We leapt at the chance. A week of The Good Life? Perfect! Fresh air, peace and quiet, and a brief escape from the lingering stresses of QuakeZone. Exactly what we needed.
Bursting with anticipation, we shoved a few clothes in a bag, grabbed the portacot, strapped in the kids, and headed for the wop-wops.
Our destination: Motukarara. (Try saying that after a couple of wines.) Far enough from town that we wouldn't hear the constant thrum of traffic, streetlights wouldn't mar our view of the Milky Way each night, and we'd feel the tranquillity seeping into our bones.
The daily trips into town were a drag - school runs twice a day (not to mention swimming lessons, soccer practice, and weekend soccer game), a couple of pre-school sessions, Beloved had to work in town, and I had several appointments that couldn't be missed. Aside from that, though, we had a fair taste of The Good Life. Here's how it panned out:
Day 0 - turn off TV, can't get it working again. Not a biggie for me - but major for the kids.
Day 1 - pre-dawn wake-up by three cats scratching furniture and demanding food. Hens produce very first egg, just in time for Master Seven to discover. This is indeed The Good Life. :)
Day 2 - Magnitude 5.3 earthquake at 3am. Kids upset. Rest of night a write-off.
Day 3 - OMG one dog looks dead! (False alarm. Whew.) Miss Nearly-Two locks herself in bathroom. (Not a false alarm.) Shrieking gale-force winds all night. Sleep impossible. Convinced roof will fly off. (It doesn't.)
Day 4 - Hint of cat pee in living room. Magpies attack one of their own in field. Shrieking gale-force winds all night again. Sleep deprivation takes its toll.
Day 5 - Tyre blowout. No cellphone reception. Master Seven waiting at school... and waiting... Screaming kid in back of car. The Good Life sucks.
Day 6 - No internet access. Feel like I've lost limb. Miss Nearly-Two poos on kitchen freaking floor.
Day 7 - Fantail flies into house (death omen according to Maori superstition). Fan-bleeding-tastic. Chirps merrily, has to be shooed out. Miss Nearly-Two enchanted. I'm filled with dread. Fine. Take my damn internet access. Just keep my loved ones safe.
Conclusion: The Good Life is over-rated. Or maybe bad things just happen to me more than anyone else. What's your take on it?
Bron's comment: It sounded like a time you’ll look back on and love. Not funny at the time but a wonderful family moment!
Maggie: Probably. (Sounds sceptical.)
Chris's comment: Wow, what a week you had! Good to see you left with your sense of humour intact!
Maggie: It is? By the time it got to fantail arrival I didn't feel *one bit* like laughing!
Lyn's comment: Hey, don’t worry. We have fantails scooting in and outside our place all the time – sometimes two at a time! Once, after a storm to end all storms, we found a white fantail perched on our terrace railing – it was kinda magical and no one died. I just can’t step into your shoes – can’t imagine what it must be like for you. Sorry your Good Life adventure didn’t turn out so well when you must have been so looking forward to it.
Maggie: Thanks for the fantail reassurance, Lyn - I have to say, I've never really thought of myself as superstitious before, but that wee chap completely unnerved me. Don't worry, though, our Good Life week was fab. It was just typical of my life that everything that possibly could go wrong did. (Actually, the power didn't go out so it could've been worse!)
Shirley's comment: You have my sympathy. I rate earthquakes about as bad as things can get. The noise gets me every time. And no I don't live in the trembling garden city. But hey look on the bright side. As my dear old mum used to say "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger." When this trial by earthquake is over you'll be one darn strong woman. Kia Kaha.
Maggie: That's so sweet of you, Shirley. Actually, the quake wasn't too bad - just a bit more freaky for the kids because we were in a different house. I like your mum's saying :)
30th December 2010: A Life Less Duckey?
Okay, I admit it. I'm useless. I haven't posted here for ages. The shame is killing me. No, really, it is. I know some of you need a dose of GirlTalk every now and then, if for no other reason than to remind you that your life is so much more sane than it could be. Because, let's face it, my life is worse. It's full of cringe-factor moments, weirder-than-fiction moments, so-stupid-she-doesn't-deserve-to-live moments. I don't know how, I don't know why - it just is.
Which makes me wonder - is this my lot in life? Am I really going to go through life making blooper after laughable blooper, year in year out, until I drop dead with the exhaustion (or embarrassment) of it all?
When I was a kid I had this image of a grown-up me, poised and elegant and sophisticated, able to handle every type of situation with ease. All I had to do was get through my ugly-duckling teens and I'd metamorphose into this magnificent swan-like creature.
