Heather & Rod's Amazing (& Not So Amazing) New Zealand Adventures

An airport is always a funny place to see all kinds of people. I was at the Hamilton Airport today for a meeting and while standing in the queue to order a coffee, I saw a man sitting at a cafe table donned in a French beret. The proper, real kind with the little tab on top that makes you want to pluck it right off his bald little head. But, that wasn’t all: he also had a very French-looking handlebar moustache with the ends twisted tightly and pointed up toward the sky (oui!). And, to top it all off, beside him sat his carry-on luggage that was, in fact, a shopping bag with the words ‘French market’ screen-printed on the side alongside images of various fruits. “Okay, this guy’s not for real,” I thought to myself. And, while I stood in line, I could tell others were thinking the same. But, after he sat there for a really long time leisurely reading a book and sipping his café au lait from a paper cup, the more I realised he was real - - - a REAL Kiwi trying to be REALLY French .... ah

This past August I was coming out of my typical ‘winter funk’ not having exercised much over the rainy season. So, I thought committing myself to run Hamilton’s 12 kilometre Bridge to Bridge fun run would be the trick to get myself in shape by training . . . . I had 3 months to do it. Easy. Last week, on Wednesday, it’s 4 days till race day and I’m wondering, ‘ if I ran the next 3 days, could I possibly get in shape for a 12k run?’ Nope - - so, I downgrade my expectations, ‘ I’ll just run the alternate 6k race, thanks .’ Piece of cake. Is it also too late to train for 6k? Thursday comes, ‘I should really go for a run and see if I can do it...’ Friday rolls around, ‘Run? Hmmm.... kinda rainy...’ Now it’s Friday night and I discuss my dilemma with a friend . . . do I run tomorrow (one day before the race) to see if I can actually run the whole distance, or do I just wing it on Sunday? The risk is I may be too sore on Sunday if I run Saturday after so many months of being such

After my last blog post, ‘I’m Living With Killers’ . . . .what’s the worst thing that could happen after Rod skips town for Las Vegas. UGH!!!! I get home from working out, step in the hallway and feathers everywhere. I wander, carefully, into the living room and there is Mitzer, lying on the carpet in the sun like a drunken misfit. He lifts his head slightly as if to say, ‘did ya want something?’ I keep looking for the bird . . . . until I retrace my steps back around to the hallway and here it is hovering in the corner by the garage door – I nearly squished it when I came in the house. It’s breathing heavily but looks scared stiff. As much as I really don’t think of myself as a ‘girly girl’ something about birds just freaks me out. So, there’s no way I can pick up the thing. I’m kind of whimpering to myself and cursing the cat as I walk around the house saying out loud, ‘what am I going to do?!’ Trying all the while not to have a full blown panic attack. I know! I’ll call our

It’s a relaxing Tuesday evening . . . . Rod has just cooked me dinner (as per usual, I’m so spoiled). As we settle ourselves down with our plates and a nice wine, all of a sudden, our cat Mitzer bowls through the cat door and all I can hear is a loud, urgent ‘peep, peep’ of some small animal! I scream, “Rod, it’s yours!” and I proceed to the highest point in the room. I am now standing on top of the chair in our lounge, half-eaten chicken breast forgotten in my mouth as I scream for Rod to ‘get it.’ Whatever ‘it’ is. You have to understand, I am a bit of a wimp when it comes to furry creatures brought home by the cats. Rod never lets me forget the morning I woke up and stepped on a large black thing in the hallway, ran screaming into the toilet AS HE WAS DOING HIS BUSINESS mind you . . . . in a hysterical mess screaming and crying that there was a rat in the hallway. After Rod zips up quickly in order to rescue me from this horrible beast, he saunters back from the hallway to the

What a crazy week it's been in the Southern Hemisphere - tsunamis in Samoa, an earthquake that killed more people than the tsunami did in Indonesia, aftershocks in both countries and then an earthquake in Peru. Not to mention the hurricane in the Philippines last week that has left thousands and thousands homeless and killed hundreds. I think the earth is angry! Growing up in rural Pennsylvania there really weren't too many natural disasters that could harm you. The occasional heatwave . . . okay, get into the air conditioning. A flood - yes, there were a few of those that were quite major. Drought - - yeah, not the best of natural disasters when your family operates a Christmas Tree farm. Living in New Zealand this week, however, has brought a whole new reality to what natural disasters can really be like. The day after we came home from our beach house in Matarangi following a long weekend, our friends went up to stay for the school holidays. That morning, Rod and I were

What a sad week for us ‘children of the 70s.’ The death of Farrah Fawcett, Ed McMahon and now Michael Jackson . . . . my brain is on overload with so many memories associated with all three. Firstly, how many of my girlfriends had the Farrah ‘do?’ ALL of us had it at one time or another. Man, I had my curling iron heated up morning, noon and night trying to practice how to get that flick around the face just right. All I wanted was to grow up to be a pretty and cool as Farrah! What little girl didn’t? Most of my memories of Ed McMahon are of me hiding behind a corner or on the steps listening to my parents watch late night TV. When I heard ‘Here’s Johnny’ I knew it was really late and I was being quite naughty being out of bed! But, I’m most sad about the death of Michael! His music is associated with a lot of ‘firsts’ for me . . . . his Billy Jean album was the first album I ever bought with my own money. I can remember he had a sparkly silver outfit on the front. I’d play it for hour

Well, my friends, I am getting older. Yes, as you know, I’m 40 now (I was going to say I’m in my 41st year, but that just sounds way too old!). And, in NZ, that means it’s time for your first mammogram. Prior to the Big Squeeze on Thursday, I had no prior knowledge of what it’s like to have a mammogram except for some documentary I saw once on 60 Minutes. I can’t even remember what the subject was, but I DO remember some woman’s really ugly, vein-striped boobs squeezed like a wet sponge by that horrible machine. This was 10+ years ago, but fresh enough in my mind to cause boob-squeeze anxiety, nonetheless. Although I had trepidation, I figured this is kinda like jumpin’ off the high dive (bad analogy as I stood there for 20 mins but ended up climbing back down the ladder). Anyway, I knew I had to just do it – and not think about it. So, I made my appointment for 3 weeks hence. Then, I just had to wait . . . . and think . . . . about my boobs squeezing in that contraption that beg

A key life lesson we all learn early on during childhood is to use the ‘buddy system’ during risky situations. I’m sure you can all think of times when you’ve had to call on a buddy and put the ‘system’ into action. Swimming is a good one that comes to mind. I was snorkeling on the Great Barrier Reef eight years ago . . . . there were sharks and nasty looking fish and the risk of sea snakes, not to mention rough waves hitting me in the face as I tried to clear my airway. The risk of me drowning was rather high. So, the dive master made me stick with a buddy. Smart thinkin’. . . Tramping ( hiking, you Americans ) is another instance where the buddy system is a good move. When you’re lost in the dark bush ( woods, my US buddies ) on a cold winter night, you’ll be wishin’ you had a buddy just about then. Women attending University frat parties. . . . Yes, I can still remember the days, friends . . . . . . it is certainly advisable for all young women to use the buddy system under th