You May Say I'm a Dreamer

See ya later Wairarapa, it's been grand

2012-02-04T17:47:00.000-08:00

On Saturday I said goodbye to a life in the Wairarapa I never expected to have but now cannot imagine my life without, and although I'm back to the suburban/city life I grew up in and belong in, living in the country is something I never expected to like but will never forget.
So I'm saying goodbye the best way I know how - by writing about it.

These are my Top 10 Wairarapa Moments:

1. The house that has no love

There's something about a big abandoned house that makes any creative dizzy with dreams, and the house on the hill just out of Carterton is enough to make any of them insane with an overload of ideas. It's like a blank canvas, where anything is possible; it's like that old saying, "one man's trash is another man's treasure" and seeing this beauty wasting away is simply heartbreaking.

2. Bright lights, “big city”

I've been pretty lucky to have had a great flatmate for the last year - a flatmate I've cooked with, gone to the movies with, shared my problems/stories with and whose problems/stories I have listened to - and one of my favourite memories is a very early one: a trip around the flash... and not-so-flash (ie. tacky) Christmas lights of Masterton, which ended with disappointing unmixed McFlurry's which did little to dampen the childlike excitement of the night.

3. That day it snowed

We all remember that beautiful, beautiful day when the whole country turned white for the first time in 50 years. I could think of no better - if a little dangerous - job to be doing at the time than journalism. With gumboots on and as many layers of thick clothing I could handle, my day was spent chasing photographic gems: children making snowmen, rows of rural letterboxes covered in an icing of snow, long country roads indented with the swirling marks of slow-moving tyres, sheep foraging under the snow for food, and pukeko trudging through the white stuff with no idea what's going on.

4. Up in the air

I did think twice about adding this to the list, considering the devastating hot air balloon crash that killed 11 people on January 7th in Carterton. But, in March last year, hot air balloons were still magical and it was one of the most important items on my bucket list that I got to tick off for free, so although it is not something I would ever do again following the crash, I'm glad I did do it because I'm never going to forget how it felt to rise up into the air at the same time as the sun early in the morning with 22 other balloons surrounding me and spending two hours breathing in the fresh air and seeing the world like I had never seen it before.

5. The best New Year's Eve ever

You know you have an amazing group of friends when they leave the bright lights of the capital city to drive over the Rimutaka Hill and spend New Year's Eve with you in lil' ol' M-Tron. Up until the very last minute, I think the whole of New Zealand was hoping the weather gods would change their minds and give us a sunny New Year, but that didn't happen and I'm glad it didn't because if we had better weather, we would have found something to do in Wellington and never would have ended up getting drunk at my flat, attempting to "shuffle" and dancing to old Beatles records to bring in what is set to be the best year yet, 2012!

6. Family time

I don't ask for a lot. I don't ask for people to go out of their way for me. But they so often do and it warms my heart each and every time. When I moved to the Wairarapa, I didn't expect people to go out of their way to visit me because I had made the decision to move away, so I should visit them. But two of my favourite recent family memories are my whole family coming to visit me - once for mum's birthday when we went out for dinner in Masterton, and once earlier this year when we had one of our favourite family dinners: fish and chips in the park. After packing ourselves full of beautiful deep-fried fish and good kiwi chip butties, we wasted no time and comandeered the flying fox, all of us taking at least two turns - some of us stupid ones going backwards or attempting to stand up - and then tackling the swing bridge, swings and jungle gym. Mature I know.

7. Celebrate good times

Thsi year isn't just a new beginning for me; it's also the start of a new career for my flatmate who started her first teaching job this year. To celebrate both our new jobs and to say goodbye, we went to Martinborough, home of the famous Martinborough Fair, beautiful wineries and gorgeous country restaurants - by far my favourite Wairarapa town. During such an unpredictable summer where it can be raining and freezing one day and too hot to function the next, we were incredibly lucky to have the perfect weather for the perfect night. The sky was blue and there was not a breath of wind or a drop of rain, and we enjoyed a beautiful meal at Cool Change, a new restaurant which is totally awesome and I think you should go there, followed by the most delicious gelato I've ever tasted (except for Kaffee Eis in Wellington) at It's Quite Cool.

8. An introduction to farm life

Of all the people the Wairarapa Times-Age could have chosen to be Rural Reporter, they chose the girl who grew up in the suburbs and had spent some years working in the city. Needless to say, I had no idea what I was doing, but I was willing to try. One of my favourite rural reporting memories was one of my first, when I went to a farm to talk to a farmer about a bridge over the Ruamahunga River that would stop cattle polluting the river. But to get there, I had to sit on the back of a quad bike in my dress and flimsy ballet flats, get trampled on and licked by dirty working dogs, and hang on for dear life while the farmer drove for miles across his land to get to the bridge. But despite the culture shock, I felt exhilirated at the end of it; ruined shoes, dirty dress and messed up hair notwithstanding.

9. Hello Mr Chicken
In my first few weeks as a Masterton resident, my partner and I went for a walk to the supermarket along a seemingly suburban road, and, to our surprise, were joined by a chicken. Sure, to people who had lived in Masterton for awhile that would have been nothing out of the ordinary, but to us it was hilarious. But, after living here for a year, I've discovered sharing the road with animals is a regular occurrence, from sheep, to cattle, to dogs on motorbikes. Which brings me to my next memory...

10. Man's best friend
Country roads are anything but long and boring. If the fresh air and feeling of complete and utter freedom is not enough, you should have been on Te Ore Ore Road on the one day I did not have my camera with me. So I'm driving along, and suddenly I look to my right and there on a farm motorbike is a man - most probably a farmer - slowly driving along the side of the road with a big brown dog, about as big as a retriever, sitting infront of him, tongue hanging loose, both man and dog sporting that classic country "what road rules" attitude.

To sum it up, I would not change a thing about the last 18 months. It hasn't all been smooth sailing, but everything that has happened has been a learning experience and I feel like I'm going back to Wellington a new person; a whole person with her eyes wide open to the world.

The Girl in Times Square review

2012-01-25T14:56:00.000-08:00

This was a good book, although not quite good enough to be in my top ten. It has all the trademarks of a favourite Sarah book: It’s set in New York City, the main character is an artist, there’s tragedy and death, and there’s a love story. But I almost forgot to write this review – I’ve read a whole other book since finishing this one, and I think a true sign of a good book is one that you continue to think about long after you’ve turned the last page, which was not the case here.

While this one was good, it didn’t blow my mind. And while I was glued to it in the last couple of chapters, part of me just wanted to finish the damn thing.

The characters were good, the drama was good, the setting was good, but in the end I felt a bit let down – it was an ending that made the whole book seem like it didn’t have much point, and a hell of a lot happened.

It’s quite hard to explain my feelings about this book without ruining the ending for those of you who want to read it, and if you do want to read it, don’t let me put you off – this is just one person’s opinion; it just wasn’t really for me.
I love Paullina Simons' books, but often they leave me with an empty feeling at the end – except for her Tatiana and Alexander series, that blew my mind.
But Tatiana and Alexander’s story was a lot different to her other books and it makes me think maybe she’s just better at writing the intense, heart-breaking love story set in the midst of history rather than modern thrillers with a bit of romance thrown in.

*Above picture: "Kissing the War Goodbye" by Alfred Eisenstaedt

A touch of magic

2012-01-21T20:06:00.000-08:00

On Saturday I went for a drive to take photos of some beautiful houses I had seen around the place, and, as it usually happens, I ended up on a completely different road than I expected - right in the depths of Gladstone - where I found a tree full of fairies. So here is a little touch of magic to brighten up your day.

Abuzz

2012-01-18T22:26:00.000-08:00

On Friday, December 30, the hills were alive with the flowering of manuka and Times-Age chief reporter Don Farmer came into work and asked me to do a story on the manuka crops and the benefits it would have for beekeepers.

"Call Joe Sweeney," he said, and two and a half hours later I had on a full beekeepers suit complete with thick gloves that made it nearly impossible to work my camera, and my flatmate's blue floral gumboots.

In my 19 months as a reporter, I have donned big white gumboots and a hair net for a tour of the Premier Bacon factory with former Governor General Anand Satyanand, a wetsuit and lifejacket for a tour of the Ruamahunga River with Green Party co-leader Russell Norman, and a massive pair of gloves to hold up the 2011 Melbourne Cup when it visited Greytown to celebrate the town's 1954 winning racehorse Rising Fast - all of which have photographic proof hidden in Times-Age photographer Lynda Feringa's "Blackmail Folder". So this was nothing unusual.

It was raining when I went to see Joe's hive, the worst type of day to open up a hive, as bees are not fans of the rain and don't do alot when it's wet or cold. But, to Joe's surprise, the muggy heat meant the bees were particularly well behaved and had built up a substantial amount of honey, more than expected.

Before putting on the suit, he showed me the hive without opening it and said "if you're game, we can suit up and I'll open the hive for you", so in the spirit of trying new things, I didn't hesitate and ended up feeling quite at home in the big white suit.

You would think it would be kind of scary standing in amongst a swarm of bees when your mum is allergic and you've never been stung so you don't know if you're the same, but from the get go, I told myself "you're in a beekeeping suit, they can't sting you" and stood still, respecting their territory and their work.

I've never been much of a honey eater, not because I don't like it, but because as kids my brother and sister and I were offered vegemite, jam or peanut butter for our sandwiches and the honey was for the adults.

When Joe scooped up a little blob of honey for me to try, the risk of opening up a couple of buttons on my bee-tight suit was totally worth it to taste the smooth, sweet golden goodness of manuka honey. I'm now a honey eater.

Joe has invited me back on a sunnier day to teach me to ropes of beekeeping and, in the spirit of the new year, a time when you promise yourself you are going to "be more adventurous" and "try new things", I agreed, so stay tuned for the next installment of my beekeeping lessons.