I'm still waiting.
I still have a startling ability to embarrass myself in public. I still feel awkward and clumsy in people-heavy situations. Bizarre things, I'm-sure-I'll-laugh-about-this-one-day things, still happen to me.
I keep reminding myself that ducklings get a bad rap. They're not really ugly - forget the swan comparison and all you see is cute fluff. Besides, ducks have plenty going for them. Like... um... well, they don't need fertility drugs to produce a whole family in one hit. And... (gosh, this is hard)... they're not too proud to quack for their food... Um... Their feathers are a versatile shade of brown that can be dressed up or down for any occasion? (Is it just me or am I going quackers?)... Ooh! Donald! He's a great duck! And Uncle Scrooge - now, there's a duck who can survive a recession. Ducks... what's good about them... um... paté?
Oh, hell, who am I kidding? Deep down inside, I'm still longing to be the swan I always imagined. But, you know what, duck or swan, it's kind-of irrelevant. We both swim in the same pond, see the same view, get our feet chomped by the same eel, and do the same feather-cleaning routine. It's how well we share the pond that's important. (Now I've just got to remind myself of that every time I look in the mirror, go to a party, take a customer complaint, reverse into a tree...)
25th November 2010: Recipe-Sharing #15
My latest recipe offering is an adaptation of Fish Shahjahani. I guess it's fairly seriously adapted, since it no longer has fish! This went down a treat in our house when I tried it last week - let me know what you think.
15th November 2010: Heroine Envy
I love movies. They're all about escapism and, let's face it, we all want to escape every now and then. (If you don't want to escape - ie you love everything about your sweet little life just the way it is - then you're an anomaly. You shouldn't be reading this. And BTW, don't even THINK about e-mailing me how sweet your life is, because I might be tempted to send hate mail.)
The best thing about seeing a movie is that I get to escape "me" for a while. No kids, no mortgage, no messy chaotic frenetic life, no panda eyes because I fell into bed without removing my mascara, no clothes that are four seasons out of date… When I immerse myself in a movie I'm able to be, for a fleeting couple of hours, a hot sexy mama with street savvy and an interesting life.
Oh, come on. You know it's true. Every movie you've loved featured a heroine who was young and slim and cool and had a don't-mess-with-me attitude (or grew one), right? And even if they were made-up to look ugly or fat or frumpy or old or whatever, they weren't even close to any of those things because Hollywood doesn't really do ugly/fat/frumpy/old. It wouldn't sell. It's not our dream.
And the heroes? (Speaking of dreams...) Mmm…
Where was I? Oh. Right. Bottom line: Hollywood produces what we (I use "we" in a broad sense) want to see. And we want to see hot-sexy-mama heroines with kick-arse attitude, not grumpy-frumpy-ugly old tarts with lemon-sucking skills. We want to see heart-stoppingly gorgeous men with you'll-only-cross-me-once determination, not wimpy weedy guys with inferiority complexes. Movies = escapism, remember?
Movie heroines always get their guy, and he's always hot. Movie heroines always save the day, or at least help save the day, and they don't get blown up in the attempt. They always have great shoes and even better one-liners. And they always end the movie looking like… well, heroines.
But movies aren't real. Sometimes it's easy to forget that and get caught up in the why-can't-I-be-more-like-her sulks - when what we should really be doing is celebrating. Because we're the real heroines and heroes. We're living it, doing it, solving it, feeling it. Every day. Bad hair, cranky mood, mismatched socks and all.
So if your made-for-the-big-screen life is looking a little less than perfect today - don't worry. You're in good company. And we may not be on a Jolie-type wage, but we're all doing star performances. (Pass the popcorn, someone!)
7th November 2010: Recipe-Sharing #14
I was racking my brains for an easy meal to cook a couple of nights ago - busy day, juggling too many balls, Mum's taxi, etc etc, you know how it is - when I remembered this one. It's so simple, and so utterly delicious (well, I think it is), I can't believe I haven't shared it with you yet. Five ingredients, including garnish. (Is that a record? I must check...)
21st October 2010: The Hazards of Spring
It's spring and I'm grumpy. Why? Because it's warm and, much as I love warmth, it's more stifling than warm when one only has merino woollies on hand. See, all my short-sleeved tops and non-merino clothes are up in the loft.
The loft. (Theme-music from Jaws.) Enter who dares.
Well, I'm going to have to dare, because I don't fancy spending the next six months feeling like a sauna-on-feet. I did enough of that when I was pregnant.
