Every year, I panic about Christmas. I get so overwhelmed. I don’t have that much to do. But I'm a worrier.
I'm going to be honest with you. I don’t like Christmas. All my life, I thought I liked Christmas. I've finally admitted to myself I don’t. In fact, I’ve never liked Christmas—the hustle and the bustle and the scrambling. It's too intense for me.
I keep hoping that Christmas won't happen. Because I am a chronic procrastinator, and I hate shopping. If you see me at the shops, I'm sorry if I seem crazier than usual. Soon it will be over.
I'm trying to slow down and enjoy it.
Anyway, I have some great news.
My good friend Neil (who is from New York) is coming to New Zealand for Christmas and New Year’s. I'm so excited (and nervous) about his visit.
If you know me, I am a lazy, neurotic hermit. But since Neil and I have a lot in common, I think we'll have fun.
5.12.12
20.11.12
Sweet Tart Vegan Orange Syrup Cake
It’s that time of year. PARTY TIME! And in New Zealand, time for cake stalls at school fairs.
I
prefer a lemon tart to almost any dessert. But Seven is allergic to everything. (And in New Zealand, cakes reign.) So, for the gala at
Seven’s school, I made this vegan orange syrup cake:
Vegan Orange Syrup
Cake
with special thanks to the New Zealand Food Allergy Cookbook
3 cups plain flour
1 1/2 cups sugar
2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
3 tablespoons water
3 tablespoons oil
2 teaspoons baking powder
2 cups milk alternative, e.g. rice milk
125 g dairy-free margarine, melted
1 tablespoon lemon zest
sticky orange topping
1 cup sugar
½ cup water
2 oranges, thinly sliced
2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
3 tablespoons water
3 tablespoons oil
2 teaspoons baking powder
2 cups milk alternative, e.g. rice milk
125 g dairy-free margarine, melted
1 tablespoon lemon zest
sticky orange topping
1 cup sugar
½ cup water
2 oranges, thinly sliced
Preheat oven to 180
C. To make the sticky syrup, dissolve 1 cup sugar in ½ cup water in a large
saucepan over medium heat. Add thinly sliced oranges and simmer until oranges
are soft (about 10 minutes). Put this aside while you make the cake batter.
Sift dry
ingredients. In a small bowl, combine water, oil and baking powder. Add to dry
ingredients with milk, margarine, essence and lemon zest. Beat until batter is as smooth as you can manage (2-3 minutes).
Grease and line a
25 cm cake tin with baking paper. Arrange orange slices on bottom and sides of
cake tin (reserve the excess syrup). Pour in cake batter and bake cake for
45-60 minutes.
When cake is cooked,
turn over on wire rack (oranges will be on top) and drizzle over reserved syrup
with spoon. Cool before serving.
Variation: Replace 1 cup plain flour with 1 cup ground
almonds.
26.9.12
Typical Conversation After I Meet Someone in New Zealand
“Are you Canadian?”
“No, I’m American.”
“Where are you from?”
“Ohio.”
“Eh??"
"Ohio—in the Midwest. Close to Canada."
"How long have you been living in New Zealand?”
“About ten years.”
“So, you’re almost a Kiwi!”
“Yeah!" Fake laugh. "Ha, ha.”
“How did you end up living in New Zealand?”
“I married a New Zealander…”
“Did you meet here?”
“No, in Hawaii.”
“That’s so romantic!”
“We’re not together anymore.”
"Oh, I'm sorry." Awkward pause.“Were you on holiday?”
“Well...my FRIEND married Adam’s BROTHER. Adam and I met at THEIR wedding. Then Adam visited me in San Francisco. And I came to New Zealand — we went back and forth a few times.”
“Are you going to move back to America?”
“No, Adam and I share custody of Seven. OF COURSE I wish I lived closer to my family. But Adam’s family is all here. Except for the brother who married my friend.”
“Are they still together?”
“Yeah, but we don't talk anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Oh, y'know. Divorce. I don't want to complain to Laurie about her husband’s BROTHER."
"Hmm."
"It’s OK though. I have a BLOG.”
“No, I’m American.”
“Where are you from?”
“Ohio.”
“Eh??"
"Ohio—in the Midwest. Close to Canada."
"How long have you been living in New Zealand?”
“About ten years.”
“So, you’re almost a Kiwi!”
“Yeah!" Fake laugh. "Ha, ha.”
“How did you end up living in New Zealand?”
“I married a New Zealander…”
“Did you meet here?”
“No, in Hawaii.”
“That’s so romantic!”
“We’re not together anymore.”
"Oh, I'm sorry." Awkward pause.“Were you on holiday?”