Journalist vs. Human Being

2012-01-08T20:10:00.000-08:00

After working as a journalist for 19 months, I went to my first ever press conference on Sunday. I know, shocking right? Well, that’s because nothing major ever happens in the Wairarapa.
But that all changed when a hot air balloon caught a power line which sent the basket up in flames and plummeting to the earth, killing all 11 on board on Saturday morning.
Before I go on, let it be known that I am not writing this to get for sympathy for my poor journalist soul. I am writing this to get my thoughts out of my head so I can sleep tonight, which is one of the purposes of my blog, and I’m sure some of you might like to know what it’s like to cover the worst aviation disaster in New Zealand since Erebus. Pressure much?!
While journalists from my work who were in the Wairarapa were woken up by our chief reporter minutes after it happened, I was guiltily having a sleep in at my parents house in Lower Hutt and didn’t know about it until three hours later when my partner woke me up with a text message telling me the news.
I raced upstairs to get online and find out the full story and the first thought that went through my head was that of a journalist: “We have a lead story for Monday’s paper”.
I was already rostered on to work on Sunday, and I imagined that my editor would come in and me and another reporter would work on the story together.
But as the day wore on and the radio reports started naming people and the television reports began calling it the worst aviation disaster since the Erebus crash in 1979, in which all 237 passengers and 20 crew on board were killed, I had an inkling that it would be slightly more major than I thought.
It was not until I drove back to the Wairarapa on Sunday morning that it started to sink in both professionally and personally.
It has taken a good year for it to happen, but I finally feel like Wairarapa is home, and even when I leave, it will still feel like home. So having something like this happen in my home, to people I’ve met, is not an easy thing to deal with.
It’s a bit of a moral dilemma being both a journalist and a human being, and this isn’t the first time I have felt like I have too much compassion, too much of a conscience for this job.
On the one hand, you feel your heart breaking for the families who have lost someone they love and for your community, but on the other hand, you have to try and feel happy about the fact that you are writing about an historic event that will remembered for years and years to come – people will have your newspaper tucked away in a memorabilia box; people will have your articles glued in a scrapbook. Events like this make a journalist’s career.
I went to the Carterton Events Centre today to interview a reverend who I adore and who I had tea and scones with just weeks ago, and seeing the One News crew loitering outside with their video cameras set up, looking bored and unaffected while I waltzed in and could count about six people I knew who were visibly upset, really brought it home to me and made me feel like I’m truly a Wairarapa resident.
I told the reverend that I couldn’t sleep on Saturday night knowing what was waiting for me at work on Sunday, and she said that even people who did not know anybody on the balloon were being deeply affected, but their grief had nowhere to go.
So she encouraged me to sign the condolence book, and when I did, I felt my heart lighten just slightly, but still fought back tears as I power-walked back to my car where I sat and just breathed.

Year in Review

2011-12-27T18:14:00.000-08:00

Well, the year 2011 is coming to a close and we're all gearing up for the new one - making plans, shrugging off negative vibes from 2011, and generally looking forward to all that 2012 has to offer. For me, it's been pretty hectic, but fun all the same, with a lot of good things balanced out with a couple of bad things. But today as I look back over the year, I'm focussing on the good, so here are my 2011 highlights:

That day it snowed in every corner of New Zealand - a once in 50 years event

Celebrating my dad's 50th birthday rugby-style

Celebrating my little brother growing up and turning 21

A visit from one of my good American friends I met at Camp Livingston three and a half years ago

Watching the All Blacks win the world cup!!!

Ticking off the Bucket List

2011-12-27T17:54:00.000-08:00

I have a new page! It's called Bucket List and it contains, yep, you guessed it - my Bucket List! All 80 items of it...

Everyone should have a Bucket List. It gets you motivated to do things you've always wanted to do instead of sitting there watching TV and an advert comes on saying "when was the last time you were Fiji'd?" and you say, "Oh, I've always wanted to go to Fiji", but make no move to actually save for it.
So next year, since most of my list is travel stuff, which I'm saving for in 2012 so I'm a homebody for the year, I'm planning to cross off:

7. Learn to play guitar

38. Learn how to cook a roast

67. Get a New Zealand tattoo

72. See Kitty, Daisy and Lewis in concert

77. Learn to make pasta from scratch

80. Learn to make sorbet

Water for Elephants

2011-12-20T20:22:00.000-08:00

Basically, one of the best books I have ever read. And I've read a lot of books.

Jacob Jankowski is one exam away from a degree in veterinary science when his parents are killed in a car accident. With nothing left for him, his life is thrown into turmoil and while moping along the railway tracks trying to escape his life; he makes a split-second decision that will change his life forever. He stows away on a train carrying Benzini Brother's Most Spectacular Show on Earth, where he meets Marlena, a beautiful circus performer, and Rosie, a misunderstood elephant.

This book has everything you could want from a book. It has a quirky old man, a magical circus, corruption, beatings, illness, death, mystery, crazy people, a stampede, and, of course a love story. But it isn't any old love story - it doesn't overwhelm the story and leaves room for the other, minor, unconventional love stories to shine through.

The prologue is enough to have you sitting on the edge of your seat - unlike a lot of books that take awhile to lift off.

Now the movie. I was a little bit nervous about watching the movie after I picked it up at the DVD store and all it had on the back was a blurb about the love story between Jacob and Marlena. I packed a bit of a tantrum in the store - "That's not all it's about! What about Rosie?! What about crazy August?! What about old man Jacob?!" But my sister assured me it did not focus solely on the love story and so I rented it and breathed a sigh of relief when it began with old man Jacob.

The movie did not follow the story exactly and even cut a few characters, but it worked. It totally worked.

I was also worried about not being able to get past Robert Pattinson as vampire Edward Cullen, but he surprised me. He is so much more than Edward Cullen, and I hope that role doesn't stick to him because he's actually a pretty great actor and really became what I imagined Jacob to be in the book.

Rating:

Rest in Peace Natalie Murphy

2011-12-19T20:36:00.000-08:00

Some of you may have followed Natalie Murphy’s story, some of you may never have heard of her. Natalie Murphy was a 35-year-old mother of a gorgeous little boy named Jackson and wife to her soul mate, Greg, and was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2009, after she found a lump the day before she gave birth. She was given two to five years and sadly passed away yesterday.
I never knew her, but when her story appeared on Stuff.co.nz, I spent a whole day flicking to her blog and reading her whole story in my spare time, and was devastated when I heard this morning that she had passed away.
She had expected to live at least until New Years Day, when she was going to renew her vows with her husband of nearly ten years, but she didn’t make it.
When I heard her story, I was so moved I sent her a personal email about how she had touched my life along with that of probably thousands of other New Zealand women.
Breast cancer is so common, everybody knows somebody who has suffered from it. My aunty was diagnosed at the age of 36, and until I read Natalie’s story, I had not actually realized just how young she was. Thankfully she survived and has never had a relapse, but the thought of having it in my genes is never far from my mind.
I know that Natalie has helped saved so many lives by publicizing her story and I hope doctors clinics and hospitals will be inundated with women under the age of forty wanting mammograms, and I hope those women don’t back down in the face of the health system. Natalie was mucked around for months before she got a proper consultation after her midwife told her the lump could have just been her milk coming in. It may not have saved her if she had been seen to earlier, but we all know cancer spreads fast, so maybe she could have been saved.
After months of anger, Natalie accepted her fate and decided to embrace life and enjoy the time she had left with her husband and her little boy. By doing this, she was an inspiration to so many of us who often take life for granted. Her courage was unbelievable, especially when she said she was “the luckiest woman in the world” while facing breast cancer.
Following a story such as this really makes you take a look at yourself and think, “What would people say about me if I died? Have I truly squeezed every last drop out of my life?”
Not only does it make you look at yourself, but it also makes you look at the things around you. What matters more, your flat screen TV or your mum? Your car or your dad? Your wardrobe full of clothes or your sister? Your Nike shoes or your brother? Your computer or your soul mate? Your brand new couch or your best friends?
I for one would trade a lifetime of TV for my mum’s health, I would walk everywhere if it ensured I would have my dad around to watch his grandkids and great-grandkids grow up, I would wear rags just to hear my sister laugh, I would run in bare feet for a hug from my brother, I would write letters and visit libraries to grow old with my soul mate, I would sit on the floor for a night out with my best friends.

This is the email she wrote me, this is the kind of person she was – she probably received hundreds of messages and had a toddler and her health to take care of, but she took the time to reply to my email, which I wasn’t expecting. Rest in Peace Natalie.

Sarah, what an awesome email and a truly lovely response to my story. It has touched me and warmed my heart to know I have affected your life in such a positive way – you are right, this is the only gift I am really looking for. So thank you for writing, for listening, for learning, for wanting to be the best person you can be. You are a shining light honey so make sure others see your light too – never hold back.
All my love
Nat
Xxxx

Please respect my vote

2011-11-27T20:25:00.000-08:00

Down here in New Zealand, it is easy for our people to take things way out of perspective, being so far away from the rest of the world. This year’s general election took on a whole new dimension with the advent of sites like Facebook and the increasing number of people who find their voice online, and while that can be good, there was, and still is, a surprising amount of anger gracing my newsfeed the day after the election.

With the anger has also come disrespect, which has been keeping me awake at night.

It’s like religion. In my family, my parents, my siblings and I are all baptized but the only ones of us who go to church are me, my dad, and my sister, and it’s only once a year – on Christmas Eve. My great-grandfather was a minister and my grandparents were all highly religious. So although we don’t practice religion, we respected their beliefs, and still do although none of them are around to practice them anymore.

I hate when people from different religions come to my door or hand me flyers or preach at me in the streets to try and lure me into their way of life. The way I see it, I have my beliefs and I respect yours, but don’t push your beliefs on me because I won’t push mine on you. I live my life the way I want.

The same goes for election time, and the only difference is that the door knocking, flyers and preaching is replaced with cowardly, faceless comments on Facebook.

I voted National.

National won the election.

Why? Because 48% of New Zealand voted for them, as opposed to the 27% who voted for Labour.

I don’t feel the need to justify my vote, but I did think it through, despite those Labour supporters who think not one National voter thought about their vote and just voted for them because John Key is a good kiwi bloke. We had our reasons just like you had your reasons.

And most of us are smart people, despite those Labour supporters calling us F***ing idiots for not having the same opinion as them. We’re not calling you names because you voted for the weakest party of the two.

So, voters, feel free to talk about your political beliefs on Facebook, but have some respect for your fellow kiwis.

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society

2011-11-20T18:43:00.000-08:00

This book was recommended to me by one of my good friends Jamie, who I met at Camp Livingston while working there as an Arts and Crafts Director three and a half years ago (can’t believe it’s been that long!). Being as in-love with books as I am, she wrote me a three-page list of books I should read, and that’s how I heard about The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society.

I didn’t like it at first. I knew that the whole thing was written in letters, but I was kind of hoping there would be some break in between letters – but there weren’t, and after a while, I started to love it. Once I got used to the letters, I found myself very impressed and slightly amazed that the author managed to create such deep, whole characters from letters and make me fall in love with them all.

I challenge anyone to read this book and not want to meet Dawsey, Isola, Amelia, Eben and the rest, and be a part of The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society, book lover or not.

There’s not much else to be said about The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society, other than – READ IT – and now I plan to visit Guernsey on my Big OE, simply because it's a beautiful place both on paper and Google, and, of course, for it's history.

Synopsis from Good Reads:

“ I wonder how the book got to Guernsey? Perhaps there is some sort of secret homing instinct in books that brings them to their perfect readers.” January 1946: London is emerging from the shadow of the Second World War, and writer Juliet Ashton is looking for her next book subject. Who could imagine that she would find it in a letter from a man she’s never met, a native of the island of Guernsey, who has come across her name written inside a book by Charles Lamb?
As Juliet and her new correspondent exchange letters, Juliet is drawn into the world of this man and his friends—and what a wonderfully eccentric world it is. The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society—born as a spur-of-the-moment alibi when its members were discovered breaking curfew by the Germans occupying their island—boasts a charming, funny, deeply human cast of characters, from pig farmers to phrenologists.