The problem is - 'doing' the loft is easier said than done. First I have to make sure Mr Six isn't around (he'd try to follow me up there). Ditto for The Destroyer (at 16 months she's just discovered electric sockets and would no doubt jam a spoon into one while I was upstairs). Oh, and it has to be daylight - otherwise I'll wake one or other of them - and, trust me, I absolutely don't want to do that.
If by some strange twist of fate I do manage to find said opportunity, all I have to do is: a) find ladder; b) if no ladder, beg Beloved to return ladder from work; c) climb ladder, open manhole, turn on light; d) climb down ladder, open ladder to full height; e) re-climb ladder, enter loft; f) search for summer clothes bag, ensuring I duck to avoid roof and also stand only on framing (don't fancy falling through ceiling); g) shift other very important boxes of stored whatevers to access clothes bag; h) heave bag over to manhole, toss out of loft; i) check for signs of damage (the bag, not me); j) turn off light; k) climb down ladder, reassemble ladder at half-height; l) re-climb ladder, turn off light, close manhole; m) climb down ladder; n) remove ladder to garage without denting freshly-painted walls.
Sounds easy, right?
And it is - until you realise you've returned the ladder to the garage but left the loft light on. Or pushed a down-light out of the ceiling when you tripped up and landed on it. Or broken your kid's Christmas present. Or that family heirloom you've been saving.
But I've just thought of the perfect solution. No more loft-angst. I'll just buy new clothes. (Dreamy expression on face.) New. Clothes. For me, even. Wow. Imagine it.
(Now I've just got to work out how to hide the Visa bills for a few months…)
10th October 2010: Recipe-Sharing #13
Okay, so it's not a good recipe if you're into counting calories - but if you've been following my recipes you'll know calories are one thing I never ever pay attention to. Calories or not, this week's recipe tastes like heaven! And, as always, it's just so easy to prepare. Enjoy!
18th September 2010: Conviction and Courage
It's not easy being a writer on the road to publication. First, you have to work out how to craft a novel. Then you have to do it, and well enough that a publishing house will take it on alongside their established authors. You'll probably also have to find an agent who loves your work enough to represent you. Which means you have to do some serious research into agents and editors and the querying/submitting processes. And you have to do all this in your own time.
The quandary: writing a debut novel takes hundreds - no, thousands - of hours. You really need to give up your day job to focus on it. But you can't afford to give up your day job because until you're published you don't get paid. Sadly, even writers need to eat.
Worse, as you journey this rocky road to publication you constantly encounter failure and more rejections. I explore this further in "Conviction and Courage - Essential Writer-ly Traits", over on my For Writers page.
Kylie's comment: You knocked every nail on the head in your post, Karen! Felt like we both were wearing the "been there, done that" t-shirt *LOL*.
9th September 2010: QuakeZone
On Saturday 4th September 2010, at 4.36am, my partner and I woke to the biggest earthquake we've ever experienced. The pre-quake rumble was terrifying. Freight-train-through-your-lounge volume. Then the quake hit. Apparently it lasted forty seconds. To both of us it felt much, much longer. How to get to the kids in time? How to calm their terror, keep them safe? How to stay on our feet until we reached them?
Magnitude: 7.1 on the Richter scale. Depth: 10km (that's shallow!). Epicentre: 40km west of Christchurch. Effect on our beautiful city: devastation.
Miraculously, no lives were lost; the earthquake struck when Christchurch streets were at their quietest. The clean-up task will take months - possibly years. Many people have lost their homes, many have lost their livelihoods. But we still have each other. Thank God.
On TV, in the newspapers and online, new images and stories are emerging daily of the destruction that's been wreaked in a mere forty seconds. I'm struggling to comprehend it all. Twisted shop frontages, piles of rubble, torn buildings, silt and water where neither should be... it's unbelievable. And the most unbelievable thing of all: our home is unscathed. A couple of breakages, a few doors that don't want to close... but seriously, it's so minimal it's almost embarrassing. How did this happen? How did our modest 1936 wooden house remain intact?
Five days on and the cracks are beginning to show. In me, not the house. To say I'm feeling fractious is an understatement. My nerves are completely shot! For how long will these freaking after-shocks assault us? For how long will any faint rumble have me freezing, then grabbing the kids and diving for doorjams?
You'll have to imagine the nervous responses - but for some idea of the way our week has gone in QuakeZone - check out www.christchurchquakemap.co.nz. (Thanks to Gracie for passing it on.) This simulation says it all.
