop.
By the time we drove back into the city and dropped Shelley off, then detoured to Mission Bay to pick up my registration information for the little triathlon I was about to do the next morning, then dropped Helen home, I arrived at my door at approximately 5.30 p.m.

Then a repeat of the session earlier in the morning – unloading vehicle, reloading vehicle.
Unloading all the bits and bobs and boots and shoes from the cross country and reloading the car with wetsuits, towels, clothing and bike helmets and shoes and bike for the event the next morning.  That was, until I realised I had a major split tyre issue with my bike.  So it was a case of ‘borrowing’ a front wheel off Tony’s second best bike and putting it onto my bike.  The concept of changing tubes and tyres on my own wheel was a no-no as amongst all the stuff in the garage I do not know which tyre, tube or piece of equipment would be safe and sure – thus borrowing from one bike to put on another was the best option.

By the time the bike was done and loaded into the Granvia it was post 7 p.m. Then another shower – and I think dinner consisted of whatever was in the cupboard – ie: crackers, chips, cheese.

Next morning, up at 5 a.m. as had to have the bike racked before 7 a.m. and knew there would be road closures down at the venue so was aware I needed a good breakfast very early, as dinner was substandard, and added more bits and pieces to the Granvia and headed to the Eastern Bays.

Mud.  Glorious mud.  By the time I wheeled the bike into the transition area just before 7 a.m. the grass was awash with horrid, sloshy, splashy, watery mud.  It would seem the clever Auckland City Council has yet to reprogramme their water sprinkling on many of the reserves as the loud speaker announcer informed us that the sprinkler system had been turned on over night thus the consequence of water and mud totally ruining the park like grasses on Mission Bay green.

My race was not until 7.35 a.m. so I had a little time to organise myself, so I thought.  

Both the cross country and this particular little triathlon were major steps for me.  Being at home on my own is enormously difficult.  The first couple of weeks after everyone had left the house post-Tony's funeral I did not want to see or mix with anyone.  I wanted time to myself, time to sleep, time to have time, time to cry, time to scream, time to howl, time to adjust, time to think, time to do, time to stop the great physical pain I was feeling, time to make some strategies to know how to handle the pain, to know how to handle the constant flow of tear, the gripping torment of no longer having my darling man with me anymore, ever.

Those two weeks were hell.  Certainly people visited and I visited people - but they will never understand just how tortuous it was for me to be with them when all I wanted was to be with Tony.  Thoughts of never being able to look to the future without Tony kept flooding into my mind.  The idea of never having my mate, my darling man, my treasured one with me again became greater than life was worth.  I began to realise that I would not really be at peace with this situation until my soul was with his again.  And it was at the realisation of where this line of thinking was going that I realised I needed help.  I sought help.  

I also realised that I needed to make myself as busy as possible to be able to get through each and every day in the hope that eventually the pain, the ache and the longing to be with Tony again would ease and settle to a sensible awareness of a missed love and not of a loved I wanted to be with, in no matter what world.

I needed to be busy and to step through everything that would confront me in the future with the knowledge that I was so fortunate that I had had Tony with me for all those years doing the things I would now be doing.

That is why I had determined to run the cross country run.  We had run cross country for almost thirty years and the last twenty years we had been running cross country together.  For the last twenty years we had been enjoying the swimming and biking and running of triathlons.  I needed to take the first step to do these things on my own.  Without my darling man.  I shall spend the next ten years completing the firsts ... the first time I do whatever, without Tony.   Cross country and triathlons are a major first time.  

That is why I entered both events.  I felt the real need to tick those first times.  I have done so but while writing this now, 3 or 4 days later, I realise that the second time is going to be no easier than the first time.

Running cross country was difficult, emotionally.  I cried whilst I ran.  I pictured Tony on the side lines as he always had been, cheering me on, with the ever so proud look on his face that he always had for me, even when I was coming last.  He was always so very proud of me.  Even last year - when he was at Pukekohe and unable to compete because he had just had head surgery - he was there, sitting on the chair, calling out to me as I ran past, with the ever-so lovely smile of proudness on his face.  He loved me so much and was proud of anything I did.  

So these two events this past weekend we a major hurdle for me.  But I really doubt that the next cross country or the next triathlon is going to be any easier.  Each venue, each event, I will see Tony standing there as he had done for so many years - the tears will keep coming.

Posted 24th April by Merna Mook
  
11. 

Hello and Welcome

Adding some more text here for instructional purposes.
Posted 23rd April by Merna Mook
  
12. 


