Thursday, July 11, 2019

I worked at the YMCA

                           Image result for photo village people ymca



Actually, the Village People have no relation to this script, but felt it may capture the attention of some individuals who could share a few quirky stories that emanated from the YMCA in the 'olden' days - ie: when the Village People were around.

I posted a smart comment on Facebook last week about being on a run here in Waikiki with my running mate when he ran ahead of me, I took a sharp right-hand turn and left him to his own run.  It’s a thing we used to do with our weekly Wednesday OWR (Once Were Runners) runs – if someone ran ahead of whoever was leading the run, then we’d quickly do a left or right turn and leave them out in their running oasis without their knowing the rest of us had long gone on in another direction.

Was the best, most punitive and easiest of way of letting whoever that individual was know they were a prat;  no one cared how fast they could run, we were running for the social factor, not for the show-off-I’m-so-good factor.

The Facebook item gendered a response from a friend who years ago was a ‘pack leader’ of a Sunday YMCA running group.  I’m going back decades now, into the 1980’s.  This friend reminded me of an individual who had truly got up Pack Leader’s nose on a number of occasions by frequently running ahead of his pack, showing all and sundry what a complete wally he was.

My FB post thence began a FB Messenger tryst between myself, my friend the Pack Leader and one other renown and amazing club runner, now living in London, who I knew would enjoy our reminisces of that particular wally.  Let’s call him ‘Wally’. 

Between me in Waikiki, Pack Leader in Auckland, and Amazing Runner in London (female, and then a mother of 5 school-age children, worked full time and was still able to become a national running champ) we had a chuckle over dalliances other than running ahead of Pack Leader that we remember that particular Wally for.  Nothing nicer than enjoying some old time giggles, with other old timers, of old characters.

Then bugger me days, the very next morning as I lay reposed in bed in Waikiki with my mobile phone catching up on New Zealand news media articles I find a headline article about our Wally.  The 1980’s were decades ago yet only yesterday we were tossing notes via the ether about him almost 40 years later, enjoying the sharing, perhaps berating, but true stories about Wally and then the man is headlined in the next day's NZ Herald.

Victims of serial fraudster tell of losing their life savings in luxury car ruse


2 Jul, 2019 9:02pm
 4 minutes to read


What a co-incidence.  

Shan’t go into the stories we were sharing – they were all true, but don’t wish to go into any future litigation proceedings that could occur to prove them.  Indeed, names in this script have been changed in case such a situation does occur.  

Suffice to say that the three of us judgmental ones were feeling justified in regurgitating old done and dusted grievances the man gave us those many years ago, be they of a lesser degree than the poor sods in the NZ Herald article.

What the newspaper article, the reminisces of Wally and those times did do to me for the rest of the day was give me pop-up memories of that era and some of the really interesting and bemusing characters we had around us in our YMCA fitness circles in the early 1980’s.

It was the era of the ‘jogging’ boom.  Marathons were the in thing, the activity so many wanted to be part of.  With the boom of the jogging craze the management and fitness instructors from the Y set up the YMCA Marathon Club, a club that became the central and biggest running club in the country to train anyone and everyone who had the desire to run a marathon.  Consequently there were many interesting characters. 

Like the well-built, very well stacked male pack leader who wore the shortest of red running shorts, even for those times, and gave the women much to discuss over the bleachers in the changing rooms after and before each Sunday run.

Like the head turning good looking, charming, wealthy character, with a bronzed body to suit, who drove to the Y every Sunday in his smart, white, soft topped, 2-door sports car (not a common sight in the 80’s); he introduce himself to every new woman member of the club, whether a less than attractive individual, or a real stunner and say the same thing to them all, “Hello, my name is Rob Cook and you’re going to like me.” 

And they did!  They couldn’t help but do.  He was a charming, smiling, wealthy smooth talker and with his blonde hair and wide blue eyes he woo’d them totally.  It was always fun watching him bewitch them all by this professional, good looking, good talking lawyer.

Then there was the magnificently handsome looking couple who were stylish runners.  Everyone enjoyed their running company and some of us enjoyed their social company, even going away to marathon events around the country with them.  He was later goaled for life, having murdered her and cut her body into pieces and put in a green wheelie bin.