Juliet begins a remarkable correspondence with the society’s members, learning about their island, their taste in books, and the impact the recent German occupation has had on their lives. Captivated by their stories, she sets sail for Guernsey, and what she finds will change her forever.

Written with warmth and humor as a series of letters, this novel is a celebration of the written word in all its guises, and of finding connection in the most surprising ways.

Dreaming of...... Guernsey

2011-11-17T15:53:00.000-08:00

So I've almost finished reading The Guernsey Potato Peel and Literary Society - highly recommend it - and I have fallen in love with Guernsey just as Juliet Ashton did.
This may sound funny to some of you Northern Hemisphereians, but before reading this book, I had never heard of Guernsey - and it's always a great feeling when you find out a place you read about in a fiction novel actually exists.
Now that I have Googled Guernsey extensively, it's officially been put on the Big OE list. I think part of my Big OE with my partner will have to include going on a wild goose chase around the places I have read about in books, such as Culloden, which features in Diana Gabaldon's Outlander series and is apparently quite a moving place.

So before I post my review of The Guernsey Literacy and Potato Peel Society, I thought I would share some beautiful images of this beautiful place that I found on my Googling expedition.

The green thing

2011-11-14T19:02:00.000-08:00

This was sent to me by my friend Murray Clarkson, who does an amazing job of managing the Featherston Community Centre, and it really struck me and made me think, so I thought I would share it and maybe it will make you think too...

In the line at the supermarket, the cashier told an older woman that she should bring her own grocery bags because plastic bags weren't good for the environment.

The woman apologized to him and explained, "We didn't have the green thing back in my day."

The cashier responded, "That's our problem today. Your generation did not care enough to save our environment."

He was right - our generation didn't have the green thing in its day.

Back then, we returned milk bottles, pop bottles and beer bottles to the shop. The shop sent them back to the plant to be washed and sterilized and refilled, so it could use the same bottles over and over. So they really were recycled.

But we didn't have the green thing back in our day.

We walked up stairs, because we didn't have an escalator in every store and office building. We walked to the supermarket and didn't climb into a 300-horsepower machine every time we had to go half a mile.

But she was right. We didn't have the green thing in our day.

Back then, we washed the baby's nappies because we didn't have the throw-away kind. We dried clothes on a line, not in an energy gobbling machine burning up 220 volts - wind and solar power really did dry the clothes. Kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or sisters, not always brand-new clothing.

But that old lady is right; we didn't have the green thing back in our day.

Back then, we had one TV, or radio, in the house - not a TV in every room. And the TV had a small screen the size of a handkerchief (remember them?), not a screen the size of Wales .

In the kitchen, we blended and stirred by hand because we didn't have electric machines to do everything for us.

When we packaged a fragile item to send in the mail, we used a wadded up old newspaper to cushion it, not Styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap.

Back then, we didn't fire up an engine and burn petrol just to cut the lawn. We used a push mower that ran on human power. We exercised by working so we didn't need to go to a health club to run on treadmills that operate on electricity.

But she's right; we didn't have the green thing back then.
We drank from a tap when we were thirsty instead of a plastic bottle every time we had a drink of water.
We refilled writing pens with ink instead of buying a new pen, and we replaced the razor blades in a razor instead of throwing away the whole razor just because the blade got dull.

But we didn't have the green thing back then.

Back then, people took the bus and kids rode their bikes to school or walked instead of turning their mums into a 24-hour taxi service.
We had one electrical outlet in a room, not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances. And we didn't need a computerized gadget to receive a signal beamed from satellites 2,000 miles out in space in order to find the nearest pizza joint.

But isn't it sad the current generation laments how wasteful we old folks were just because we didn't have the green thing back then?

A blues convert

2011-11-07T15:17:00.000-08:00

Way back when, blues music conjured up images of smokey underground bars, entrancing African-American voices that sounded like warm honey, and suave men wearing tuxedos sporting swished-back hair getting lost in their saxophone.
These days, when you hear the words “Cross Creek Blues Club”, the word “club” is enough to make you see wizened old men whose music dreams failed and who get a group of like-minded old men together to share their woes and their bad blues music.
After joining my friend Tory, a Cross Creek Blues Club fan, at the Tin Hut in Featherston on Wednesday night, my visions were proved very, very wrong.
Sure, the club captain was a wizened old man, but he was sweet. And sure, there were a couple of middle-aged men up on stage and in the audience, but they had style. There were definitely no stereotypes in that place – every person seemed worlds away from each other in terms of personality, but were brought together by a love of blues music.
I have worked at the Wairarapa Times-Age for nearly a year now, and have written many articles on who is set to be playing at the blues club each month, but I have never actually been, or met any of the members. So when Tory asked me to go, I though, why not? I’d had a busy week and needed a glass of wine and a catch up with my fellow journalism school survivor, and the music might be okay.
Well, I arrived, got myself an $8 glass of wine (seriously, in Featherston?!) and sat down with Tory. Then began the people watching. In front of me sat a boy of about twelve, there with his parents. Across the room were a few young guys, maybe in their mid to late twenties. Behind me were a few young couples with a great sense of style and warm smiles, something I see seldom in Masterton but often in places like Featherston and Greytown.
At the bar stood a small woman with a cute black pixie cut who looked like she has just flown over from Paris in her beautiful brown overcoat and red hat, standing by a young man who also looked like he was straight out of Paris.
So with my attention back to the conversation, which was generally sharing war stories of our time at the Wairarapa Times-Age and Whitireia Journalism School, the music played on in the background. It was quite good.
After a couple of people had played, two words pricked up my ears: Jimi Hendrix, and as I do most times I hear that amateur bands are going to cover songs sung by music legends, I inconspicuously crossed my fingers and prayed this particular band wouldn’t murder a great song.
Well, this guy was so good that I almost fell asleep in my chair I was that relaxed. With some good sauvignon flowing through my veins, I closed my eyes and let the music flow through me. I’m now on the hunt for a Jimi Hendrix record.
Turns out the French-looking woman from the bar was featured singer Alda Rezende, and the young French-looking man was Lucien Johnson, a saxophone player, who plays in a band The Troubles, which was backing up Alda.
I’m not the best judge of nationalities it turns out – Alda was Brazilian. I may have been right about Lucien though, but I never actually heard him speak, I only heard his impressive saxophone playing.
For such a petite woman, the voice that came from little Alda was definitely unexpected. You wouldn’t expect to hear Brazilian music at a blues club, but somehow Alda’s deep, husky voice that sounded neither male nor female by the end, fitted in seamlessly with the eclectic mix of musicians there that night.
I will definitely be back next month, Cross Creek Blues Club; to listen to the musical stylings of Vinyl Bison I’ve heard so much about.

Photo by Mike Warman

Summer loving

2011-10-31T18:26:00.000-07:00

Okay, I know it's not officially summer yet, but it's November 1st, and while I'm writing this it's 20 degrees (celcius) outside, so I think it's time to really start looking forward to sunny weather, especially since summer seems so long ago with the terribly cold winter we've had. So, this summer, I'm looking forward to:

♥ eating gelato ♥ exploring new places in the Wairarapa like Herbertville Beach and Gladstone ♥ christmas ♥ celebrating new years at Castlepoint Beach ♥ camping ♥ roadtrips ♥ writing poems ♥ getting my camera back up and running ♥ experimenting with my new vintage Agfa camera ♥ concerts ♥ planting a herb garden ♥ reading books in the sunshine ♥ swimming in the ocean ♥ jumping off the Eastbourne wharf into the ocean ♥ woodfire pizza on the beach ♥ bike rides ♥ summer dresses ♥ barbeques with friends and family ♥ roasting marshmallows ♥ salads ♥ parties ♥ singing to summer tunes up loud in the car with the boyfriend, not caring who's listening ♥ walking around in bare feet ♥ inventing fruit smoothie flavours ♥ chillin' at the Waitarere Beach bach with the family

What are you looking forward to this summer?

A perfect summer day is when the sun is shining, the breeze is blowing, the birds are singing, and the lawn mower is broken. ~James Dent

One Day soon I will read this beautiful book

2011-10-27T20:02:00.000-07:00

As if the movie version cover wasn't enough to make you want to read this book and watch the movie straight after, the story itself just screams romance and Nicholas Sparks. But this time it's not a Nicholas Sparks book - it's a David Nicholls book, an author I had never heard of until I spotted One Day on my regular visit to the bookstore and saw it was a bestseller that had been made into a movie.
Bestseller?! How did I not know about this?!
So I'm thinking I might finish up The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society quick-smart and ditch the pile of books I have to read so I can sink my teeth into this one and then watch the movie - which happens to star two of my favourite actors, Anne Hathaway and Jim Sturgess!

Synopsis from Good Reads:

Emma and Dexter meet for the first time on the night of their graduation. Tomorrow they must go their separate ways. So where will they be on this one day next year? And the year after that? And every year that follows? Twenty years, two people, ONE DAY. From the author of the massive bestseller STARTER FOR TEN.

Rockin' a new hairstyle

2011-10-26T20:27:00.000-07:00

I'm always changing my hair. I like a bit of variety, and every time I get a haircut (unless it's an awful one), it feels like a breath of fresh air, a new start. It's truly amazing how much confidence a new hairstyle can give you, especially when it's a really daring one that you're nervous about and it turns out looking amazing.
This latest haircut is probably the shortest I've ever had, and although I worried at first about it not being the right fit for my face, I absolutely love it! It's the perfect haircut for summer, and I feel like I'm no longer hiding behind my hair like I have for so long since having bad acne as a teenager.
My only wish is for Mother Nature to turn the temperature up a bit and bring on summer so I can show it off!

New photos on Photography page

2011-10-26T19:25:00.000-07:00

I have added some new photos to my Photography page, hope you enjoy. I'm hoping to get my camera back up and running soon so watch this space for some photos of the stunning Wairarapa at it's best: in summer!

WEWONWEWONWEWON!!!

2011-10-24T16:05:00.000-07:00

It has been 24 years, and our boys in black have finally done it. After the most stressful game of rugby I think anyone has ever watched in their lives, the whole of New Zealand erupted in screams and cries as the final whistle blew and we were crowned world champions.

I was in the Fanzone in Wellington city with my partner, sister and a couple of friends amongst about 3,000 people. We got there two hours before the game started to secure a good spot at the front to watch it on the big screen, and nothing about that four hours we spent standing there was calm.

During the second half with just one point separating New Zealand and France, the only thing going through our minds was, “all the French need is a drop goal or a penalty and we’re history”.

I am not a religious person, but for about 20 minutes straight, I had my hands clasped together in front of my face in prayer, pleading for the boys to hold off the French until the final whistle.