“Well...my FRIEND married Adam’s BROTHER. Adam and I met at THEIR wedding. Then Adam visited me in San Francisco. And I came to New Zealand — we went back and forth a few times.”
“Are you going to move back to America?”
“No, Adam and I share custody of Seven. OF COURSE I wish I lived closer to my family. But Adam’s family is all here. Except for the brother who married my friend.”
“Are they still together?”
“Yeah, but we don't talk anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Oh, y'know. Divorce. I don't want to complain to Laurie about her husband’s BROTHER."
"Hmm."
"It’s OK though. I have a BLOG.”
1.7.12
Moving on.
When Seven was six months old, the owner who was never going to sell put our flat on the market. So I had a bee in my bonnet about moving on. I didn’t want people traipsing through our flat during open homes. We had a baby!
Adam and I looked at several places, but we couldn’t agree. Adam thought a character cottage was too small. I hated a Lockwood house with fruit trees in the garden.
The next day there was an ad in the newspaper for a three bedroom house with timber floors in the village.
I rang and asked the owner if the house had a bathtub or a fireplace.
“There's no bath. I’m not sure if the fire even works. And the garden is a jungle,” S said.
“We’ll take it.”
“Go and have a look,” S said. She gave me the address, spelling out the unfamiliar street name.
Adam and I put the baby in his car seat, and we drove up the coast to the house. Remarkably, we both liked it, and we were lucky enough to be chosen as tenants.
It was a private 1940s house, on a corner, a block away from the beach, at the park end of the village. You could see the sea from the front deck and the bedroom, and through the French doors in front, which nobody ever used. Everyone used the back door, which was not as picturesque an entrance, but whatever.
You could also see the sea from the kitchen, and even from the back deck, if you knew the right way to look. We only had a couple of big afternoon birthday parties at our house, but we always said its “open plan” had a good “flow”.
Seven and I lived in this house for seven and a half years. Of course, while we lived there, the house went through some changes. The lounge and the dining room traded places – a couple of times. Seven’s nursery eventually became the spare room/office.
Using the open fireplace filled the lounge with smoke and set off the smoke alarm. Adam put in a used wood burner that we bought on Trade Me. He spent years taming the jungle in the garden. And he put a door on the garage, which became his “man cave”. (Or “where all his stuff had to go”.) Seven went to the village Playcentre (the co-op preschool). I made new friends.
The night President Obama was elected, there was a gale. The French doors swung open and banged against the side of the house. This caused their panes of glass to shatter. So, the owners put in new double glaze windows.
Adam painted three sides of the house. Apparently, the owners didn’t have the money or the inclination to pay him to paint the fourth side.
When Seven grew too big for a baby bath in the shower, we bought a used cast iron bathtub on Trade Me. We put it in the kitchen. There was nowhere else for it to go.The bathtub never had a tap – we filled it by using a hose from the laundry sink.
Seven started primary school. Then he changed schools, so instead of walking with Seven to school, we had to drive. Our marriage ended, and Adam moved out.
The owners bought a new dishwasher. They built a new privacy fence on the front deck. We quibbled over the garden since Adam was no longer looking after it.
“I promise I won’t let it become a jungle – like it was when we moved in,” I said.
Every year the owners raised the rent, by three or four per cent, to keep the house at “market rate”. Before our marriage ended, Adam and I said year after year, “If the rent goes up by much more, we will move on.”
But we didn’t move on. We felt our rental was nicer than other rentals. Sometimes we even felt a bit clever or smug about it.
And yet, other houses have baths with taps, and insulation. And more manageable gardens. And off-street parking. And street names we don’t need to spell. Those houses are in the school zone. And are cheaper.
This year when the owners raised the rent (I'm embarrassed to tell you how much the rent had become, but it was too expensive for me), just like that, it was time for me to move on.
When I first looked at my new house, I waffled a bit, but I knew it was the one.
My new house was built in the 1940s. It's not in the village, but it's in Seven's school zone, and it has a bathtub with a tap, and a heat pump. You can see the sea from the driveway, or from Seven's room if you know how to look, and it has a very easy garden.
Adam and I looked at several places, but we couldn’t agree. Adam thought a character cottage was too small. I hated a Lockwood house with fruit trees in the garden.
The next day there was an ad in the newspaper for a three bedroom house with timber floors in the village.
I rang and asked the owner if the house had a bathtub or a fireplace.
“There's no bath. I’m not sure if the fire even works. And the garden is a jungle,” S said.
“We’ll take it.”
“Go and have a look,” S said. She gave me the address, spelling out the unfamiliar street name.
Adam and I put the baby in his car seat, and we drove up the coast to the house. Remarkably, we both liked it, and we were lucky enough to be chosen as tenants.