Prior to my becoming a member of the marathon club I was already a fitness centre member of the YMCA Businessmen’s’ Health Club, now known plainly as the Y Fitness Centre.  Indeed, I do believe Wally was a member of that club too before becoming a marathon runner.  At the time he and his wife were the cleaners of the YMCA facilities, she was a lovely lady, always felt sorry for her.  But that’s another story.

Some of the characters of the Businessmen’s Health Club were real characters.  I remember one of the instructors, Max Telford, became an international long distance runner and at the time had run from Auckland to Wellington in 5 days, run through Death Valley in the Grand Canyon and back in temperatures around 55 celsius, and lived – ran from Anchorage to Nova Scotia in some ridiculous time, over 8,000 kilometres and goodness knows how many other beyond the imagination long distance feats.  He was an interesting, skinny, wiry man.  I think he may still hold that Death Valley record to this day.  I’ll Google it sometime.

We were in awe of the man whilst at the same time thinking he was a bit of a ‘nutter’.  We thought that each time we saw him exit the gym sauna, having trained in there for long hours by jogging up and down the 3 high wooden steps in the heat as training for Death Valley.

                                                      telford

There was the sweetest, most delightful character who was a well known sailor in New Zealand, D’arcy Whiting.  D’arcy, very small of stature (maybe 5’4”) who would regale us with wonderful sailing stories as he was a real character in the NZ sailing world.  D'arcy had served in WW2 and retired as a Lieutenant Colonel and had many stories to regale over a morning cuppa after his gym work out. 

My favourite D'arcy story was a non-sailing one, when his lovely wife, Mollie, had given birth to their first child.  In those days men were not allow anywhere near the birth, nor anywhere near the mother outside of the rigid visiting hours at the hospitals.  One night away from Mollie was too much for D’arcy so, no doubt lubed by some form of sailing liquor, decided he wanted to visit his wife and new baby.  Under the cover of darkness D’arcy scaled the fences, walls and roof of what was then (I think) National Women’s Hospital in the old army barracks in Cornwall Park – now well gone – crawled as quiet as he could in his somewhat inebriated state over the roof and through a window into Mollie's room, taking with him flowers.  He got to see both Mary and baby and stayed until dawn.  I cannot recall whether he exited the same way he entered or not. 

                                               

As a byline: the baby he went to visit is now a well known Auckland sailor and Councillor, Penny Whiting.

Sunbeds were the new thing at fitness centres in the 80’s.  But they weren’t the lie-down, close the lid sunbeds of latter years.  They were cubicles with 4 long vertical suntubes (similar to those normal fluorescent tubes used for lighting) in each corner, a person went in, stood upright, naked (or semi-naked) with a mask to cover the eyes while the bright sun lamps scorched the body to well cooked (we knew nothing of the cancers caused by sunbeds in those days).  For the vertically challenged tanners the Y had put a small wooden box in the cubicle for those individuals to stand on.  The cubicles had a swing door, saloon-type ones, so that from the outside one could see the bottom half of the legs of the sun tanner, or the wooden box with feet on them. 

At the other end of the women’s changing room, directly opposite the sun cubicle a set of stairs led downstairs to a storeroom.  One day, having been downstairs I was walking slowly up the stairs, turned my head in the direction of the sun cubicle to see the glorious sight a what was clearly a naked, elderly female gym member enjoying the rays of the sun lamps.  I knew it was an elderly lady, I could tell, as she was sitting on the wooden box, facing the saloon door, legs wide open and body in a reposed position for the sun lamps to tan every nook and cranny of her anatomy.  She clearly had not thought about the viewing potential for those coming up the wooden staircase opposite.

Never could I look at, let alone talk to, that individual without having that momentary sight come to mind. 

She was actually a sweet lady who would have been mortified.

And I did go move my gym bag and gear and placed them strategically in front of the cubicle door to give her the privacy she unwittingly did not have - and to not scare the bejesus out of others.

It was about this time when the changing room had been exceptionally busy with women in all states of dress and undress wandering from showers, to mirrors, to lockers, to bags … and even to sun rooms.  In those days modesty in the changing rooms was not a problem – nakedness abound, no matter what the shape the body was in.  I was sitting on the bleachers and looked up to the wall above the wooden staircase and notice something that seemed odd.  The YMCA was an old building – above the fitness centre was the main stadium where sports and concerts were held.  I knew that somewhere on the other side of that wall was another staircase leading to toilets that serviced the stadium. 