Clare's comment: What to say? Nothing, because words can’t express what we (as in the rest of NZ) are feeling for you in Christchurch! The loss of homes and history, but mostly of sanity, safety and security, is phenomenal, and we do so feel for you. Hugs, hugs and more hugs – and please know that when the rest of your country says they care, they really truly do… Clare xxx
5th September 2010: Recipe-Sharing #12
This week's recipe is a great alternative to your standard meatballs recipe. I love the meatball mixture! And the great thing is, you can use the same mix to make the tastiest hamburgers ever. Mmmm...
29th August 2010: Self-Cleaning Hair, Anyone?
I once heard that if you don't wash your hair it becomes self-cleaning in about four-to-six weeks. It sounded pretty good to me. Maybe I should try it some time.
The perfect opportunity arose when my partner and I embarked on a year's travel. Nobody would know me while my hair was at the manky stage. Perfect! We flew in to Malaysia and the experiment began. No more shampoo. Water only.
It wasn't easy. Hell, no. I'm a daily hair-washer. I went through Itchy-Scalp Syndrome and Lank-Hair Syndrome. Four weeks passed. We crossed the border into Thailand and my hair was in such a state it's a miracle they let me in. Clearly my hair was going to take six weeks. I braced myself for Heinous Fly-Trap Syndrome and What's-That-Smell Syndrome. Think of the end goal, I told myself, think of the end goal.
Then we met Jo, an Aussie hairdresser who thought it took a bit longer. A couple of months, maybe. Oh God. Two months? I hoped she was wrong. But after seven weeks I knew she was right, dammit. We parted ways, and I wondered if my hair had something to do with it. I mean, Jo's a professional. I bet she wanted to hold me down and wash my hair by force.
Eight weeks, and we crossed into Vietnam. Thank God nobody knew me. And was it just me or was my partner more distant with me these days? We met up with Aussie Jo again and she couldn't believe it - a) that my hair still wasn't self-cleaning, and b) that I still hadn't washed it. It'll work soon, she assured me. Maybe it's, like, three months instead of two?
I didn't want to give up. Not when I was so close. So I tried to hide my hideous mop beneath my cap and re-set my goalposts to twelve weeks.
At the twelve-week mark we flew to Scotland. That's when Scared-To-Be-Seen-In-Public Syndrome hit. We were staying with family, visiting friends. These people knew me and loved me and couldn't hide their distaste. I felt like a freak.
At thirteen weeks I gave up. I washed my hair. It took three washes before my hair even felt like hair. It took a week before I felt normal. My experiment failed.
But what if it would've only taken another few days, another week? I came so very, very close. And I'll never know because I gave up. I still can't believe I put up with smelly, ugly, disgusting hair for thirteen weeks. Would you?
Non-writers must struggle to comprehend why writers keep trying for that pot of publication gold. It's crazy, but it's a bit like my hair experiment. I know the sensible thing would be to give up - but what if I'm really really close and I just don't know it? What if I only have to get through one more week of manky hair? What if?
Older posts:
15th August 2010: Recipe-Sharing #11 - Beef Satay
8th August 2010: Recipe-Sharing #10 - Salmon Souffle
30th July 2010: My Lifeline With Sanity
25th July 2010: Recipe-Sharing #8 - Ravioli with Spicy Tomato Sauce
18th July 2010: Recipe-Sharing #7 - Des' Teriyaki Steaks
11th July 2010: Recipe-Sharing #6 - Vegetarian Lasagne
11th July 2010: Tropical Paradise Holiday
4th July 2010: Recipe-Sharing #5 - Spicy Pork Stir-Fry
27th June 2010: Recipe-Sharing #4 - Chinese Honey Chicken on Rice
20th June 2010: The Lure Of A Holiday
30th May 2010: Recipe-Sharing #3 - Lemon and Basil Pasta
23rd May 2010: Recipe-Sharing #2 - Lemon Chicken Risotto
16th May 2010: Recipe-Sharing #1 - Thai Coriander Chicken on Rice
22nd March 2010: Presidents and Assholes
22nd March 2010: PND: Post-novel Depression
9th March 2010: Think You're In Control?
5th February 2010: A Pitch In Time Saves Nine
21st January 2010: Yummy Mummies Take A Hike
11th January 2010: Hints For Campers With Kids
31st December 2009: Maggie's Resolutions for 2010
5th December 2009: Brace yourself. It's the C-word...
15th November 2009: What's with this word "lollipop"?
The Good Life, Maggie-Style
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