It was a private 1940s house, on a corner, a block away from the beach, at the park end of the village. You could see the sea from the front deck and the bedroom, and through the French doors in front, which nobody ever used. Everyone used the back door, which was not as picturesque an entrance, but whatever.
You could also see the sea from the kitchen, and even from the back deck, if you knew the right way to look. We only had a couple of big afternoon birthday parties at our house, but we always said its “open plan” had a good “flow”.
Seven and I lived in this house for seven and a half years. Of course, while we lived there, the house went through some changes. The lounge and the dining room traded places – a couple of times. Seven’s nursery eventually became the spare room/office.
Using the open fireplace filled the lounge with smoke and set off the smoke alarm. Adam put in a used wood burner that we bought on Trade Me. He spent years taming the jungle in the garden. And he put a door on the garage, which became his “man cave”. (Or “where all his stuff had to go”.) Seven went to the village Playcentre (the co-op preschool). I made new friends.
The night President Obama was elected, there was a gale. The French doors swung open and banged against the side of the house. This caused their panes of glass to shatter. So, the owners put in new double glaze windows.
Adam painted three sides of the house. Apparently, the owners didn’t have the money or the inclination to pay him to paint the fourth side.
When Seven grew too big for a baby bath in the shower, we bought a used cast iron bathtub on Trade Me. We put it in the kitchen. There was nowhere else for it to go.The bathtub never had a tap – we filled it by using a hose from the laundry sink.
Seven started primary school. Then he changed schools, so instead of walking with Seven to school, we had to drive. Our marriage ended, and Adam moved out.
The owners bought a new dishwasher. They built a new privacy fence on the front deck. We quibbled over the garden since Adam was no longer looking after it.
“I promise I won’t let it become a jungle – like it was when we moved in,” I said.
Every year the owners raised the rent, by three or four per cent, to keep the house at “market rate”. Before our marriage ended, Adam and I said year after year, “If the rent goes up by much more, we will move on.”
But we didn’t move on. We felt our rental was nicer than other rentals. Sometimes we even felt a bit clever or smug about it.
And yet, other houses have baths with taps, and insulation. And more manageable gardens. And off-street parking. And street names we don’t need to spell. Those houses are in the school zone. And are cheaper.
This year when the owners raised the rent (I'm embarrassed to tell you how much the rent had become, but it was too expensive for me), just like that, it was time for me to move on.
When I first looked at my new house, I waffled a bit, but I knew it was the one.
My new house was built in the 1940s. It's not in the village, but it's in Seven's school zone, and it has a bathtub with a tap, and a heat pump. You can see the sea from the driveway, or from Seven's room if you know how to look, and it has a very easy garden.
29.4.12
My monthly blog post.
I doubt I ever will be able to post as often as I used to on this website, since the excitement of
having a lot to say has twittered away, and my reasons for blogging are
changing. Most blogs are losing steam
— I feel sad when my favourites fade out. But one does get tired of one’s own voice.
I continue to blog
for the love, maybe not as much for therapy. I'm remembering that my
journal is a great place for navel-gazing. But I still want to write to
you. I have things to tell you, important things that I've considered carefully while driving
Seven to school, doing the dishes, or watching American
Idol. I'll keep posting here, as much as I can.
--
Last year after Adam
and I separated, in the midst of all the trauma, I felt vaguely enthusiastic about the idea of a fresh start. I believed it was a chance to transform myself, as if I was a butterfly
that could just fly away from our marriage.
After leaving our
relationship, I realise I have only traded sets of problems, and of course I am
still the same neurotic, lazy person. It is humbling to become aware that the
issue wasn’t our relationship, but me.
I was probably overconfident. For example, I
thought I could do everything myself around the house. Cleaning my hair out of the
shower drain isn’t that hard. And I thought I could hire a handyman to do
the really difficult chores, like sweeping the chimney, or removing a wasp nest from the garden shed.
But I find myself increasingly baffled by what I need to do. I don’t know how to change the vacuum cleaner bag because
Adam always did it. I am perplexed when I need to repair the
door of the dryer—should I use glue?
I tend to let housework slide. The house is a mess. The stove and the shower both need cleaned. And I am STILL looking for a cheaper house—my search spurred on because Landlord raised my rent.
Thinking about the money I need to spend week to week makes me panic. My spare energy is directed at finding stable work. All I want is to claw myself out of poverty, put a roof over our heads, clothes on our backs, food in our bellies. I am constantly afraid, anxious about the future. Will I be able to get back on my feet? I scold myself for being childish and wallowing, but I worry I have made the wrong choices in life.