What I noted, quite high up on the wall in the changing room were small one inch holes, six of them.   Curiosity had me pull a bleach to the wall, stand on it on tip toes and try to figure out whether these holes were perhaps for ventilation, or what.  I could not quite reach them but could see they had been there for some time. For what purpose?  I wouldn’t allow my curiosity to die and took myself upstairs to the stadium and then down the flight of stairs which were directly behind our women’s changing rooms.  It happened to be stairs to the men’s toilets for stadium goers.  Half way down the stairs I looked up above me and saw a dark ledge, tunnel like, that I had never noticed before.  It was access to air conditioning ducts.  It was too high for me to reach, let alone climb up to but was obviously an access for tradesmen should the air conditioning require work.  My suspicions were justified.

Straight to the CEO’s office who initially dismissed my query as probably being alarmist.  I wouldn’t let it settle. He called the building’s caretaker and the three of us went down to check it out, caretaker with ladder under arm.  We held the ladder, he climbed.  He returned with a blanket and some towels.  Seems someone, some time ago, had made themselves a lovely little, cosy hide away, with peep holes into the ladies changing rooms - they would have had a blast, or several thousands, by the time his secret cubby hole was exposed.
It didn’t take much for the three of us to deduce who it would have been – but short of DNA-ing the blanket we had no proof.  Needless to say, that individual, who was not an official employee of the Y, was not to been seen in the YMCA corridors again.

The access was boarded up and the three of us kept smut.  Until now.

One person who will forever remain etched in my brain was an older lady member of the Fitness Centre who spoke with the finest of English accents, having been English born and attended, with honours, Cambridge and Oxford universities studying psychology. She was a physiological psychologist - I had never heard of one before hence it's stayed in my brain.  She was in her 80's and still lectured at Auckland University.  

I drove Betty to her Epsom home one afternoon when she told me she had spent some years in the 1940's (or 50's) researching whether intelligence was declining in New Zealand, as it had been proven the case in England some decades earlier. She was based at Otago University then and tested hundreds of Dunedin school children and had concluded that intelligence had in fact declined over a 1.5 generation.  That fascinated me then.  Imagine her research results in 2019!

Oh, the stories of individuals and people, could go on for encyclopedic volumes … stories that returned to mind due to Pack Leader, Amazing Runner and I swapping messages via the ether. 

Those times were past and have passed … perhaps not a good idea to bring some stories up … after all it was in the ‘Me2’ era, and the pre-stock market crash of the 80’s (which many of the Businessmen’s Health Club were heavily embroiled in); irrespective, thought I’d share a couple that came to mind, in hope it may stir some repeatable memories from others in that era they may care to share.  

Pack Leader, Amazing Runner and self did feel a little immature for regurgitating memories of our miscreant Wally but figure it’s been positive as he took us oldies back into a unique past.

Which reminds me of the Wally who entered the Rotorua Marathon one year, roared off from the start line then finished in a magnificent race time; beat all his fellow running mates hands-down, including his nemesis runner, Amazing Runner.   

One can do that when spotted jumping out of a car 4 kilometres from the finish line.   


                                  Image may contain: 4 people, including Kerrie Blackmoore and Verna Cook-Jackson, people smiling, people standing and outdoor

Amazing Runner, in pink, with her rather quick marathoner husband Kelvin, and her sister (also a great fleet-of-foot runner) and self - photo taken this past summer when they returned to NZ for a family visit.

Thursday, June 27, 2019

Holidaying Healthily


Time.  It's been an issue with me lately. Not only am I lost in it, but seems I don't have enough of it.

Am on holiday in Hawaii and prior to leaving New Zealand organised me annual service and booked important appointments including going to my physio, podiatrist, doctor, eye specialist, dental hygienist and dentist.  

Actually coffee'd with my physio (it wasn't a real appointment, we just happen to enjoy the same caffeine supplier and catch up there frequently over a flat white) who asked if I was consistently doing an exercise he gave me 18 months ago to fix my reoccurring achilles problem.  "Err, sorta," I responded.  Thence began a lecture lasting some minutes on how was I to expect the keep injuries at bay if I didn't listen to my physio.  I was chastised.

Two days earlier I popped into a local podiatrist to attend to an ingrown nail that was the result of Rotorua Marathon last year (I lost a big toe nail and it's STILL growing back - in-growing back).  She looked at the other two blackened toenails, a result of this year's Rotorua Marathon, shook her head and said, "You really must take better care of your feet."




