We are the sort of family that unexplained things happen to. Some would call them fantastic coincidences, others luck. And still others might conclude that some higher power is at work .
We have our own explanations of it.
However you see it , our call to America felt pretty much like the Pevency children’s call to Narnia from the train station. One moment they were about their normal business and the next they were sucked into a different world.
One moment our settled life of twenty three years was normal . Suddenly a disconnected meteor of a thought - “ we should go to America and Ian should do a Phd”. Within twenty minuets our whole mind set was changed. Like Lucy . Edmond and Peter our life totally altered. They entered their new world within moments. . We however, took six action packed months to achieve it. They were carried on the winds of a higher power. We were carried on the winds of the Pacific by good old Air New Zealand.
Now while unexplained things might happen to our family often, in every other way we are your normal Kiwi family. Well almost normal. If you don’t count living in the weekends without electricity or a bathroom for fun , or home schooling.
There is Ian ( the dad ) and me , Wendy ( the mum ). A short staircase of kids. Eighteen, sixteen, twelve and ten.
Two girls, two boys. Usually barefoot, all good with number eight wire and used to empty beaches.
When we brightly announced to our family and friends we were moving to America their mouths dropped open. ( I used to think that was just a line in many books until I saw it.) Some didn’t believe it until they witnessed the frantic culling and shedding of excess stuff. Like a cicada sheds its old skin.
There is something about reducing your life down to two suitcases each that brings your whole identity into focus. All you truly are is compressed into two succinct blocks.
Ian’s bags were mainly filled with textbooks, Cds, laptops and computer paraphernalia .
Ruth tenderly packed her violin, sheet music and horse quilt.
We had a bit of trouble persuading Paul that he couldn’t take all his stereo motors, old batteries, tin cans, cogs, wheels and wires. He settled eventually for just his recharger , video camera battery and multi colored rubber band collection.
John modestly packed his school books and soft toys.
Rachel however had her fiddle, favorite books, brown monkey, two first aid kits, a fist aid book and her CPR dummie.
I scorned to pack the frivolous stuff the rest of the family had, and packed the really serious essentials to life. My rotary cutter, cutting board and a stash of fabric.
We poked in clothes around these necessities as best we could. Sold the horses. Rented the house and were ready for our new adventure into Quilt Land.

A real Christmas

A Real Christmas.

It is getting warm. The trees are blossoming and red tulips and yellow daffodils are up everywhere.
It is weird weather here. One day it can be as hot as a Whangarei December. The sun block is out and the kids are wishing we had a pool. The next day there is a snow storm.
A few weeks ago we had a run of warm definitely spring weather. I got all inspired and designed Christmas tree angles, Christmas stockings and was working out a suitable Christmas present for my sister-in-law. Suddenly it occurred to me just because summer was on the way, doesn’t mean Christmas was. Christmas had come and gone.
Last December I had been looking forward to the experience of a Northern Hemisphere Christmas. I thought of all those picturesque cards of snow covered houses, mistletoe and carol singers muffled up It seemed so romantic and made New Zealand Christmases seem rather second rate. . The English books of my childhood painted Christmas in such glowing images. The fact that all our English friends HATE New Zealand hot Christmases and ran mid winter Christmases added to my anticipation of experiencing a REAL Christmas.
Christmas day turned out to be an anticlimax.
We had just arrived in Colorado and were house-sitting for some friends in the Rocky Mountains. It snowed all day, the coveted white Christmas.
We had been invited to some friends house for Christmas dinner but there was no way we were going anywhere without a four wheel drive. We ate a strange scratched together Christmas dinner of ham, fruit, ice cream and oats. (Oats fill up gaps, very important on a student budget.)
In spite of our inability to get out we did have visitors. There were great big black birds that swooped onto the long tube like bird feeder hanging outside the front door. And Squirrels that scampered along the deck railing, up the tree and down the string of the same bird feeder. Mummy Daddy and Baby deer who reared up on hind legs and nibbled off the (you guessed it) the same fast food canteen. We left a bit of Christmas ham outside for the resident fox that lives in the deck foundations.
While it was a peaceful family day it certainly didn’t match up to all those rosy ideals of carolers, roaring fires roast chestnuts and friends.
It didn’t seem like Christmas at all. I missed the hot weather, sounds of cicadas and the option of traipsing off to the beach .Of steaks on the BBQ, blooming hydrangeas and the sounds of kids riding their new bikes up and down the street.
I missed the red halo of the pohutakawa tree on the corner of our road, kids on the trampoline, strawberry and kiwi fruit topped pavlova and long cool glasses of L and P. The walk to church in the morning and the smell of hot tar on the road as the day heated up. I missed the sound of the Salvation Army tooting away on the back of an old Bedford truck and the sight of children running barefoot over the vivid green grass.
The pretty traditional Christmas is overrated if you ask me. Send me Santa-reclining-in-a-beach-chair Christmas cards from now on.
I got out my sketch book and started designing New Zealand Christmas quilts. Give me sandmen not snowmen reindeers cooling off with ice creams and Santa in his togs at the beach.
It’s got me thinking of inviting my neighbors in July to a midsummer Christmas. The beach is many thousands of miles away but it will be hot. We could pull out the BBQ and there will be plenty of bugs like sand-flies. I could hang up some Christmas lights outside and put a manger on the front lawn. We won’t have the Salvation Army or the old Bedford truck but we could have the girls on the violins and me on the guitar. We could sing carols and our kids could run barefoot and shock all the American parents and the German family across the road. Perhaps I could draw Christmas cards of Santa crawling up chimneys of upside down houses after all this will be a Down Under celebration.
Let’s forget about the snow and the holly, “bring out the pav instead, we want to show yooall a REAL Christmas”.