I tend to let housework slide. The house is a mess. The stove and the shower both need cleaned. And I am STILL looking for a cheaper house—my search spurred on because Landlord raised my rent.
Thinking about the money I need to spend week to week makes me panic. My spare energy is directed at finding stable work. All I want is to claw myself out of poverty, put a roof over our heads, clothes on our backs, food in our bellies. I am constantly afraid, anxious about the future. Will I be able to get back on my feet? I scold myself for being childish and wallowing, but I worry I have made the wrong choices in life.
I don't want sympathy
or encouragement. I am just trying to say that I am still here if you want to keep reading. And I am OK. I am not beaten. I know I will get through this. Tomorrow is another day.
24.3.12
The give way rule.
For my first few years in New Zealand, I didn’t drive. Wellington is a compact city, so I walked, or I took the train.
Driving on the wrong side of the road was just too intimidating for this fragile migrant's state of mind.
And there was the unusual give-way rule. When Adam turned right at intersections BEFORE the cars turning left, I was understandably confused.
“Adam, you didn’t have the right of way back there!”
“Yes, I did.”
“Are you sure?”
Driving on the wrong side of the road was just too intimidating for this fragile migrant's state of mind.
And there was the unusual give-way rule. When Adam turned right at intersections BEFORE the cars turning left, I was understandably confused.
“Adam, you didn’t have the right of way back there!”
“Yes, I did.”
“Are you sure?”
New Zealand motorists were required to give way to all traffic on the right.
But tomorrow, New Zealand will change this rule of the road. Instead of giving way at an intersection to traffic on the right, we will now do the OPPOSITE.
The change is taking place because after 35 years on the books, everyone still found the give-way rule confusing.
Accidents are expected as motorists try to get up to speed with the change. But as accidents frequently occur at intersections anyway, we will risk this confusion for the greater good and tourism.
Kiwis are of course smarter than most. Someday we'll understand the new give-way rule.
In the interim, the exciting game of chance at our intersections keeps our pulses racing.
Does the other driver know the new give-way rule? How long should we wait before we turn? Motorists, place your bets.
I have a bad feeling about this.
But tomorrow, New Zealand will change this rule of the road. Instead of giving way at an intersection to traffic on the right, we will now do the OPPOSITE.
Source: TVNZ
Accidents are expected as motorists try to get up to speed with the change. But as accidents frequently occur at intersections anyway, we will risk this confusion for the greater good and tourism.
Kiwis are of course smarter than most. Someday we'll understand the new give-way rule.
In the interim, the exciting game of chance at our intersections keeps our pulses racing.
Does the other driver know the new give-way rule? How long should we wait before we turn? Motorists, place your bets.
I have a bad feeling about this.
29.2.12
New Year's resolutions.
Laptop
To bring us up to date, after tearful phone calls, ordering of parts, tech visits (more tears), Laptop finally was repaired, out of pity, or to make me shut up. It was an expensive miracle.
After Spillmageddon, I am not drinking coffee with Laptop. Like a pack-a-day smoker who quits smoking cold-turkey, breaking a twenty-year habit isn't easy. One day at a time.
Cups with Lids
Before you comment or email, yes, I've heard about cups with lids. They are a wonderful invention. But I am accident-prone, and I KNOW I could spill coffee from a cup with a lid. It's a gift. My new rule is no coffee (or other liquids) by Laptop. A New Year’s resolution that I can keep.
Productivity
Unfortunately, not-drinking coffee with Laptop has had a negative impact on my productivity. Or so I want to believe. Because once or twice a week, things have interrupted me from my current task, which is finding paid work.
Things. Landlord is panicking about me moving out (one day). So, handymen are popping in. Six had a fever and missed two days of school. I needed to buy new tyres for the car. Taxes. You know, the things that fill regular life.
I thought my problem was general laziness, but realise another issue is low-level, debilitating anxiety. I worry a lot.
Time
I have expanses of time, but as previously mentioned, there are too many interruptions.
Drugs
Considering taking something (?) for my anxiety, but taking drugs to feel normal is no fun. So, my New Year’s resolution is to run more, while Six is at school and at his dad’s. Exercise as therapy.
Oversharing
I also resolved to blog more often in 2012. But New Year’s resolutions really do set us up to fail.
Leap Year
This year is of course a Leap Year. I recently learned that in a Leap Year, women can propose marriage to men. This is silly. Obviously, women can propose marriage anytime. Also this has nothing to do with me, since I'm not looking to get married again anytime soon.
Dating
Last year I was interested in dating a couple of guys. But they didn't feel a mutual attraction to me. And as someone smarter than me once said, unrequited love is a bore. Dating still seems like a sadomasochistic exercise.
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