They did, and everybody screamed, cried, and flung their arms around each other for what seemed like hours, barely believing that we had actually won the Rugby World Cup for the first time since the tournament started in 1987.
Some may say, “it’s just a game”, but it’s really not, it’s so much more than a game. For starters, it’s New Zealand’s national game. I for one have been brought up in a rugby oriented household, and even those who were not rugby fans at the beginning of the tournament were screaming and crying on Sunday night.
It’s also about what it means to be a New Zealander. People around the world love us kiwis and know we love our rugby, and over the last seven weeks, we have proved that, for a little country of just 4.5 million people, we can put on one of the biggest international events in the world – and nail it.
I don’t think I’ve stopped smiling for the last two days and I feel immensely proud to be a New Zealander right now.
We have so much heart, so much courage, so much determination as a nation, and I think we have shown that not just through the Rugby World Cup, but also through everything our little country has been through in the last year.
First there was the Pike River Mine disaster, when 29 men were killed in an explosion. Then came the Canterbury earthquakes – September 4th, February 22nd, and June 13th, which destroyed our most beautiful city and killed 181 people. Now, of course, there’s the Rena, a cargo ship that hit a reef off the coast of Tauranga and is currently on the verge of breaking up after spilling tones of oil into the ocean and scattering containers along the coast.
But we have pulled through all that, and Sunday night’s win will remain in our minds for the rest of our lives. It is especially exciting for my generation – I was just a wee peanut in my mum’s belly the last time we own the cup – because we now have one of the greatest stories in New Zealand’s history to tell our children and grandchildren, just like our parents told us about the 1987 world cup.

Photos from Stuff.co.nz

The end of a journey through paradise

2011-10-19T18:56:00.000-07:00

Review
The Endless Forest
By Sara Donati

Well, the Bonner journey is officially over in terms of the physical books, but the story is something that will live with me for a long time.
Over the last seven-or-so years, I have followed Nathaniel and Elizabeth Bonner from Into the Wilderness to Lake in the Clouds, Dawn on a Distant Shore, Fire Along the Sky, Queen of Swords and, finally, The Endless Forest.
When I started reading the final book, I was totally confused. There seemed to be so many new characters and the story had skipped over a fair few years. Even halfway through I was still figuring it out and thought maybe I should go back and flick through the previous books. But, I persevered, and the story grew and changed and took on a life of its own.
Much like the rest of the books, The Endless Forest had a steady, balanced pace to it, something that was frustrating at first but, once you come to accept that that is the nature of the Bonner journey – the books are a story of their whole lives, not just a small part of it – you begin to enjoy it and always want to know what happens next and where everyone ends up.
Without giving anything away, the story ended just the way it should, and left the door open for the lives of the Bonner children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren to continue in the readers’ minds for years to come.
It’s like that feeling you get when you’re out of high school for a few years and you wonder what people you went to school with are up to these days. I almost want to look up Daniel, Lily, Gabriel and Birdie on Facebook. Lol. They feel like old friends and I’m certainly going to miss them.

Now reading: The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society by Mary Ann Schaffer and Annie Barrows.

A confidence boost from that perfect piece of clothing

2011-10-18T13:45:00.000-07:00

Confidence comes in many, sometimes surprising, forms. It may be a compliment, it may be a good hair day or a new hair cut. For me, it's usually a good skin day that does it, but on the weekend, I found that perfect piece of clothing that made me put my shoulders even further back, my chin up, and put heels on my feet.

It was just a little black blazer.

Isn't it amazing how, when you go to the mall with money in the bank and the intention of buying something you've wanted for awhile, you look in every single damn shop and you can't find it? Well, a few weeks ago, all I wanted was a short, three-quarter length sleeve black blazer. I looked in every shop in my price range and found one blazer that would have been perfect, except for the fact that it was made for the most out of proportion girl imaginable - let's just say size six waist and G-cup boobs. Yeah. Not going to happen.

So I went shopping again last weekend for some nice tops to wear to work in the summer, and again found nothing that suited me - everything was so baggy and floaty... no tops that flattered the figure, just ones to hide it. BUT, as I was at the end of my tether in Cotton On, a place I shop rarely because their clothes don't last very long, a little black blazer hidden at the back of the shop caught my eye. I picked up my size, not getting my hopes up at all, and took it to the changing room along with about five other failed tops. Slipped it over my shoulders, and VOILA! It was the most perfect fit of any piece of clothing I have ever tried on in my life! To make it even better, I went to pay for the $44.99 blazer and was charged $39.99!

It's one of those pieces of clothing that goes with pretty much everything and this $39.99 wonder has transformed my wardrobe, and my somewhat grouchy attitude towards the available fashion at the moment.

Have you experienced a fashion miracle lately?

How great are Mumford and Sons?!

2011-10-13T14:43:00.000-07:00

Every time I hear this music - I have the album, Mumford and Sons "Sigh No More", on both CD and vinyl - I just want to write, and write, and write. Pour my thoughts out of my head onto paper into beautiful words like these. One of my favourite winter nights this year was curling up by the fire listening to the record revolving on my new record player and reading the lyrics off the back of the cover. For me, it is so refreshing to know that beautiful, meaningful music like this still exists and is not 40 years old. Every one of them is still alive and young and touring the world with their magic.

As the winter winds litter London with lonely hearts

Oh the warmth in your eyes swept me into your arms

Was it love or fear of the cold that led us through the night?

For every kiss your beauty trumped my doubt

And my head told my heart

"Let love grow"

But my heart told my head

"This time no

This time no"

We'll be washed and buried one day my girl

And the time we were given will be left for the world

The flesh that lived and loved will be eaten by plague

So let the memories be good for those who stay

And my head told my heart

"Let love grow"

But my heart told my head

"This time no"

Yes, my heart told my head

"This time no

This time no"

Oh the shame that sent me off from the God that I once loved

Was the same that sent me into your arms

Oh and pestilence is won when you are lost and I am gone

And no hope, no hope will overcome

And if your strife strikes at your sleep

Remember spring swaps snow for leaves

You'll be happy and wholesome again

When the city clears and sun ascends

And my head told my heart

"Let love grow"

But my heart told my head

"This time no"

And my head told my heart

Let love grow"

But my heart told my head

"This time no

This time no"

From the burbs to the wops......pt2

2011-10-10T14:35:00.000-07:00

On Friday night my mum, sister and I donned high heels, dresses and our best jewellery, and headed into Wellington City to see the Broadway classic, 42nd Street. We parked and stepped out of Courtenay Central into the busy street and I instantly felt at home amongst the people and the cars and the buskers and the slightly polluted air.
The country is, as they say, a breath of fresh air, and I have come to love it. But, there's nothing quite like the salty breeze that whips you as you walk along the Wellington harbour; the sound of cars and buses and high heels speeding around the busy city (oh how I miss the sound of high heels that aren’t my own); the courageous fashion, odd couples, hole-in-the-wall cafe's that make the most amazing burgers (yes, Offbeat, I'm talking about you), and the vintage fashion as opposed to second hand "fashion".
Driving around the Wairarapa is also a different experience – for those people with no sense of direction, the Wairarapa is the place to be. Long, straight roads that you get to know in no time at all. Only problem is, if you go too far out into the country – like to, say, Alfredton, it’s the scariest feeling if you have got the wrong road because you can be driving for half an hour and not see another street to turn off into that lets you know where you are.
So, Wellingtonians, when you take a drive to work or to the town centre, what do you see? Houses, office buildings, shops, parks, sports fields, bus stops, schools, people.
What do I see? Sheep, sheep, sheep, ooh lambie cute! Cows, cows, cows, sheep, sheep, oh look, a person!... well, it’s a farmer… sheep, sheep, sheep, cows.
Okay, maybe I exaggerate a teeny bit. There are plenty of houses and schools and parks and stuff, but seriously, there are a lot of sheep. And cows. And farmers.
BUT, the thing I love about this place is just how natural it is. You drive past those farms and see the meat you buy for dinner. In summer time, stalls and shops full of fruit and vegetables straight from Wairarapa vines, trees and soil are everywhere. Schools grow their own vegetables, keep chickens, and have worm farms and greenhouses.
It’s also full of surprises. I know I may have led you astray with my “sheep, cows and farmers” comments, but rest assured, the Wairarapa is not all country and western. Little gems are hidden in nooks and crannies all over the place.
In Martinborough a new bar called Cool Change has just opened up, and if you’ve just got the Little River Band song in your head, that’s exactly what the owners Karina and Jimmy want. It’s all about good music, good beer, local wine, and kiwi food, all encased in the beautiful old post office building.
On the road to Mount Holdsworth you will find a little cabin with a wood fire oven, which churns out amazing pizzas on Friday nights, or so I’m told – I haven’t been there yet.
On the way to Stonehenge Aotearoa, just out of Carterton, a beautiful abandoned house sits atop a hill slowly falling to pieces.
On the way to Riversdale/Castlepoint, there is a small town called Tinui, which houses about 25 families and was the first place in the world to hold an Anzac Day service.
Way at the back of the Cobblestones Museum in Greytown sits a man named Tony King, who has a great passion for printing, and runs a working print shop equipped with vintage printing presses as a live exhibit at the museum, where buildings of Greytown’s past have been preserved.
Oh, and you must visit Schoc Chocolate in Greytown, which sits right next to the museum, and try a piece of kiwifruit and vodka chocolate.
So, the people of the Wairarapa may not wear high heels to work or to bars – or anywhere really, and Masterton’s town centre may be bereft of good clothing and music stores. The internet may suck, and there may be a lot of sheep and cows and farmers, but during my time here, I have met a lot of people who have escaped the “hustle and bustle” of the city and come over here to have a lifestyle, rather than a job.
It took me a long time to get used to the quiet of the country, but now I feel at home. Although, I still feel that hustle and bustle calling me back.