Culture Clash

Culture Clash.
Yesterday was graduation day a special occasion that bought out much pomp and ceremony and proud mamas and Pappas.
It also bought out a clash of cultures between Americans who find graduating from kindergarten meaningful and New Zealanders who mostly don’t know the date of our independence.
The kids rushed off early in the morning to watch the transformation of the green into a sea of blue and white chairs. All facing an outdoor stage decked with purple and blue flowers.
I thought they would be away just a short time but three hours elapsed before they came back. Rachel was of course the last to walk home as someone in the audience collapsed, providing great entertainment for a girl who bought her CPR dummy to America.
They returned with such amusing stories of fond mammas screaming “that’s my baby” at tall men, I wished Id gone. Ruth suggested that when Ian graduates I could scream out “that’s my hurney” and burst into tears as a culturally acceptable action. Instead of rolling around laughing, out culturally unacceptable natural reaction.
Ian said we wouldn’t have the opportunity to do either as he wasn’t going to go through all that hoo ha. He had seen costumes for the PHD graduates! They were flowing purple gowns with black stripes on the shoulders. The head gear was extremely suggestive of an oversized pin cushion. There was NO WAY they were going to get him decked out ridiculously like that.. There was NO WAY he was going to stand in front of a huge crowd looking like a Charlie. He would leave the country first. Yes we would fly out of here graduation day. That way he wouldn’t need to wear that foolish outfit. They could send his certificate in the post.
As his horror grew the rest of us warmed gleefully to the idea. Especially after he hauled me down to catch the tail end of the ceremony to see the hated PHD garments.
I made the mistake of saying I thought they looked rather pretty.
“Pretty!” that didn’t go down well with a man shaped like a bullet. Who looks natural in jeans and a quarry mans hard hat and enjoys blowing up cliffs.
I amended it to say I thought he would look regal like Henry the 8th. An idea I found amusing until Ian fixed me with a look and reminded me of how Henry had treated his wives.
In the afternoon, while Ian was back at University justifying our existence in America we all had fun picturing the expression on his face dressed in that outfit. The whole idea was diverting but we had little hope because as Ruth put it “he loves you dearly Mum but I think there are some things even you couldn’t get him to do.”
I had to agree, I know enough about men to realize that if a man even suspects his wife is encouraging him to do something, because she thinks it is funny, all her powers of persuasion are lost.
“I’ve come to a decision” he said heavily when he came home. My stomach tightened, it was said so seriously. What was he going to announce?
“I will graduate when the time comes, if I am still in the country.”
“Nigel came by this afternoon and said how much he will enjoy placing that bib thing around my neck when I graduate. I guess if it means a lot to him to hang a noose round my neck I will go through with it.”
“But I WILL NOT burst into tears and I WILL Not wear that ridiculous thing a second longer than I have to.”
“Good on ya Darls” I said.” You’ve got two years to syke yourself up for it. Besides you might as well experience the WHOLE of American culture”.

Flags

Flags.