But I do - they just end up like that cause I'm busy taking care of my body which means my feet get wrecked.  So what do I do? ..... let my body go to pot but have wonderful looking toenails?  

A day or so later came out of the doctors feeling chastised about "you shouldn't worry about enjoying yourself.  Stop worrying and enjoy.". ??  (go figure that one).  I paid my bill and questioned, did I just pay for a medical appointment or a psycho analyst appointment?

I came out of the eye specialists the next the day having been sternly reprimanded for compromising my eye sight by my not taking enough time each day to focus on the well being of my eyes.  With this reprimand I was given a sheet of A4 with instructions of 'Daily Routine for Your Eyes'. 

Two hours later I came out of the dental hygienist feeling scolded for not taking enough time each day with my personal dental care.  But who does! I brush at least twice a day, often 3.  Who flosses EVERY time they clean your teeth?  Who has time to?   I left her rooms with my tail between my legs, again, as that's a regular annual lecture I get.  But hey, my teeth are good - they're damn near all artificial!

I then had a dentist appointment upstairs after the hygienist.  And believe it or not, he didn't growl at me about anything - he was complimentary.  Even my visit to him was complimentary.  After nearly 30 years of going to him, it's seems more of a social visit anyway.  Think he just finds me entertainment.




It's funny being an well matured adult and still feeling like a child from the growling, scolding and reprimands.  

So I flies out of NZ, get here in Hawaii and figure, OK, I've all this free time so I'll make a determined effort, take all the advice on board and ... begin to look after myself.

I'll start by joining the local gym.  Even booked myself with a personal trainer.  Had my first one-on-one session with him. He very professionally took me through an hour's session addressing long term issues I have had with my rota cuff and infamous bad knee.

I've felt quite proud of myself these past many years to still have kept up exercising with broken down body bits.  Still managed an Ironman, or two, and the odd marathon here and there with bung knees, rotars and even a malfunctioning heart.  Didn't wash impressively with the trainer, he didn't say it in so many words, but it was clearly his 'opinion' that I could have done far more to have helped the body - if I had taken the time.

OK, so I don't pre-exercise stretch - I do have tight adductors - I do have tight abductors - I do have tight piriformis - I do have tight hamstrings - I do have tight things I've never heard of.  Just a damn pity my outer skin wasn't tight as everything else!

Decided then and there I am not going to go to my dietologist, psychologist, sleepologist, dermatologist, oncologist, urologist, proctologist, sociologist, ideologist or gynecologist for the rest of my days - bloody expensive tellings off!

I did not let the personal trainers opinion deter me though, for after his scolding I set myself a goal to take time each day to heed everyone's advice. I would take action. 




So I did, as per the advice of all the personal experts above.

Mornings:
5.30 a.m.
Wake bright and early, make self a refreshing Kombucha morning cuppa.  It's going to flush my kidneys, liver and something else of all those dirty toxins I've consumed the previous few days.  I sit comfortably and take some minutes to be mindful of the goodness the refreshing and cleansing drink is giving my body.

5.50 a.m.
Bathroom ablutions.  The Kombucha works.  All those flippin' toxins ...

6.00 a.m.
Remember the eye specialists advice.  Find a hot pack, or hot flannel, lie back on the bed and place over eyes for 30 to 60 seconds.  Remove pack and begin to gently massage each eyelid for 30 seconds.  That's four eyelids, two minutes just for the massaging. 

6.10 a.m.  Fetch yoga mat, spread on floor, put on waterfall and whale calling music and spend a relaxed but painfully concentrated 20 minutes allowing the body to enjoy the stretching and tree poses and downward dogs.  Don't finish yoga off yet, as more to do later.




6.30 a.m. Fetch gym roller and roll the quads, hamstrings, abductors, adductors, piriformis as a pre-run loosening of those leg muscles that support the bung knee.  Do this for 15 minutes.

6.45 a.m.  Finish the yoga/roller stretches off with 10 salutes to the suns, then repose oneself back onto the yoga mat and spend 15 to 20 minutes in a state of mindful meditation.  In peace and quiet.  Focusing of all the things I am grateful for today, in the now, then channeling my thoughts into deep meditation.

7.25 a.m.  After waking self up from the mindfulness sleep (the dribble running out of the corner of the mouth always wakes me); take 5 minutes to down half a litre of purified waters, ideally mixed with spirulina to help the digestive system eradicate all the other toxins the Kombucha didn't do.  Note to self: stop ingesting toxins.

