A Son's Last Words

My father was a huge man, a giant in both stature and intellect. His 6'4", three hundred pound frame dominated any room and his intelligence was evident in even the most casual of conversations. My grandmother told me he read an entire set of encyclopedias, cover to cover, as a sophomore in high school. Most people knew him as Doctor Taylor, a professional at the top of a lucrative medical career, respected by patients and colleagues alike. I knew him as dad.

He was a master chess player and an amateur astronomer with a fascination for the sky and the great beyond. He was a SCUBA diver, a competitive shooter, and a pilot. He was an outdoors man, a Civil War buff, and a Star Trek-y. He was a man who enjoyed life in all its aspects and lived every moment to the fullest. He had a deep, full belly laugh that was infectious and matched his build and personality perfectly. At night I would hear him laugh from my bedroom as he talked with my mother or watched late night TV. For me, those laughs were reassuring. They acted as a warm security blanket against the doubts of darkness and the cold of night. My mother speaks fondly of his rich singing voice and tells me I would kick in her womb to the rhythm of his songs. Their marriage wasn't easy or perfect, but they stayed together and loved each other to the end. Despite a world set against marriage and the vows of matrimony.

If I sound like a son with an inadequacy complex, then you are probably getting an accurate picture. My father presented an image and lived a life that is hard to live up to. He never meant to pressure me or measure me against his accomplishments, but the self-created pressure was there and still is in many ways. As a teenager and young adult, I resented it to the point of irrational and often undirected anger. I had a hard time finding myself or my place in life; very little fit and what did wasn't good enough (in my eyes) or didn't fully remove me from my father's massive shadow. This inner conflict, which erupted into explosive arguments with my dad, came to an apex when I graduated from high school. He wanted me to go to college and I wanted to do things myself, so I joined the Navy and left with little more than a good-bye. I was gone for four years. When I left, my father was a healthy middle-aged man in the prime of his physical and professional life. When I returned, he was in the ravages of a disease that physically destroyed him.

His illness came as a complicated collage of problems as precise and methodical as the man they attacked. Slowly it stripped him of everything that had surrounded the man I knew as my dad. His physical presence, his hobbies and his career were all taken from him over a very short period of time. Even his beautiful singing voice was reduced to a gravelly whisper. But my dad remained. The loving and doting father he had always been shown even brighter in the face of his daunting illness. For over a decade he struggled through ups and downs, never fully recovering but always getting back up. My father fought for more time with his family and lived to see all of his children married and the arrival of three grandchildren. A few months ago, he told me his illness had been a blessing and that he had fallen in love with our mom all over again.

I didn't get to say good-bye to my dad the night he died. But, if I had been afforded that opportunity, I would have put my arms around him and held him the way he used to hold me when I skinned my knees. I would have said, "I love you dad and in many ways I am you. Your voice, your laugh, and your love will always be with me. If I could take your place, if I could take your illness from you, I would, but God hasn't answered that prayer. So, I will do everything I can to make you proud and live up to your expectations, both expressed and unexpressed. You are my role model and hero. Anything I become or am able to accomplish in this life, I owe to you. By no means were you a perfect father and by no means am I a perfect son; but for all your flaws and for all of mine, you are my best friend and a man of whom I am proud to be called son."