From the burbs to the wops......pt1

2011-10-09T20:30:00.000-07:00

It has nearly been a year since this suburban girl moved to a place where the roads are long, the air is fresh, houses get forgotten, and you occasionally find yourself sharing the road with cows, so I thought it was high time to tell the tale of my adventure.
As most of you know, I moved to the Wairarapa to work as a journalist at a daily newspaper after a six-month stint in the Hawke’s Bay (which, FYI, is overrated), where I moved to straight out of home.
For my job I talk to many different people, including kids with big dreams, and it makes me wonder what twelve-year-old Sarah would think of her life now.
In terms of a job, I think she would be pretty proud of herself and would have said “yeah, I could see myself doing that”. The lifestyle, however, would be a different story.
I only she could see it, she would say, “What?! What are you doing living in the middle of nowhere? Why aren’t you in New York City?!”
But life takes some strange turns, and lands you in places you don’t expect to go, or to like, but despite yourself, you change inside and surprise yourself.
The day I arrived in Masterton – or M-Tron as my brother likes to call it – I thought I was getting used to summer. The Hawke’s Bay sun was relentless, hotter than I was used to in my hometown. I was in for a treat.
I got out of the car and the heat hit me in a wave. I looked down and saw my arm was red from resting it on the window ledge for the three-hour drive south, and still we had to unpack my life from the trailer. To be honest, it was hot, but it was just the start of a summer that entailed sleepless nights, constant dripping sweat, chronic hay fever, and nights spent sitting in front of the fan. A micro-climate, they call it. I’ve also been told this summer will be even hotter. Dear lord.
At the other end of the scale, the winter has been the most miserable, cold, gray winter ever – although, my first winter in Masterton just happened to be that winter it snowed twice, so maybe I shouldn’t compare. But I will anyway.
In summer, I challenge anyone not to smile and feel the soul cleansing as you take a drive down a long country road. Winter, however, is a different story.
One of my most significant adventures in Masterton was on that day it first snowed (not the one when the whole country – including Auckland – got snow, the one before that).
I was driving out to a house way out in the country and had a near-death experience trying to maneuver the company car over snow. As I often do, I went past the house I was supposed to go to and, the further along the road I went, the thicker the snow got, and I found myself in a mighty predicament when I looked to my left and saw driveways, which I needed to turn around in, were all caked in snow because the smart people who lived there had decided to stay home.
Then I looked to my right and the road fell away like a cliff down to farmland and a bunch of rivers. So I had the choice to either try my luck with one of the driveways and end up trudging through the snow to the householders door to sheepishly ask them to help pull my car out of the snow; or I could keep driving until I got to the sunny side of the island.
Or, I could reverse all the way back to the house I was supposed to be at 15 minutes ago. So I took a deep breath, steadied myself, put the car into reverse and spent a terrifying five minutes sliding over the snow to the house. I made it safely, heart still (barely) in my chest, and was greeted by an excitable dog and a lovely couple who served me my first ever cup of coffee.

Part two coming soon...

The day they met at boot camp

2011-10-04T16:00:00.000-07:00

Just a little bit from my novel, Missing Since Tuesday... enjoy!

The day they met at boot camp, a day that seemed a lifetime ago, Arthur and Stan had become instant friends when Stan found himself without a light and in desperate need of a cigarette to quell the burning pain in his chest caused by the unfamiliar exercise.

Arthur sat against the cold concrete wall of the barracks, breathing in the warm smoke, closing his eyes as the comforting cloud engulfed his lungs. The rest of the group had already set off in search of sleep or shower, but after a day spent with fifty sweating, grunting men, Arthur needed at least a minute to himself to collect his thoughts and take stock of the damage done to his own unused muscles.
After two glorious puffs, he opened his eyes and saw one of his comrades coming toward him, cigarette in mouth, desperately searching his pockets for matches.
As he got closer, Arthur recognized him from arrival the day before. The man’s shock of curly blonde hair that stood him apart from the rest had gone, as had Arthur’s own dark brown locks, taken at the mercy of the razor the day before.
Without a word, Arthur flicked the man his box of matches and after lighting his cigarette, the stranger flopped down beside him and they sat together smoking in companionable silence.
The man was a little younger than Arthur, perhaps by a couple of years, and through their cloud of smoke Arthur noted the naivety in his blue-green eyes.
“Tough day huh?” Arthur ventured.
After two grateful puffs, the man exhaled. “Yeah, you could say that”.
More silence as the gray cloud spread and floated into the dense bush that edged the camp and Arthur’s cigarette wore down to a stub.
He drew one last smoky breath and extended his hand to the man after he stubbed out the cigarette butt under his boot. “I’m Arthur by the way”.
The man took his hand with a strong grip well beyond his years and introduced himself. “Stanley,” he said. “But they call me Stan.”
He was about to ask who “they” were, but was interrupted by the bugle call for dinner, and they reluctantly rose, each man keeping outward composure while inside their muscles protested against any form of movement.

***

Tonight, half a world away in Wellington, Arthur lay in bed thinking of red high heels and copper hair, of the girl he had lost and the one he had found, and wondered how love and lust was possible when the world revolved around war and they were stuck in the middle of it.
By day they drew every ounce of strength from their bodies and held in their hands tools of destruction barely any of them had ever hoped to encounter, to practice for when they would hold the lives of foreign men in their hands. Yet, by night, their newly calloused fingers stroked the soft flesh of an earlobe and trailed down a bare arm. Lips used by day to shout and obey commands kissed lightly over gooseflesh from earlobe to collar bone to breast and whispered sweet nothings in the eager ears of the fairer sex.

You can choose your family

2011-10-02T14:49:00.000-07:00

"It is not flesh and blood but the heart which makes us fathers and sons." ~Johann Schiller

Since battling through teenage hormones, bullies and acne, I have come to live by the philosphy of erasing negative people from my life.
Recent events have made me question the saying, "You can choose your friends but you can't choose your family." Finishing school enabled me to choose the people I spend my time around, (although I have come across my fair share of negative people in the workforce), but over the last few years, I have been lucky enough to have an amazing group of friends who love me for exactly who I am, who have control of their own lives, who think about the effect their actions have on other people's lives, and who are ambitious and know the meaning of hard work.
I come from a very close, hardworking, loving, "normal" (whatever a normal family is these days) family. I grew up in a comfortable home with my parents, brother, sister, cat, dog, and white picket fence, so I guess by old fashioned standards, we could be considered normal. My extended family, however, is constantly challenging the word normal, bar a few awesome aunties and uncles and cousins (you know who you are).
For a long time, I have challenged obligation invites to parties and the sentence, "at the end of the day, he's my brother". To me, family are those people you can rely on for hugs of comfort, a place to stay, and a listening ear. My flesh and blood are my mum, dad, brother and sister, and my extended family are those who have my respect.
I grew up in a mother's group around 22 other children and today, 23 years later, those mothers who occassionally breastfed each other's babies, punished each other's children, comforted any child who needed it, and gave us all places to sleep when they got together for games nights and us kids got tired, are my family.
Those kids with whom I jumped in the creek, played dressup, drank watered-down juice, ate marshmallow slice, shared birthday parties, packed tantrums, and learned to tell time and tie shoelaces, are my family.
My best friends who are always keen for a quiet drink, camping trips, and dressup parties; who offer a listening ear, a shoulder to cry on, and a sense of humour, are my family.
My partner, who I could write a novel about - let's just say i couldn't imagine spending my life with anyone else - is my family.
While I do have some amazing "blood relations" - aunties who crack me up and who I can have an intelligent conversation with, and cousins who I chill out with at Christmas time playing pool and backyard cricket, some of my "blood relations" do nothing but hurt people, cause problems, and have no control over their own lives and expect other family members to bail them out or feel sorry for them. These are the people I choose to not call family because they hurt the people I love most and have a negative effect on our lives.
As I mentioned before, I have had it with obligation invites, and I hope this post will challenge people's idea of obligation. OBLIGATION has to be one of my least favourite words. We all get to choose how we live our lives, and just because I am descended from some of the same people as these negative influences, that doesn't mean I owe them anything.

So what do you think? Do you believe in the sentence, "at the end of the day, he/she's family"?

The house that has no love

2011-09-28T23:22:00.000-07:00

"Ooh, I have to show you this house," I said to my sister as I veered off course and turned right instead of straight ahead around the roundabout.
We have the same round face, the same sense of humour, and the same creative brain. We also share a curiosity for the strange, and the thought of an old abandoned house perched high on a hill in the middle of nowhere caught her attention as it had mine the day I drove past it on my way to an unrelated errand, and we sped down the long country road that was longer and curvier than I remembered.
I pulled up at the silver padlocked farm gate and we both got out of the car, the slamming of each car door piercing the quiet country air.
"Wow," we both sighed, and I retrieved my camera from the back seat. I snapped away at the expanse of grass leading upward to the ravaged beauty patiently waiting for us. It took no more than a look exchanged between sisters, the one sisters read each other's minds with as children when they have a diabolical plan mum won't be happy about. This one said, "We have to go up there", and a split second later we had jumped the fence and were making our way up the hill.
The ground grew harder and the house grew bigger as we got closer, and in between nervous glances behind us waiting for the sound of a car or angry neighbour, we both looked up in awe at this life-sized, battered dollhouse.
It stood tall and strong like a woman who has been battered and bruised by life but refuses to be broken. She has faith someone will someday rescue her so she has her shoulders back, holds her head high, and waits.
She no longer sees the cars drive by and curious faces peek up at her, since the last of her windows perished and cracked, scattering themselves inside. She no longer feels her skin being ripped away as the weatherboard succumbs to the wind. Her only friends are the birds who have made their home in her ceiling. We hope she can hear, so she can hear us tell her how beautiful she is and how we could bring her to life again if we had the money.
Putting our better judgement aside and throwing caution to the hefty breeze blowing through the house, my sister risked falling through the floor and stepped in the back door and I followed, camera snapping wildly.
Her bones were strong, stronger than one would think for a house stood on a hill for at least ten years.
The house was bereft of electricity, so candles lit up in our heads and we saw a grand entranceway leading to a country-style kitchen on the left and a sun-filled dining room with a long dining table filled with laughter and children and good, home-grown food.
We saw the dirt and broken glass and walls scattered on the walls replaced with luxurious couches, calming paintings on the walls above, and a wall lined with books. The collapsed staircase was rebuilt in our minds out of chocolate timber, leading to light, sunny bedrooms with an iron headboard on each bed.
Someday, if we ever have the money, we decided, we want to buy this house, give it eyes again and let it feel and hear the happiness and laughter we could bring to it.

Here are the photos of our adventure:

I am a New Zealander

2011-09-26T15:55:00.000-07:00

New Zealand is a strange and wonderful place, where there is technically no such thing as a New Zealander.
My Dad always says to me, “Do you realize that New Zealand is the only country in the world where we can’t call ourselves New Zealanders?”
When we fill out forms, we have to tick the box that says “New Zealand European/Pakeha”.
Firstly, I have never been to Europe, and nor has my family. My ancestors were born in Scotland and England, and only ever went to Europe to fight in the wars.
Secondly, “Pakeha” is a Maori word, which means “white ghost”, a name given to our ancestors when they arrived on the shores of New Zealand in ships flying white sails 200 years ago. Some say it means, “white pig”, or at least that’s what the Maori kids at school used to tell us.
Of all things, the Rugby World Cup has bought this anomaly to the forefront of my mind once again, which is entirely appropriate, given that the eyes of the world are on our tiny country at the moment, with 20 countries competing for the Webb Ellis Cup.
On my dad’s side of the family, I am a third-generation “New Zealander” and on my mum’s side, I am fourth generation.
On Sunday, my dad, sister and I donned blue and white face paint and headed to the stadium to support Scotland, the country of our ancestors.
There is nothing wrong with being proud of your heritage and supporting other teams for a bit of fun, but where do we draw the line at being defined by our heritage?
I love the sound of the bagpipes, and jumping around yelling at Scotland to “run the damn ball!” and cheering when they score, but when I stood up and sang Flower of Scotland (the national anthem), the hairs on the back of my neck stayed flat and my heart beat was normal.
Yet when I stood up with my sister in my living room on September 9 when the All Blacks kicked off the RWC with a match against Tonga, put hand on heart, and sang God Defend New Zealand, tears of pride came to our eyes.
When the All Blacks performed the Haka, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.
Every Anzac Day, when I attend the dawn service in Wellington, I think of the New Zealanders who fought and died for our freedom regardless of the colour of their skin nearly 100 years ago.
How many generations of people born and raised in New Zealand will it take to shake off the words “Pakeha” and “European” and when will we get to tick the box that says “New Zealander”?