American and New Zealand attitudes towards their country’s flag are as different as the night skies they abide under.
A couple of years ago we thought it might be fun to play flags.
Dad very kindly made us a flag pole out of a two by four stud recycled from a redundant shade house.
We bought a cheap New Zealand flag from Arthurs Emporium. (Oh how I miss that get-anything shop ).
It seemed to us that New Years Eve would be an appropriate time to launch our new toy. So midnight December the 31st the six of us, Mum, Dad and a bunch of friends gathered together as the flag ascended to the tune of the National Anthem crawling out of Mums portable tape deck.
I need to pause here and explain that Mums tape deck is legendry among friends and family. She is in her own words, “ in love with it.” It turns up with her at every significant family event, rather like a seeing-eye-dog.
Now if this picture of us all gathered around the flag pole has conjured up solemn images in your mind, you have misunderstood the scene entirely. There was much noise and hilarity .Mum stood quietly, suitably moved and serious. The rest of us cracked jokes about how at her funeral we will put the baby pink boom box on top of her casket instead of a spray of flowers. Ruth didn’t join in the fun either. As a trained florist she felt it wasn’t right to joke about something that could potentially dint future sales. The flag arrived at the top of the pole as God Of Nations finished and waved down at us happily.
It is, however, tough on any flag to live on a property that only escaped being called Windy Ridge by one vote. After about a year it looked like a mother of young children- faded and worn out. I considered tossing it in the rubbish but threw it under the window seat instead.
When we arrived in America we were greeted with flags everywhere.
There were Stars and Stripes in the airport, Stars and Stripes hanging off the houses, little mini Stars and Stripes moving rapidly down the highway on the fronts of cars and backs of motor bikes. I even saw one painted on the trunk of a tree. Then I was glad that in a burst of patriotism, I had impulsively stuffed our flag in my suitcase .
The charming camping ground we arrived at was generously sprinkled with Stars and Stripes hanging brightly , from quaint porches. I was delighted to find our own one folded neatly in our darling little Munch kin cottage. We hung the little, faded, tattered, flag off the front veranda roof so the locals could see that the expected Noo Zeelanda’s had arrived. Next to it we hung the large bright one so they could also see we had friendly intentions.
The first indication we had that the flags were too hot to handle was the man across the roads reaction. He informed us that we had the flag the wrong way round and that was illegal. I scanned his face to see if he was joking but he was dead serious. When Ruth shortly after discovered they have special flag funerals for geriatric flags in the condition of our own little friend, we took them both down. In this land of litigation we need to make friends not enemies. I folded the American flag and put it gently back where we found it. Then I rolled up the New Zealand flag into a ball and stuffed it into the bottom on my suitcase.
When Ruth unearthed the information Americans will not let their flag touch the ground I trembled and was doubly glad we had packed it away. I without hesitation would have without taken our New Zealand flag and covered my lettuce seedlings with it if I thought it might protect them from overnight frost.
It dawned on me we had been very lucky to escape jail and if we wanted to continue to gaze at either hemispheres night sky we had better stop playing with flags in America.

Sheepish Moments

Sheepish Moments.

When you pack your suitcases for another country it pays to take along a good supply of don’t-take-yourself-to-seriously capsules. You are naturally going to look like a chump quite often. On our second day we were outside very excited taking photos of squirrels while the locals looked on with a Yeah-right-a-squirrel-big-deal look. Now that I have been here nearly a year I too have developed a blasé attitude towards them. They are everywhere, cheeky and more visible than the birds. But when we first encountered them they were fascinating.
In my ignorance I had the idea they would be about the size of cats. I think children’s picture books greatly misled me on that score. The publishers can be glad that I am a New Zealander rather than an American or they could find themselves in serious litigation for misrepresentation of the facts. I now know that Squirrel Nutkin is more the size of a fat bush rat than Garfield.
While the squirrels were smaller than expected, ants were not. Again the local populous were amazed as the whole family gathered in astonishment around a line of huge black ants marching along our porch steps. We got quite a reputation for being interested in wild life among the camp ground where we were staying. Soon armies of small boys were scattered though out the forested area around us in search of every snake they could find. Paul had let it be known that he passionately wanted one. When the snakes started appearing, and it dawned on me exactly what was going on, I let Paul know just how equally passionately I did NOT want one. This has continued to be an ongoing tussle between us during this time. At one stage the local dump yielded up an old glass aquarium that Paul thought would be perfect to house a snake collection in the basement. I however, told him to rethink that thought. So far I have prevailed and I intend to keep it that way for the rest of our time here. Connecticut had grass snakes. Colorado has rattle snakes! We do get much satisfaction telling Americans New Zealand has no snakes and you can wander barefoot through the bush as there is nothing that will harm you. Then its their turn to look bug eyed with astonishment.
Just before we left New Zealand I met an American doctor who had been in New Zealand six months. I asked him how he liked living in Kiwi Land?
“ It’s great “ he replied. “ Its similar enough to be comfortable and different enough to be fascinating.”
That has been our experience here. Cars are not new to us, but huge pick-ups and long stretch limousines are. Light switches are not new to us , but all working upside down are. T- (oops I nearly said the Americanly unacceptable word) bathroom apparatus are not new, but self flushing ones in airports definitely are!
The first time I encountered one of these was a shock. It was an overly efficient aggressive one and I left the cubical thankful not to have been sucked some place I’d rather not go. I had a great fear of not being finished before these intelligent appliances activated until I encountered a tardy one. I assure you there are few incidents in life where you feel more ridiculous and out of control than when you are trying to pretend to a bathroom apparatus that you have gone again and it needs to get on with its job. I think they should at lest come equipped with a manual button so it is possible to over ride their authority.
Even kitchen appliances can provide some sheepish moments. I tried for days to work out how to light the gas oven. Eventually I asked a neighbour who just turned the knob round to the required temperature. Apparently they just leave a small pilot light burning continuously for automatic lighting. This bothered me as it seemed so energy wasteful even if you do have a gas tank the size of a small water tank outside. That night a skunk strolled underneath our open bedroom window and I leaped out of bed and rushed into the kitchen convinced that the strong burning hair smell was the pilot light exploded and the house was on fire.
I didn’t tell the neighbours that one.
We did tell them about the coffee filters though. It was too good a story not to share. If they have this type in New Zealand I have yet to encounter them. They looked exactly like gigantic cup cake papers to us. The opened packet had no label to indicate what they were and in the land of huge vehicles, huge stoves, huge refrigerators, huge chicken breasts it seemed logical to conclude they were for huge muffins. Ruth sent many folded up in letters back home pointing out that we thought Texas muffins where big, but take a look at the size of Connecticut muffins! I figured they must have huge patty pan trays to support the gigantic cup cake papers of the monstrous muffins. That must be the logical reason for the cavernous ovens . We all thought is was a huge joke and felt right chumps when we learnt the truth.
Until yesterday that is, for sitting magnificently, in a cafe were monstrous muffins . Large as life and cooked in, ( drum roll please), COFFEE FILTER papers. So don’t be surprised if you find some Colorado muffin papers in your letterbox from Ruth soon.