I Love You Dad

Bus Stop Tizzy

now that paul's in school during the week we are trying to make to most of our weekends. this time we were expanding our exploration via ferry. we decided on waiheke island. we weren't sure what we were going to do when we got there but all journeys begin with a single step so we stepped onto the ferry. it filled to max occupation and we started to skim across the water. thirty minutes later we arrived. everyone stood up and resembling a herd of cattle slowly made our way to the exit ramp. as we were inching along down the steps of the top deck i heard american accents behind me. i took a quick glance to see their faces and realized they were talking to the girl immediately on my left and by immediate i mean i could have sipped on the coffee cooler she was holding and she wouldn't have noticed. i looked at her. i'm almost embarrassed to say i knew who she was. none other than the quirky boutique cashier from disney's 'the suite life of zack and cody': miss ashley tisdale. in my defense i'll state that when you are babysitting and the kid is napping and you can't figure out how to explore the other 956 channels for fear of not being able to change it back you often have no other choice but to watch the disney channel. i'm not well versed in the ways of the popular and famous but i'm gonna guess that if some well-known person is on an obscure crowded ferry going to a obscure island with little to no fanfare they probably don't want to be recognized. i could be wrong but i'm thinking they would periodically get sick of being called out in a crowd. i know i would. i was more interested in making conversation merely because they were american and when you're scuttling along like farm animals with absolutely no personal space it sometimes makes it less awkward. sometimes? i turned to one of the guys that was with her and asked him where they were from. he happily responded, 'oh, california'. then he asked me the same question. i told him i was from denver, colorado but recently moved with my husband to auckland. he replied with a 'wow, that's cool' and tapped the girl on the arm saying 'hey, ashley, they're from denver, colorado.' she glanced up and replied with a less than enthusiastic, 'oh, huh'. i asked the guy if they were staying in auckland, he said they were, more specifically at the hyatt. i contemplated joking why they weren't increasing paris' inheritance by staying at the hilton but didn't think it would go over very well. at this point the two bigger guys pulling up the rear were starting to eye me in a bodyguard type protective fashion. so i dropped it by adding 'oh, that's cool'. the foot traffic started to pick up speed so i caught up with paul and we closed in on the exit. we left the ferry in search of adventure. we weren't sure how big the island was but we were pretty sure we didn't want to walk the entire thing. we headed to the rental area of all things on wheels. after discovering all renting options were well beyond what we intended to spend for the day we decided on braving the bus system. we purchased two all-day bus passes for $8 a piece. not bad. now, where to catch a bus. after getting some vague direction from the ticket man we stepped up to edge of the sidewalk. we still must have looked confused (possibly betrayed by the opened map in our hands) because a gentleman came up and asked if we needed help. he said the next bus would be along in 15 minutes but if we didn't want to wait, the next swim-able beach was only a 15 minute walk away. not wanting to waste any time on this beautiful day we decided to walk it. what started out as impatience to wait for a bus turned into an all day hike zig-zagging across the width and breadth of the entire island. we stopped for lunch, we stopped for a swim, we took pictures along the way but every time we stopped for a bus we would wait for what seemed an eternity, no matter how many others were waiting at a particular bus stop. by the end of the day we made it to the other end of the island and since daylight wasn't going to hold out for us we found the next closest bus stop and waited. we waited...and waited...and waited. others came and waited and went. some making conversation with us, some just standing with us but inevitably they would stick out a thumb for a free ride or a taxi ride or start walking. what kind of bus system was this?? we had yet to use our passes and were now determined to wait till a bus came even if that meant till the last supposedly scheduled bus at 11:30 that night. as the sun was sinking and all but a flicker of hope was gone, one screeched to a stop, nearly running us over. we bounced up the steps with excitement and proudly flashed our passes. what had taken us about 6 hours to walk took us about 20 minutes on the return. it was the first vehicle i had been in since arriving over a month ago and it felt like we were breaking the sound barrier. paul said, "my poor wife', giving me a condescending pat, 'you think we're flying when we're only on a bus." it truly is relative. we made it to the ferry landing just as another one was loading. at least the ferries stay on schedule. we found some seats, this time below deck and zoned out, amused at the irony of 'all-day' bus passes. it takes you all day just to catch one. we landed in auckland, exited and walked the five blocks home.

Mission: Follicle Lobber

in paul's effort to cut out barber costs (pun not intended) he wanted to get a hair trimmer. we decided to check out the warehouses supply. if you haven't heard about the warehouse, you now will. we believe its new zealand's version of, dare i say it, wal-mart. there are two locations within walking distance for us, one is four blocks west of us off queen street, the other is a couple miles away on broadway. the farther one is, of course, the better one: clean, neat, huge selection. the closer one is...well...crappy. their shelves are filled with product but the store resembles a forgotten carnival recently ransacked by prepubescent vikings and if you want to track down a sales representative practice first by trying to capture a bunny or a chicken in forest. they thoroughly train in evasive maneuvers. we had only one goal, find and buy a hair trimmer. paul had done some pre-op surveillance so he knew where the desired items were kept. not wanting to waste time we headed directly to the site. the shelf, like the rest, were ransacked and this time not only could we not find one for sale, the one that had been on display was missing, leaving its box and length adapters behind. we didn't like the idea but we knew we were going to have to ask for help. we zoomed in one red-shirt uniformed 'gary'. he caught our gaze and dashed. we followed him to the back-stock doors. you can run gary but you can't hide for long. he came back out and we had him surrounded, all two of us. he suddenly put on a polite customer service smile realizing his running was futile. we asked him if they had any more hair trimmers, in another place? maybe in back-stock?? he searched his obviously vast mental inventory for all of one second and answered with a definite 'no', he chuckled, motioning to the shelves, saying he was waiting for replenishment. as if his only job was to wait on quickly disappearing hair trimmers. we got the message that he now realized his store looked like crap too. ya think? we said thanks and he hurried off. we did another look-a-round. we had a feeling there were more. somewhere. as we were rounding the aisle a second time i looked up on the top shelf where they keep their overstock boxed items. i saw two boxes with the words 'hair trimmer kit' and 'item count: 8'. so up above us were supposedly 16 hair trimmer kits. now, how to get our hands on one. we surveyed for another red-shirt. they had scattered like cockroaches when the kitchen light comes on. we expanded our search. paul found a wheeled ladder 3 aisles down. that would be pretty bold and we weren't sure if we'd get away with that so we were left with one option: monkey style. climb the shelf. i climbed first. i reached the box but it was too heavy and i wouldn't be able to hold on and lower the box at the same time. paul's turn. his height was a severe advantage since he only needed to stand on the second shelf up to reach the top whereas i had to stand on the 4th to merely touch the box. he pulled the box down. another customer wandered into the aisle and ignored our shenanigans. apparently this was common procedure here. we opened the box. ahhhh! victory! we extracted one and made our way to the cashiers. we bought it and headed down the escalators for our champion exit. we high-fived each other and exchanged the words of one controversial borat, "great success!"