Ah ha!  The Blog!
 Well … therein lies another story among the many hundreds of stories this past week has held.
 Somewhere among all those days last week I emailed my friends Janine and Fiona … about something ..??.. can’t remember what … but mentioned that I need to have a blog cause I figure I could bemuse and bore many a folk about ongoing tales of woe-is-me-with-yet-another-thing-happening-to-me-on-whatever-day thingie.  And suggested, well maybe asked, I think in a nice way? …  if Fiona fancied the idea of working one out for me as I was totally squeezed for minutes in the day let alone a good couple of hours trying to figure out how to do a blog.  And bingo!  She did one for me! 
 Not only that, she sent all the step-by-step instructions through to me so I could then activate and write on it – only when I began the first step, guess what?!  I stuffed it up.  How unexpected!
 But … not to be daunted, as I knew I had an incredibly busy couple more days to go, I asked Fiona if she could do my first blog for me and sent her that ‘excuse’ email I sent to you as to why I had not done anything about my/Tony’s affairs that you are helping me with.  So she did!  So I have a blog … just have yet to sit and work it out.  And post on it. 
 And just went and looked at it and now can’t see the post  …. So no doubt I stuffed that up too.
 And as I took a sleeping tablet last night due to my knowing my body & soul is exhausted and has to have a good night’s sleep – took one just before sending that below last night – woke wide awake at 3 a.m. so took another one and a half and only just woken up and feel great!
 Those little blue tablets are my lifeline at the moment.  Can you picture me in K Rd in a few days time.. trading favours for little blue tablets!??  …   Naaahh….
 Gotta busy day today (includes doing my ‘Jason’ / Tony task – also have to update Peter-the-solicitor as haven’t spoken or communicated with him and as he had written to W&I two weeks ago feel I have let myself down by not keeping him in the loop)  .. but will be in touch.  Also – guess what I got in the mail on Saturday …  a letter from the HM Revenue & Customs about Tony and tax… this is a surreal world that I am still living in….
 Xx (to both of you)
 Verna
Posted 22nd April by Merna Mook
  
13. 