A thought for your weekend...

2011-09-22T18:52:00.000-07:00

"Always read something that will make you look good if you die in the middle of it." - P.J O'Rourke

Another one to add to the list...

2011-09-19T18:35:00.000-07:00

As much as I love it when new and exciting books are released, sometimes I wish they would stop so I can catch up - I have so many books to read and it seems like every time I visit a book shop there's a new one I want to add to my ever-growing list.

The latest one is A Man You Can Bank On by Derek Hansen. Here's the synopsis from Good Reads:

Is it a CRIME to steal from bookies?

Can you TRUST an ex-Bank Manager?

Lambert Hampton is the man the Munni-Munni locals allturn to, and for good reason. This former bank manager helped them transform three million dollars - stolen from bookies by a gang of robbers - into a rescue package for their dying town.

But now the day of reckoning has come.

The crims want the money.
The cops want the money.
A rogue insurance investigator wants the money.
And so do Australia's two most notorious hit men.

In trying to save his town, Lambert is forced to risk everything - his life, the lives of the town folk, his own daughter, ten thousand barramundi and a really lovable Jack Russell.

Monday Monday

2011-09-18T15:04:00.000-07:00

Good morning people and hello to another week :) I've had my coffee and am raring to go! Hope everyone had as fabulous a weekend as I did. On Saturday we celebrated my little brother growing up by throwing an epic 21st party. We danced lots, sang lots, drank lots, and caught up with people we hadn't seen in years, which was awesome. It was great being able to dress up - living in the country means there's no opportunity to dress up anymore. People wear jeans and t-shirts to bars and to work, so if you dress up, even if you wear heels that make noise when you walk, people look at you funny.

The All Blacks also made everyone's weekend on Friday by smashing Japan 83-7, a great defeat considering they were without captain Richie McCaw, and star players Dan Carter and Mills Muliaina due to injury.

Also started reading The Endless Forest by Sara Donati, the sixth and final book in the Into the Wilderness series. So far it's a good read, except the book has skipped a few years and it's been a long time since I read book five, Queen of Swords, so there's a whole heap of new characters and old characters I had forgotten about. But I'm thinking Sara meant to confuse her readers to start with and all the characters will be explained as the book goes on and the gaps will be filled in. So I have every confidence that this book will be just as great as the rest of the series and I'm sure I will be sad to say goodbye once it ends.

So I hope you all had a great weekend. What did you get up to? Read any good books?

Goodbye Sarajevo review (spoiler alert)

2011-09-12T19:59:00.000-07:00

When I turned the last page of Goodbye Sarajevo last week, I breathed a sigh of relief, but not because I was glad the book was over – I didn’t want it to end. I was relieved that I live in such a beautiful, spacious, and war-free country.

Goodbye Sarajevo is the true story of two sisters, Atka and Hana, who were torn apart by the Bosnian war in 1992 during the longest siege of a capital city in the history of modern warfare, and reunited in New Zealand by the extraordinary kindness of a kiwi family.
In May 1992, 12-year-old Hana was put on one of the last UN evacuation buses fleeing the city, while Atka, 21, was left behind in war-torn Sarajevo to look after their five younger siblings as their mother, working for a humanitarian aid organisation, was unable to reach them while their father retreated inside himself, shocked at what was happening to his city.
Amazingly, the entire family of 12 survived and later settled in New Zealand with the help of Atka’s husband Andrew Reid – whom she met during the war when he worked as a photojournalist – and his family.
The language and the pace of the book was absolutely perfect – not once did I get bored, which is rare for me, and the two different points of view really brought the story together in a way that lets the reader explore these two very different aspects of war – life in a war zone and life as a refugee.
I admired Atka for her courage in the way she did everything she could to keep her family alive and together, despite suffering from malnourishment, kidney stones, and an ill baby during the years of the war, and the raw emotion of Hana’s story balanced with her childlike positivity tore at my heartstrings through chapters that were almost like diary entries.
One thing I would have liked to have seen was a run-down of what everyone in that family of 12 is up to now, but who knows, there may be another book in the future.
I had the pleasure of meeting Atka and Hana earlier this year when I interviewed them about their book, and the thing that struck me most about them was their positivity towards life and the way they have created extremely successful lives for themselves, despite the pain they have been through which still shows in their eyes when they talk about it.
Atka worked as a journalist in Christchurch upon her arrival in New Zealand and later gained a Diploma in Graphic Design. Hana graduated from the university of Canterbury in 2002 with first class honours in law and a bachelor’s degree in Russian, and has since worked as a lawyer for a leading New Zealand law firm and, more recently, for a city law firm in London.
Just goes to show that there’s no excuse for not making the most out of your life – even if you’ve been to hell and back.

Happy weekend!

2011-09-09T14:29:00.000-07:00

Happy weekend everybody! Hope your weekend is as fabulous as mine has been so far! The mighty All Blacks destroyed Tonga 41-10, booh yah! What a great start to the Rugby World Cup :) Opening ceremony was amazing too, read about it all here.

Had a great night with little sis eating homemade pizza, waving our flags, singing the national anthem at the top of our lungs (our poor neighbours...) and yelling at the TV. GO THE AB's!

Photo from Daily Mail

This time it's ours! Game on!

2011-09-08T16:44:00.000-07:00

Today the biggest event to hit New Zealand starts. RUGBY WORLD CUP 2011!

Today my humble little country becomes the centre of the world's attention as we host our favourite game and our favourite way of showing national pride.

Tonight at 8.30pm, thousands of New Zealanders will stand at Eden Park Stadium, on the streets of Auckland, Wellington, Christchurch and Dunedin, in pubs, rugby clubs and living rooms, with their hand on their heart singing our national anthem God of Nations before we watch the All Blacks destroy Tonga.

It has been 24 years since the All Blacks won the Rugby World Cup, and that was on home turf a year before I was born, when All Blacks Captain David Kirk held aloft the Webb Ellis Cup after beating France 29-9.

So here's hoping our beautiful captain Richie McCaw (he is gorgeous - I want to marry him) will get the same honour this year.

I was born in June, the middle of the rugby season, and my birthdays ever since have slightly revolved around rugby. It started at the hospital when my mum, who was packed up and ready to go after spending nine days there, just wanted to get home, and dad was late picking her up because he was at the rugby club chilling with his team after a "hard game".
Mere weeks after I was brought home, every Saturday I was wrapped up warm, put in the pram and sat on the sideline to watch my dad play. Then, two years later, my brother was born and he started playing when he was four years old, so every Saturday for most of my life during winter has been spent on a rugby field.
Despite that, I still don't know all the rules, but rugby is a big part of my life and the thing I love about it is the national pride that shines through and the good old fashioned rivalry between countries. So I, for one, can not wait to get involved in this history-making event that I will tell my kids about one day, and it starts tonight with pizza, chips and dip at home with my sister with the sound up loud.

I think my friend and fellow journalist Lee Stace, who is a huge rugby fan and works for Rugby News in Auckland, hit the nail on the head this morning with his message to New Zealand on the world cup, so I leave you with his Facebook status:

"Rugby World Cup 2011 begins here. To the All Blacks, do us proud, Win or lose, you will always be our team. To the New Zealand public, please be good hosts. Be gracious in victory and, heaven forbid it occurs, defeat as well."

GO THE AB's!

Snap snap

2011-09-05T02:19:00.000-07:00

Just added a new page... just because.

As well as reading and writing, I also take photos, so just thought I might put a few on here. Enjoy :)

Do you remember the moment?

2011-09-04T19:51:00.000-07:00

At first I thought it was when I was an office temp and I was talking to another office temp and she said she had been a journalist in Napier before. With no idea what to do with my life after coming back from the most amazing experience of my life in the USA teaching Jewish kids art at summer camp and travelling through about 25 states in three weeks, that moment had a big impact on my career, as it spurred me to Google journalism courses, and, before I knew it, I was enrolled.

But, the thing that really sparked my passion for journalism was a movie: 13 Going on 30. Yes, it's corny and yes, it's the biggest chick-flick, but back in the days when, on any given day, I wanted to be an astronaut, a travelling artist, and interior designer, or a children's book illustrator, this movie added another career possibility to my list.

I loved everything about the glamour of being a fashion magazine editor: the glamorous clothes, the big modern office, and the ability to control the design of the magazine - especially at the end when they do a total overhaul. I also loved 13-year-old Jenna in 30-year-old Jenna's body's perspective. Wouldn't it be a happy world if we all brought that type of innocence into the office?

After watching it yesterday, it has reignited my passion for the job, and I think sometimes, no matter what type of job you have, we all need to be reminded why we do it.

I feel like the universe is trying to tell me something at the moment, and hopefully that thing is a new step in my life. My journalism mojo is back, I'm writing like I'm on speed (but it's actually just coffee...), I'm reading like a nutter, everyone around me is happy, I'm loving my job, and, after interviewing amazing photographer Esther Bunning, my passion for photography is back. Surely life isn't supposed to be this good right? But maybe it is, considering I'm a magnet for bad luck - maybe the universe is finally smiling on me and giving me some good luck.

So, what was the moment that set you off on your career path?

Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod

2011-09-04T18:32:00.000-07:00

Oh. My. God. I. Am. So. Freaking. EXCITED!

For those Diana Gabaldon fans out there, if you're not already following her blog, you NEED to read this. She has just put a new excerpt of Book Eight up on her blog and it is AWESOME! This lady continues to surprise me. Just when you thought she might run out of ideas after seven books BAM the story takes on a whole new dimension.

Please hurry up and finish Book Eight Diana!

Photo from azbookpub.com/events/diana-gabaldon/

Pride and Prejudice = DONE

2011-09-01T14:11:00.000-07:00

Well, it's taken me a long time to get through it, but I finally did it. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen is done and dusted, thank goodness.

Those of you who have read it will know that it's not a very long book. It has been sitting on my bookshelf for two years, and in May I decided to pick it up and read it. It's one of those books you just have to read if you're a lover of books, and although I feel like I've run a marathon and travelled back in time to high school english class, I'm glad I read it.