7.30 a.m.  Now it's time to put some clothes on.  Your running gear, for the run you have already prepared for. 

7.35 a.m.  Dive for the lavatory bowl, for the spirulina has successfully hit the toxins.



7.45 a.m.  Walk out skinny from the bathroom.  Lather self with Factor 70 sunscreen lotion.  Head to gangrenous toe.

7.50 a.m.  Head off for the morning 30 minute jog.

8.50 a.m.  Return from run - it takes longer than the 30 minutes scheduled due to aching legs from all the stretching and yoga, the lack of energy from all the toilet movements earlier and it is hot, very hot, running in 30 degrees takes it's toll, walking was more appropriate at times.  Sitting and resting under palm trees was mandatory.

Remember the PT instructors advice, take 30 minutes post run to slowly and gently stretch everything you have just used on the run.  Back stretches, abductors, adductors, butt, hamstrings, neck, shoulders, back ...

9.20 a.m.  Totally dehydrated now - take 10 minutes to cautiously consume 5 full glasses of purified waters.

9.30 a.m.  Now to shower, the long, blissful shower.  Don't forget the loffa, the exfoliation mitt, the facial cleansers, conditioners, shampoos, razor, moisturising soaps.  Wash hair, ensure I use a conditioning treatment that means leaving it in the hair for 10 minutes before rinsing out.  This is good as it gives me time to use the pumice stone to ensure I scrub off all the dried skin on the soles of my feet. 

9.50 a.m.  Dry off body, not forgetting to carefully dry between each little toe, all crooks and nannies and the hair.  Rub body down with the essential oils recommended by someone, and creams for the face, neck, hands and then the special foot creams for the dry skin under your soles and heels.

10.00 a.m.  I have constant sinus.  Utilise the sinus cleansing sprays.  Sort out the health tablets every tells me I should be taking - and cost me over $US100 at Longs Drugs - the tablets that are going to keep me eternally healthy, strong, fit and young. And maybe even tighten my outer skin. Great big green ones, enormous white ones, tiny yellow ones.  Quite a gobful.

10.00 a.m.  Dress. Now, due to taking care of self, and ensuring I maintain self confidence, must not resort to standard attire for the day - attire of pair of shorts, a tank top, jandals, and Farmers Trading Company underwear.  No, for self respect it must be all quality - snazzy skirt, bright and confident and feminine top, designer sandals.

10.10 a.m.  Breakfast.  Low or no gluten or carbs.  Light dairy.  No sugars.  Boringly munch through grains and seeds.  Then swallow that gobful of tablets.

10.30 a.m.  Clean teeth.  Mindfully so.  Top front, top back, front, inside, bottom front, bottom back, front, inside.  Then use that little pointy brush the hygenist gave me, to really scrub in and around those back ones the normal brush cannot get to.  Rinse thoroughly.  Then begin flossing.  Between each tooth.  Taking care to not pull out those nasty fillings I got from not looking after the teeth enough.  Rinse thoroughly.

11.00 a.m. Now go out and enjoy all that free time the day has. 

That is, until sometime in the afternoon when you are due for your next gym appointment.

Meanwhile it is always good to fill one's day with positive experiences.  Museums, art galleries, walks along fields, walks along beaches.  Avoid the busyness of peoples, of crowds, of carbon monoxide city traffic.  Find places of meaning, of positive energy - waterfalls are good.  If cannot find waterfalls make it water fountains.  Find one's zen.

Lunch on celery and kale, linseed, sunflower and chia seeds.  Num, num...   And whatever I do, must not forget to drink 4 litres of purified water throughout this time.




Finding clean bathrooms is not easy, but if well planned prior to leaving house, should be achievable.

Then remember, it's time for the gym.

3 p.m. (for any later would mean there would not be enough evening time to do 'my own thing') 

The gym session the personal trainer set me will take me two hours.  There's the 15 minute cardio warm up.  Then the 20 minutes of stretching for what is about to come.  Stretching, pulling, tugging, lunging, rolling - the shoulders, triceps, biceps, deltoids, upper spin, lower spin, neck, head, abductors, adductors, illiotibial bands, butt, quads, calves, that damn piriformis; not forgetting the upper abs, the lower abs. Then there is the exercises for all the above. Use the bands, the balls, the rollers, the weights, the machines, the poles, the kettlebells ... how I'll look as the incredible hulk will be amazing.