Excellent Marketing Tips

I caught the local NZ news this morning. A computer guy was on the set with them, showing them two new computers that his company had just recently developed and released, one being their response to the Mac Book Air and the other one was a Ferrari model of the Acer. I'm not quite sure what sort of response they were going for. The news-persons started to prompt answers for their seemingly necessary questions. It had the same size screen and was roughly the same in weight but that was where the similarities stopped. This bundle of half-witted technology was black, thicker in size, had slower processing and could be purchased for about double what it cost to purchase the 'Air'. I have a feeling they are definitely going to sell a lot of those! Watch out NZ Mac Market, you have got competition! The Ferrari model wasn't much better. They are only releasing 19 for the entire country and if you want to be a lucky Kiwi to own a one-in-nineteen version computer with a car logo on the lid you only have to pay $4,899.00. I'd have to agree with the news gal. It looked tacky. The computer spokesperson seemed like he didn't even like the product, or maybe that he didn't really know anything about them. I'm not sure what kind of presentation he was going for other than perhaps a mildly planned farce. That, or he was sacked by lunchtime. 'Cause after that i could tell you exactly how many they are going to sell. Zero. Nada. Zilch. Oooh, i just thought of something...maybe he works for Apple.

What comes down

Shortly after the flying banana incident a flesh-free orange peel was deposited on our door-step. This past weekend our apartment started to fill with essence of eu du cigarette. I looked out our front door and inches away was a smoking cylinder of death, its red embers flashing. A stiffer breeze and it would have been blown inside to work its magic on a hole in our carpet. Annoyed, i picked it up and dipped it in a nearby puddle. Listening as it sizzled. I tossed its soggy carcass a bit farther out into the courtyard, wanting to get as far away from it as possible. (you might be wondering at this point why we don't just shut our door to stop flying foreign objects from coming in. that would be a good idea except its the only way we have to let fresh air in, and here they don't have screens. anywhere. so if we are to let in fresh air, the door must be open, thus the possibility of other things coming in as well.)

Have the local seagulls picked up the nasty habit? i feared this incident had human velocity behind it.

Up above us the two towering apartment buildings were talking to each other. Building 3, sixth floor 2-bedroom apartment was a Canadian from Vancouver Island trying to get himself invited over to building 4, apartment 716 for drinks. He shares his apartment with his girlfriend and another guy and they have been here for a couple months and haven't had a chance to meet any friends. I only know this because he was telling them all this. Scratch that, yelling them all this. It was the patrons to a certain 716 that were flicking their unwanted cancer sticks down and to our doorstep and trying to gracefully evade the obvious invite. I thought about buzzing myself up and bringing them an ash tray as a welcoming gift and asking them to stop throwing their crap down. Paul said he'd only let me go up if they threw another one down.

I perched myself on our doorstep for the next two minutes, peering into the dark night until i was bleary-eyed and exhausted and paul suggested i give up my vigil and come to bed. Oh 716, one of these days i'll meet you. I'll meet you with an ash tray or the patch in my hand, it all depends on my mood, peeps, it all depends on my mood.

The race is on

Well, its not really a race, per say. maybe a journey? a trek? a hike? a tramp, if you will? Anyway...hubbub aside. Today is Paul's first day of school. Obviously not first day of school ever, if that were true he would be quite literate and intuitive for someone who had never any formal training. Its the first day of med school. I met up with Paul at Albert Park with some grub and to get his half-day report. So far classes are going smoothly. The older students are already congregating in the front of the classrooms and they almost need riot control police for masses of humanity breathing in and out of rooms to hallways to rooms during class switches. He's received 2 more study volumes from his professors is expecting another one this afternoon and packed out his mountainsmith day bag that he had to cave and get a backpack during a class break. Current weather is a high of 21C, wind of 6km/hr, partly cloudy and a forecast of 0% chance of rain by 4 o'clock.

Keeping you up to date and in the know this is Jessy Taylor reporting live from University of Auckland Central Campus. Back to you, Reader.