While I am on the PC – want to let you know I still haven’t done anything regarding looking for the Tony info.
It’s because I haven’t had time.  You and others won’t believe me but I have been flat out since getting back here Wednesday.  It kinda went like this:
Eventually arrived back in Akld at 4.30pm on Wednesday, had 20 mins before the first of the OWR crew began arriving, they all came and didn’t leave till 7.30pm at which time Danny arrived and I prepared dinner for us while we had lots of catch up, ate dinner, he went home at 10.45, I cleaned up/unpacked a little & did some catch up emailing before falling asleep on the key board after midnight.  Up early to get back on PC to write that mornings swim sessions for the swim crew, down at the pool just after 6am and there until leaving at 8.30am, had to go to the hospital to see someone, home at 10.15am, changed and rushed out to Pilates as am determined to do Pilates & Yoga again to help me get back into a healthy state, that finished at midday which gave me just enough time to rush home and change, answer a few emails and then head to Mercy Hospice for a grief counselling session which lasted for 2 hrs, left there and rushed up to me 3.15pm doctor’s appointment and she kept me waiting for half an hour, finished that and rushed to the chemist before rushing home as knew I had two people coming here for an early dinner last night; one from out of town and the other the lady from down stairs who I asked to dinner so that I would not have to be the sole other person at the dinner with the out of town friend who missed Tony’s funeral but wanted to talk and I knew I would get upset so asked Mariska to come to dinner; they did and I provided the economical dinner, he provided some wine, Mariska provided nothing and nor should she as she had looked after Catie-Pai for which I was really grateful; the two dinner guest got on so well that they chatted and chatted happily all night whilst I fed and watered them and drank the wine because neither of them were drinking wine so I got sizzled drinking a whole bottle of wine while they chit chatted about all sorts of things they had In common, so much so that I think they could easily become an item, if only he wasn’t married, but then he’s from out of town and travels to Auckland frequently so they could still be an item if they were of a mind to be an item, however they did not leave until 10.30 by which time I was completed knackered, and probably a little over the top with the 9/10th of a bottle of wine that I had drunk so answered a few emails and finally opened the snail mail that had been collecting over the past 5 days which I had not had a chance to open before now then came on the pc and yet again literally fell asleep in front of it so eventually took myself off to bed well after midnight and managed to sleep really soundly until 3am by which time I became wide awake so picked up my book and read that for ages and ages until after 4 o’clock and was fed up by then as still wide awake so got up and sat on the computer to read all the emails that had come in that I had not read, all those ones that one thinks “must read that later” – so I read them later, well… maybe not later but early this morning but at 5.15 am I had to rush around and pack my run/gym bag and think ahead for the day as to what I would need as I knew I had a really busy day so packed handbags, clothes, phones, pcs, diaries and all sorts of other stuff and threw it in the car and headed to the YMCA in Greys Avenue to park the car and take off for a 35 minute run to and around the Domain in the pitch dark as had to be back at the Y and showered and changed by 7 am as there was a special YMCA function on that I had been invited to and as I had not gone to a great number of these breakfast events that the YMCA had organised over the past few years (due to looking after Tony) I felt I should and would and could go to this one so got there at 7.09 am and met up with people I have not seen for a very long time: that was all good as it gave me yet another opportunity to keep bursting into tears, like I have not had enough of bursting in to tears: anyway this finished just before 9 am which gave me enough time to rush to the local lighting shop to buy a special light bulb for the fridge that had blown its light bulb the day before and when one goes in there and tried to find the yoghurt and comes out with the horseradish one knows one needs a healthy lightbulb back in the fridge because horseradish on cereal would taste oh so horrible; anyway I got the $12 bulb for the fridge, silly little bulb for a stupidly high price, but with bulb in bag I then had to walk the 20 minutes down to Queen Street where I had prearranged to meet a bloke who had contacted me last week to ask if I’d like a coffee and I couldn’t last week because I was so busy and had no time but did want to talk to this particular man as he lost his 3 year old son in a dreadful car accident just over two years ago and I felt he probably felt he could be of some useful purpose to me seeing as I have just lost my darling one and I think this man was putting out his hand to offer a helping hand in handling the grief that is at times totally overwhelming and consuming and as I acknowledge that I need as much help and advice as I can get so that I don’t go and jump off the harbour bridge I thought it prudent to make the effort to see this man, no matter that other things are banking up on my to-do list, I felt it was important I have the coffee with this man who had lost his 3 year old and only son just two years earlier:  therefore we met and wandered to a really weird but oh-so-very-central-CBD-corporate-Auckland café where he proceeded to purchase coffees for us both and for the next hour and a half was very talkative and helpful with relating his experience in handling the dead of a loved one, be it a little different to handling the death of a husband or wife, but he had some interesting things to say that did actually help me clarify some of my feelings and as he is a financial planner he did ask some nosey and imprudent questions about me and my financial situation so I just told him I was broke and kinda left it at that as didn’t want to get into too much discussion on my finances, but he kept asking me questions about what was I going to do work-wise etc etc which I didn’t really want to discuss but he thought he was helping me so I let him talk but by the time we finished he felt really good that he had imparted all sorts to me but all I felt like was desperate to find a loo as this was the third very large coffee of the morning and my bladder can only hold so much;  thus the two of us walked back to his Queen Street office from which I departed to walk back down Queen Street with my handbag full of watches that don’t go, watching most of which belong to Tony and they may not be expensive ones but they are nice ones and are Tony’s ones and I want to see them going again as one day the boys will no doubt be the recipient of the watches and they will be most pleased if they are because they are nice watches; but finding a proper watchmaker nowadays is very difficult and I remembered a watchmaker I went to one thousand years ago in a little arcade in the bottom of Queen Street so I headed back there to see if he was still there and he still was!  Wasn’t that amazing. So I left him with six watches to fix and have to go back on Monday to pick them up and pay for them, it would seem one of the watches does in fact have quite a dollar value on it and that makes sense because I remember buying that particular watch for my darling man and it was not at all inexpensive, so now it will be going again; having done that I knew I had a 20 minute walk up hill to get my car which was parked at the YMCA at the top of Greys Ave and got there then had to rush over to the other side of that area to a place called Rapid Radio as the radio-come-cd player in the car had gone bung on Wednesday and I just had to get that fixed as it is not even an option to go without as if I travel I need to have a radio or cd player in the car – consequently there was a one hour wait so as I was happy to sit for an hour I was double delighted as it meant I could go back onto the internet, which I did and that’s how I let everyone know that my phone had gone on the blink because I emailed everyone that they would have to contact me via email or land line; by the time they finished the job and I was able to come home it was 3pm by the time I arrived; had only just arrived home and Fred knocked on the door for a coffee for which was very fortuitous as he ended up jury-rigging my clothes line for me so that it could be used; but of course, within 20 minutes of him arriving my 3.45 massage person arrived and had to say good bye to Fred and hello to this person who was about to get an hours massage which she got and left just after 5 pm at which time I had to go organise my gear for tomorrows cross country as there is much to organise and so little time to do it tomorrow and then came back in here and have wasted almost an hour of time just typing all this up so that you could realise that I have not come back to Auckland and just sat on my arse like to many people think I have been doing for the past 4 years or more and have no comprehension of why I am always tired and always trying to catch up on doing the things that need doing like finding the information regarding Tony’s pension and sending it to you ….