And, must not forget the hip raise exercises the physio scolded me for not doing. 

After session, sauna, shower, exfoliate again, dry, rub lotions all over face and body, dress.

6.00 p.m.  Home, via the health shops and organic supermarkets.  To pick up the greens, oranges, reds in the vege field, the pulses and grains, the organic minute size piece of red meat that must be consumed only once or twice a week.  Otherwise it's the organic, skinless, boneless, small chicken breast.  Or slice of fresh fish - if only it can be guaranteed to be fresh.

Home, before prepping dinner.  Take time to make a soothing camomile or peppermint tea.  Replete from those beverages and pre dinner prep take 20 minutes to spend in mindful mediation. 

6.45 p.m.  Begin dinner prep.

7.00 p.m.  Dinner - pity it is so late, as one is always advised that dinner it better for you if consumed at 5 p.m. 

7.30 p.m. Clear up from dinner - clear up kitchen - do some general housework prep for next day, laundry, preplanning attire and things like that.  To prove you are an organised person with an organised mind.

8.00 p.m. Take a good hour to find something rewarding, uplifting or deep and meaningful to read - goodness for the mind.  Some soulfulness in words.  After all, if the body is cleansed, so should the mind be.  I watch re-runs of Big Bang Theory.

9.30 p.m.  Prep for bed. 

Cleanse face, exfoliate face, use toner, aging skin tightener, moisturises for the aging.  Brush teeth, remember the full routine, front, back, front back, upper, lower, skinny pointy brush, floss. 

10.00 p.m.  Don't forget the eye specialist again - drops into the eyes. Rest and blink.

10.05 p.m.  Don't forget your evening mediation.  Just 15 minutes.  Sit up on bed as lying down to meditate will mean certain sleep.



10.20 p.m.  And remember - we all need at least 8 hours sleep a day.  I'm already behind. 

Ah well, I'll cut some of the free middle of the day time out tomorrow, visit one less museum and begin my evening prep by starting the gym session at 2 p.m. instead of 3 p.m. 

It's such fun looking after ones self when on holiday.  It's good to chill out.  






Friday, June 21, 2019

Lost in Time




"Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow has not yet come. We have only today."  Mother Theresa

 

"Today is tomorrow, tomorrow is today, yesterday was today, tomorrow will be today tomorrow ...."  Verna Cook-Jackson



I've been living in tomorrow for a week now and I keep thinking it's still yesterday.

I accept Mother Theresa's wisdom that yesterday is gone, tomorrow has yet to come, we have only today - if only I could remember whether I am in today, or tomorrow, or yesterday.

I wake up each day thinking, ah ... it Friday today, isn't it?  I think so.  Or is it?  Maybe it's Thursday.  Or is it Saturday?  Can't be Thursday, can it?

I am in a calendar blur.
 
You see, about a week ago I flew onto a Pacific island where for me, time should not matter.  I am going to be here for a while on what seems to have become an annual retreat into permanent sunshine, warmth and golden sands; a retreat where not giving a s__it as to whether it's Monday, or Wednesday or Saturday, or whatever day should matter.

But it does to me.   

There is my family back in New Zealand who I want to keep in contact with, but apparently they are not really 'back', but in front.  It's in the future where they are.  The future I have yet to have.  For I am in the past.

Then I have family and 'chums' living in other lands around the world.  Most of them seem to be in the future too, but it's what part of the future that makes it confusing.

When and if I wish to make contact with those folk I have to know what day and what time of the day it is where they are.  Meaning I am constantly looking at the clock here and trying to figure out what time it is in Britain, in Dubai, in Australia, in South Africa.

When I sat down to write this scribe I looked at the clock and it told me it was 10 o'clock here in Hawaii, 10 o'clock in the morning.  I went on Google and found it is 9 o'clock in New Zealand.  But is that's 9 o'clock at the opposite a.m. or p.m. that I am?  Or the same?  And whilst 9 o'clock is an hour behind the 10 o'clock, in New Zealand it is 9 o'clock in front of my 10 o'clock.  A day ahead of my 10 o'clock.