I have never read classic books like Jane Austen's before - the closest I've been to classic is To Kill a Mocking Bird - so Pride and Prejudice was a real experience for me, and a real learning curve, considering the complicated-ness (if that's a word...) of the writing.

The one thing that really struck me about the book was how far ahead of her time Jane Austen was. You would almost think it was a novel written in our time if not for the overpowering, detailed dialogue.

I can see why her books are still so popular today - although the morals and values are far from what they are today, the core human emotions have never changed, especially when it comes to love.

As I said in my May blog post First impressions of Jane Austen:

We still fall for at least one bad boy in our lifetime.

We still play hard to get.

We still get jealous.

We still fall in love. In exactly the same way as we always have.

I also watched the movie last night, the recent one starring Keira Knightley, and I have to say I was skeptical about it. I'm not the biggest fan of Keira - she's too skinny and pouty in my opinion - and she was not who I imagined Elizabeth to look like while I was reading the book. I also feared the story would be tainted by passionate Hollywood kisses. But Keira exceeded my expectations and after the first ten minutes, she was Elizabeth. And there was not one kiss, although I was a tad nervous when Elizabeth and Mr Darcy finally declared their love for each other at the end, but it didn't happen and, although I'm a fan of Hollywood kisses, it just wasn't necessary for this story - ironic really, considering it's a love story on so many different levels. All the other actors were just brilliant too, pretty much what I imagined while reading the book - wasn't Mrs Bennet the funniest old lady?!

So that's two down, 98 to go on my 100 books in 5 years mission. Don't think I'll be reading any more Jane Austen for awhile - it's hard work - but I will eventually read all six of her books. So have you read Jane Austen? Thoughts?

An inspiring man

2011-08-30T18:46:00.000-07:00

I have a pretty cool job. I get to talk to all sorts of people and write stories about important points in their lives, and writing is what I love. But sometimes it can get hard when you're pushed for time and you've got three stories and a feature to write in an hour. Then you get a phone call from a lovely old man you wrote a story about thanking you for the story and telling you what a great job you did. At the end of the day, that's what makes it worth it.

So I would like to introduce you to Stephen Davies, author of The Dolphin Enigma. He is a retired Masterton man who has suffered two strokes, but was determined to prove that there is life after a stroke, so wrote a book. I haven't read the book yet, but it's sitting on my desk amongst the pile of other books I have to read (almost finished Pride and Prejudice I promise). It's a story of New Zealand politics, war, and what if's... read about it here.

Tweet tweet

2011-08-28T16:35:00.000-07:00

Yes, this technophobe has finally given in and joined Twitter...... I've had an account for awhile but I've never used it, but everyone at work is on Twitter so I thought, why not? I'm on Facebook and Blogger already, so I might aswell. What a cool little tool! I'm now following New Zealand's Prime Minister John Key, a bunch of my favourite authors: Diana Gabaldon, Paullina Simons, Nicholas Sparks, oh, and the world's most gorgeous rugby player, All Blacks Captain Richie McCaw! It's quite exciting :)

So follow me if you like... not too sure how it all works yet and my tweets may or may not be interesting, but hey, why not?
http://twitter.com/#!/sarahcornflake

Dreaming of The Beatles

2011-08-28T15:26:00.000-07:00

Last night I had the most awesome dream… The Beatles came to New Zealand on tour! I am a huge fan of The Beatles – especially John Lennon – and this is the second time I’ve dreamt about them this month. Last time, I was at a party with all my family and friends and Paul McCartney (today’s version) came up to me and asked me to dance. I did, as you would… I mean, its Paul McCartney! Then John Lennon (a short, old version of him, possibly what he would look like now if he were still alive) tapped him on the shoulder and cut in. Lol.

So last night I had a dream that The Beatles came to Wellington, but it was 2011 Wellington and they were the 1960’s Beatles. Weirdest thing was, they were on a raft in the ocean and crowds of people surrounded them in the ocean and on the beach cheering and screaming.

I stood on a big wooden box on the beach, and suddenly the four of them came over to me and the crowd disappeared as if nobody knew who they were.

Then I had them all to myself and we sat on the beach together chatting as if we were old mates. Then it was time for them to leave and I hugged each Beatle goodbye, leaving John till last, and they got on a boat and disappeared.

If only…

If you could spend a day with any celebrity, dead or alive, who would it be?

Photo from http://www.nzhistory.net.nz/

The miracle of life

2011-08-28T15:07:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I witnessed the miracle of life. Dad, sister and I went for our usual Sunday walk with the dog down by the river. On one side of the path sits the river, and farmland extends along the other side.
We walked up to the end of the trail past the farmland not noticing anything amiss. Then we turned around and walked back, and saw about five cows grouped together with their noses to the ground.

We stopped and looked a little closer, and saw a tiny little calf scrunched up on the ground. The cows had their noses to the ground because they were all taking turns to nudge the little calf, which was trying to stand up, it's skinny little legs wobbling as it got halfway up and collapsed back to the ground. I'm told calves stand up very soon after birth, so we stood there on the gravel path, all four of us silent, including the dog who never sits still, gob-smacked at the fact that we were witnessing the first few minutes of the little calf’s life.

A thought for your weekend...

2011-08-25T18:03:00.000-07:00

"Reading gives us some place to go when we have to stay where we are." - Mason Cooley

Down memory lane to visit The Famous Five

2011-08-24T14:12:00.000-07:00

When you're young, it's a chore spring cleaning your room, but when you're past 20, it can be a joy. I moved out of home last year and mum decided she wants all of us to tidy up our wardrobes and put everything in boxes so she can take all of our crap out of her wardrobe and put it into ours. So I finally went down and spent half a day tidying and the other half of the day saying, "oh my gosh I remember this!"

So in between the Polly Pockets, baby dolls, teddy bears, princess crowns and Britney Spears CD's, I came across my eight-year-old self's answer to Diana Gabaldon: Enid Blyton, author of The Famous Five.

I remember my friend at primary school (who was a little bit kooky, and my only friend who read books as much as me) introducing me to the books, and after that I was hooked, somehow managing to collect about 15 of them, all of which I found tucked away in a box I had forgotten about.

And I never knew how old they were - can you believe they were first published in the forties?!

So for those of you not familiar, the Famous Five were a group of children, siblings Julian, Dick and Anne, and their tom-boy cousin George and her dog Timmy, who had the sort of adventures most kids dream about and solved mystery after mystery.

When I have my own house with a big enough bookcase, they will definitely be going on display. Do you think my future kids would read them one day? Not quite the same as Twilight, but you never know...

Also found these little gems: The Magic Faraway Tree by Enid Blyton and The Bubblegum Tree by Alexander McCall Smith.

So what books did you read as a kid?

Are Facebook and Twitter turning us into an illiterate society?

2011-08-23T16:10:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid, my mum had a rule: when we went to bed, we had quiet time for half an hour in bed before lights out, and at exactly thirty minutes, she would come in and turn our lights out. My brother and sister did all sorts of things. My sister would draw or play with her dolls, my brother would build Lego or Kennex, but I would always have my head buried in a book. Often she would have to wait for me to "just finish this chapter", and then she would turn my light out and go to bed.

For years I had a torch hidden under my pillow and as soon as I heard mum's last footstep on the top of the stairs, I got out my torch and hid under the blankets to continue reading about the adventures of The Famous Five or the twisting tale of the Bubblegum Tree. On rainy days instead of watching TV, I would be curled up on the couch reading. My proudest moments at school were taking the reading tests and being told I was reading at a level well above my age. I always borrowed far too many books from the library and constantly had books overdue.

When I read this story this morning, it made me sad to know that less than half of all British children aged eight to seventeen choose to read a book outside of class at least once a month.

It said that children are now increasingly getting their literacy skills from Facebook, Twitter, emails and texting, the language and grammar of which, in my opinion, leaves a lot to be desired.

Don't get me wrong, social networking is amazing, and I love it because it allows me to keep in touch with people I met overseas who I would otherwise lose touch with. Then again, isn't it nice to sometimes receive a well-written letter in the post? My American friend Hannah, who I met three years ago, and I exchange letters, and there is nothing more exciting than getting home from work and finding a hand-written envelope in your mailbox.

So now there is a real fear out there that more and more adults will start struggling with literacy over the next few years because, as children, they just didn't read. Putting the literacy factor aside, I am also so saddened by the fact that these children are missing out on the joy of books - the excitement of being transported into another world while curled up in bed at night, and the discoveries you make about life.

I'm sure most people with kids following this blog will have no problem getting their kids to read, and my future children will definitely know the joy of books, but what about the rest? How do we get kids off Facebook and into a good book?

Story of your life

2011-08-23T13:55:00.000-07:00

Now that I'm settled in a job I enjoy, I've stopped thinking so much about my future. I used to think and fret about my next step constantly, but now that I'm where I've wanted to be for a long time, I'm sitting back a bit.

But the other day, I read an obituary of New Zealand's greatest war heroine Nancy Wake (who I did a blog post about), and then I was so inspired by her story that I went and bought the book by Peter Fitzsimons. That got me thinking. My favourite kinds of stories to write for the paper are life stories - not necessarily obituaries - just the story of a person's life, and, at the risk of blowing my own trumpet, I'm quite good at it. So I said to myself, "I would make a good biographer".

But it seems to me like a biographer is one of those career paths people just fall into, they don't plan it. I read up on Peter Fitzsimons, and he is a rugby player turned journalist who ended up writing a few biographies.

So I ask you: How does one become a biographer?

Dreaming of Iceland

2011-08-22T18:29:00.000-07:00

I've added another country to my "list of places to go on my Big OE"....... ICELAND!
It's a place I never would have thought of going, but I saw it mentioned in a wedding blog this morning, Googled it, and now I'm hooked.
I even texted my partner and he replied, "Really? Iceland? You want to go everywhere." Yeah... I do this a lot... lol. So instead of talking about it, here are some pictures I found on Google - beautiful!

Anyone ever been there? It's a looooong way from New Zealand, but it looks quite similar. :)

Photos from:

http://palove.kadeco.sk/photoblog/trip/23

www.oustravel.com/category/europe/iceland/

http://grandcanyon.free.fr/images/cascade/thumb.html
http://skvots.net/holiday-iceland.html

I dreamed of disaster...

2011-08-22T14:16:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was the six-month anniversary of the deadly 6.3 Christchurch earthquake which killed 181 people and destroyed New Zealand's most beautiful city. I think that's why I had the dream I had last night, and it was just so vivid I have to share it.

It began with me, my parents, brother, sister and partner in a little suburban house in Christchurch. We stood in the dining room and heard a rumble in the distance. We all stood stock still - having experienced our fair share of earthquakes, we knew what was coming (a major fault line runs straight through Wellington and we were supposed to be the ones that got "the big one" - I wrote a poem about it). The house started to shake and I held onto the doorway next to my partner, while the rest of my family ran for cover. We held on for dear life and it seemed to go on forever. Even when we thought it had stopped, it came back again.