Wave Graciously Like the Queen.
A friend made the observation that kids who return from living in America are more confident than the average, that they don’t have trouble standing before groups and speaking.
That got me thinking and I realized it is because over here we are like mini celebrities. The minuet we open our mouth’s we turn heads. We are immediately an impromptu stage show.
We are odd.
Now in New Zealand , our family was odd too. But in New Zealand our family were a peculiar odd, where as in America we are a charming odd.
Anything weird we say, wear or do here is put down to haling from the land of The Rings. We have the film industry to thank for the current popularity we enjoy. It is quite fashionable hereto come from Down Under.
We do try to quality some of the more outlandish things about ourselves, by explaining that the majority of New Zealanders don’t actually live half the week ( like we used to ), in tiny cottages in the hills with no electricity and an outhouse bathroom , just for fun.
Notice how politely I said that. I don’t think they would know what a long drop is over here.
Unfortunately I think they miss the qualifier as we have been asked the stereotypical question -“ do you all wear grass skirts down there?” So I am sorry folks but there are going to be a large number of Americans who think you all wear 1930s clothes, homeschool and make your own bread and soap, in spite of all our best efforts.
But our more weird areas aside, there is something about living overseas that makes us realize just how typically Kiwi we are. Little things like washing.
Unless things have changed dramatically since we left, nobody thinks anything of washing hanging outside on a line. Over here it is just not the done thing. In some areas it is actually banned and the difficulty of getting good clothes pegs reflects this.
Imagine, a beautiful, hot, dry Colorado day and not a sheet or towel let alone anything as plebeian as undies in sight. Yet in all the houses unseen driers, sucking bulk electricity will be hard at work. Americans seem to be rather squeamish in certain areas and obviously laundry falls into this category along with the objectionable T word, ( we’ve learnt to say bathroom instead),and naked feet.
Apparently going about barefoot suggests that you are a vagrant or generally immoral or an undesirable character. Scratch the immoral, I’ve just remembered immoral is fine , it’s just tootsies on display that aren’t. This has been a difficult transition for Northland kids. We had heard rumours of this before we left New Zealand so as part of our preparation we bought the boys and Rachel shoes. We had a few weeks of sporadic training before we hit the States but it wasn’t sufficient time to retrain a lifetime habit. I figured that the snow would sort the problem out and paid scant attention to it, after all I was raised in Northland myself. I had to revise my attitude when we were politely told one day that is was not acceptable. They would overlook it this time ( on account of our accent ), but next time all shoeless boys ( and possibly one girl) would be thrown out. Now I would have totally understood it if it had been a restaurant but it was an electronics store.
Since then we have tried to be much more diligent resulting in a few false starts to the library as a vagrant boy has been discovered in the back seat of the car. However round home the whole family is apt to slip back into comfort zones if the weather is hot. This resulted in the German boy across the road worried that we didn’t have enough to eat and other deficiencies . But his mother , who has a funny accent and is an actor on the American stage every day herself, assured him it was just our way.
So folks we you next see us back home we will all be wearing large cowboy hats and boots and ready to sign up for speaking engagements.