And then there is the UK.  I've figured if it is 10 o'clock here in Hawaii it is 8 o'clock there in the United Kingdom.  But then I have to think is 8 o'clock in the UK the same a.m. or p.m. or is the opposite of the a.m. or p.m. that my 10 o'clock is?  But whilst it is the opposite and 9 o'clock and 8 o'clock is really behind 10 o'clock on any clock, it is actually the 9 o'clock and 8 o'clock ahead of my 10 o'clock.

All of this is not helped by the fact that my mobile phone has not accepted it is in a new time zone - it has always been my reliable source of reference for time anywhere I am in the world and had always been grateful that whenever I travelled the watch would automatically know I am in a different time zone so would automatically change it's time.  But on this trip it hasn't.  Nor did my ultra efficient Garmin training watch.  And when I manually changed that time to the one I am in, it went haywire with it's recording and somewhere I lost 20,000 steps!  (But that's another story.)

It's too damn confusing for me to figure out what o'clock it is where my friends are in Britain, Dubai, Australia or South Africa - but to make matters worse, mine hosts of my Honolulu accommodation are presently on the West Coast of the USA, where they too are living in a different time zone - same country, different time zone - and I've yet to work out whether they are in the past or have gone back to the future.

In New Zealand, whether you live on the East Coast or the West Coast if it is 10 o'clock in the middle of the East Coast and the West Coast it is still 10 o'clock on the East Coast or West Coast.  So it's bloody confusing to figure out what time it is for my US friends if they are in California on the East Coast of the US or New Jersey on the West Coast - to me it's just one land mass as is our North Island and South Island (where the time is the same no matter what o'clock it is) and I forget there is a vast difference in distance on the US land mass and therefore time is different anywhere.   Gobbledegook?  Yeah, it's drivel ....  

Have realised this morning that all I really need to focus on in the here and now, from now on - is what time, in the here and now, is Wine O'Clock?


 


Saturday, March 9, 2019

Why move on?



When it comes to the death of someone you love there is no such thing as "moving on".  Why would you want to move on? 

Whether one has lost a husband, father, mother, child, friend or sibling - one does not just 'move on',  take a step in a new direction, forget the past and look forward to making new steps in your life having the past life literally dead and buried, forgotten. 

For 'moving on' has that implication - to leave the past, put it behind you and make new memories.

One would have to be a very cold and unemotional person to be able to 'move on' when you have farewelled a loved one at a funeral service, burial or cremation.

I have always loathed the term, or advice, that so many have given over the years.  I lost someone so very dear, so very loved and so very important in my life.  It was six years ago this past week he was physically taken - to whatever sphere one is taken to - I'd like to think that if there is a heaven, that is where he is. 

I have spent some time over the past few days reflecting on the loss; reflecting and reading old diaries where I wrote thoughts and emotions in the times leading up to his death, and after it. 

Nothing I wrote in those days six and seven years ago has changed.  I still have the same deep feelings of love and emotion I went through in Tony's last years of living and the months afterwards.  I have been fortunate to have had some amazing experiences and a special person entered my life and despite that, nothing has changed.  I don't feel any less love, any less sensitive, or any less grief, to the loss of the man I so treasured.

But in deference and respect for those who were trying to help me in telling me to 'move on' I can give my own analysis that in some ways I physically have 'moved on'.

Moving on is when you pack things into a box, put them in a truck then take them to where ever you next go,  have them unloaded, unpacked and placed carefully in your new environment.   No less treasured, no less missed.
 
The physical me, and the possessions I own have moved on, from Auckland to Taupo.  But the sadness, grief, loss and gap in the history of my life is still there.  Unchanged, no less important to me, no matter how or where I now live.  For death may end a life but it never ends a relationship. 

So these past couple of weeks have proven to be no less emotional than they were six years ago, five years ago, four years ago, three years ago, two years ago, last year or now. 

I am so very glad of that.  For the life we shared was so magical, why would I want to 'move on'?



What I do have now, in my post Tony life, is a fulfillment of grasping all that Tony used to tell me to do.  To grasp all opportunities that come my way.
In the many boxes of mementos I have recently rummaged through I found a note I once wrote him. 

'You taught me to swim, through water, and through life, positively.  You taught me not to look back on the bow waves I have swum through, but to keep my head looking forward, to keep it high, out of the waves and murky waters, to pick a spot on the horizon and to keep moving toward that spot - because then I will reach firm ground, find my steady legs and know I have the strength to achieve.' 


I'm doing that Mr Jackson.  And know you are feeling proud of me. 

Thank you for teaching me the joy and importance of love.