Suddenly I was back in Wellington walking through the centre of the city and another earthquake struck. This time I was on my own and I didn't know where to go because there were glass shop windows on my right, cars on my left and old masonry above me. From what we saw of the Christchurch earthquake, you are not safe anywhere in a big one. So I was running around in all directions - in circles really, and then gave up and just stopped in the middle of the footpath and hoped for the best.

Then I was in the middle of Auckland city and the Wellington earthquake seemed to continue there. It stopped briefly and I looked up to see the Sky Tower (the tallest building in the Southern Hemisphere) leaning over like a tree in the wind. There were people all around me who hadn't noticed and I pointed, saying: "Do you see that? It's going to come down." Everyone looked then, and it leaned further over and suddenly snapped in half without making a sound.

The Sky Tower has a point at the top, and the half that snapped off went point first and drove itself into the sand on a beach nearby. We all knew there would be people in there and we also knew there was no chance they could have survived, but a whole crowd rushed over to help. There was no noise. No one was crying out for help. But we still went anyway, but we never got close. No matter how fast we were all running, no one could get there - we all stayed in the same place.

Then I found myself in a building that had been set up as a makeshift hospital and I volunteered to help. People were coming through the door on stretchers covered in blood and moaning in pain.

So that's my dream... FREAKY RIGHT?!

Oh God... more Justin Bieber?

2011-08-21T16:54:00.000-07:00

I'm not really a big believer in religion. I'm baptised and I go to church on Christmas Eve every year because I find a sense of peace and family there, but I don't believe in worshipping a God. I believe that religion, God and church mean different things to different people and we should all respect that, so please do not take this post and think I'm some sort of atheist.

I'm just a Bieber hater.

I read today that a book is being written about Justin Bieber and his faith. He's not even getting interviewed for the book, it's just based on his references to christianity he has made in some interviews.

Don't even get me started on teen idols... okay do... Teenagers have had idols in celebrity form for decades now, starting with Elvis and The Beatles all the way through to the Justin Bieber era. When I was a teenager, we had The Spice Girls and Britney Spears, and I will admit that they were pretty tacky as most teen idols are these days (just to clarify, I'm a HUGE Beatles fan, but I think they're a class apart from modern musicians), but we also had people like Christina Aguilera who can actually sing and is still going today.

It seems to me that, since Elvis, teen idols have been getting progressively worse, and I for one can't stand the sight of thousands of screaming teenage girls watching a BOY prance around on stage flashing a cute smile with no instrument in hand.

I'm not making fun of Justin's faith, believe me, I simply think it's a bit of a tacky move for the publisher, Worthy Publishing. It looks to me like a way of getting young people interested in religion and, as a lot of them pretty much worship Bieber anyway, what better way to do it than to highlight his faith in a book?

So what do you think, is this book going to change the way teenagers look at religion? And is that a good or bad thing?

Why, oh why, did they change the ending? (spoiler alert)

2011-08-18T20:04:00.000-07:00

My sister warned me not to watch it. She told me I would be disappointed by the ending. But I did watch it. And I was sorely disappointed by the ending.

My Sister's Keeper. A beautiful, heart-wrenching book that brings tears to your eyes with almost every page.

Those who have not read the book but have seen the movie say "oh, it's so sad, I cried at the end". But, for those of us who have read the book and then watched the movie, it's more like, "why did they change the ending?! They made it so predictable!"

Although I've only read two of Jodi Picoult's books, I think I can safely say that they are anything but predictable. But good old Hollywood goes and turns it into a heart-wrenching sob story with the most predicable ending: the girl with cancer dies. THAT'S NOT THE STORY!

Jodi Picoult's ending (I won't ruin it for you, don't worry) was beautiful. Don't get me wrong, it was still awful and sad, but in a way it just seemed right.

One good thing I will say for the movie is the actors were great. Especially Abigail Breslin who played Anna - She is the most beautiful kid and I think she has a bright future - and Cameron Diaz who played Sara. I'm not the biggest fan of Cameron, I just don't find her funny. But as a drama actress, she was just brilliant.

So who has read the book, seen the movie, or both? What are your thoughts?

A thought for your weekend...

2011-08-18T18:44:00.000-07:00

"Reading is sometimes an ingenious device for avoiding thought" - Arthur Helps

Come on SPRING!

2011-08-17T16:57:00.000-07:00

Dear Mother Nature,

The snow you gave us on Monday was great. We had a lot of fun making snowmen, having snowball fights, taking beautiful photos of the snow and having an excuse to sit on the couch all night and watch movies, but seriously, we are all over these freezing cold temperatures, the rain, and the miserable grey skies.

My feet have not been warm in about a week, the front lawn is a bog, my car refuses to start most mornings and stalls at every intersection, and I can't show off my new haircut because it's too damn cold to not wear a beanie.

So please give us a good spring, and bring it soon. We all can't wait to get outside to go for bike rides and long walks, swim in the sea, eat icecream, wear sunglasses, go on random roadtrips, and laze in the grass reading a good book.

Yours sincerely,
Frozen

NZ's greatest war heroine

2011-08-17T14:32:00.000-07:00

She may have left New Zealand as a toddler, but we still claim her and she still saw New Zealand as her home until the day she died.
Nancy Wake, who passed away on August 7th at age 98, was nicknamed "white mouse" for her ability to elude capture during World War II when she helped thousands of downed Allied pilots and Jewish families elude German and Vichy officials to reach the Pyrenees and neutral Spain.
She was living in France when Nazi Germany invaded. She joined the French Resistance and was smuggled into England for specialist training.
In 1944, she was parachuted back into France, where she co-ordinated the efforts of thousands of fighters and fought alongside them.
Wake was at one point number one on the Gestapo's most-wanted list - with an offer of five million francs for anyone who dobbed her in or killed her.
As soon as I read her obituary in the newspaper, I just had to find her biography, and had to visit about eight bookstores in the city before I found it up the coast.
Her story is written by Peter Fitzsimons, who I have heard writes a great biography. I don't really read biographies, only ones I'm absolutely passionate about like John Lennon by Philip Norman, but I'm really looking forward to sinking my teeth into this one.
It seems empowered females are becoming the theme of my blog at the moment... yesterday I talked about my role models Audrey Hepburn and Kate Middleton (also the 21st Century's worst role models: Kendra Wilkinson, Kim Kardashian and Paris Hilton), and I have a feeling Nancy Wake will become one too.
How could she not? Not only was she beautiful, but she could do anything a man could do and more.

Perfecting gracious living

2011-08-16T15:00:00.000-07:00

"The most important thing is to enjoy your life - to be happy - it's all that matters." -Audrey Hepburn

I have a bit of an obsession with Audrey Hepburn at the moment. I've always admired her, but after watching Breakfast at Tiffany's for the second time a few weeks ago, she has me falling in love with her all over again.

In this 21st-century world bereft of female role models, Audrey, a rare and timeless beauty, remains the epitome of elegance and grace every woman should take note of.

So that is why I purchased How to be Lovely: The Audrey Hepburn Way of Life, by Melissa Hellstern.

It is a beautiful book which is part biography, part guide to finding elegance in every aspect of life, featuring rarely seen photographs and revelations about the actress who perfected gracious living. Every woman should have this on their bedside table.

Where did all the role models go?

With women like Audrey Hepburn, Grace Kelly and Marilyn Monroe long gone and high-flying women like Oprah Winfrey and Michelle Obama becoming role models for middle-aged women, who is there for the young ones?

I'd like to think Kate Middleton is up there - she is for me - she holds herself with a lot of grace, and her style is just divine. If anyone could come close to being the next Audrey Hepburn, it would be her.

So who are your female role models and why?

SNNNNNNOOOWWW!!! AGAIN!

2011-08-14T17:50:00.000-07:00

Okay, this is just getting ridiculous. IT'S FREAKIN SNOWING FOR THE SECOND TIME THIS WINTER! You may remember my post last month when it snowed and we were all excited, but this time it's ten times better!
I realise that for most people, snow is a normal part of winter. But for us, we only get it way down south and on the mountains. It never fully snows. Like makes everything white. Like puts enough on the ground to make massive snowmen. Like makes driving dangerous.
But today, it's everywhere. The whole country, even the far north and the coasts, which haven't seen snow this bad in about 50 years, is all white! It's so magical! Last night, my flatmate and I looked out the window and it wasn't snowing. Then an hour later everything was white and it was the most amazing thing in the world. So we went outside in our gumboots and made a snowman and stuck our toungues out to catch snowflakes! Then this morning we were greeted with an even whiter winter wonderland!
You don't have to be a kid to enjoy snow, that's for sure!

This is my front yard!

Love these cute little rows of rural letterboxes

Poor wee sheep

This one's my favourite photo of the day :)

Eleven Hours: review

2011-08-07T17:33:00.000-07:00

Wow. Eleven Hours. I read it in about two.

Heavily pregnant and not at all comfortable in the relentless heat, Didi Wood is leaving for home, moving slowly through her regular routine of shopping, husband, children, with the extra excitement of the imminent baby always at the back of her mind.
And then she is bundled into the back of a car and kidnapped by a desperate young man.
What does he want? Where are they going?
Only the excruciating tension of the next eleven hours will tell.

I found this book at my local library for sale for $1, and picked it up instantly on seeing Paullina Simons on the cover. Incase you haven't noticed, I LOVE Paullina Simons after reading The Bronze Horseman, Bridge to Holy Cross, The Summer Garden, and Tully.

She is a brilliant writer, and although Eleven Hours is one of her earlier books, it is no less impressive than her recent ones. As soon as I bought it, I began reading it and was on the edge of my seat in about two seconds, despite the fact I am still reading Goodbye Sarajevo and Pride and Prejudice.

The story goes back and forth between Didi's terrifying ordeal and her husband Rich's desperate search for her, and is extremely hard to put down because it's one of those books, like the ones Jodi Picoult writes, that has very short chapters, so you're desperate to know the next step. What will the kidnapper do next? What will Rich and the police find out next? Will they find her before something more devastating happens?

Read it and find out...

Wellington Writers Walk

2011-08-02T22:33:00.000-07:00

We all love going on holiday, and I am on holiday right now. But I haven't gone anywhere. I've got two freinds from overseas coming to visit, so I thought I would take the opportunity to have a holiday in my own city.

When I used to work in the city, I always walked past this slab of concrete that said: "It's true you can't live here by chance, you have to do and be, not simply watch or even describe. This is the city of action, the world headquarters of the verb." And I recently discovered that it is one of 15 concrete slabs, containing quotes about Wellington by well-known New Zealand writers, scattered along the waterfront which were put there as part of the NZ Festival of the Arts in 2002. So yesterday I ambled along the waterfront before lunch in search of these quotes. One day I will find the rest, but for now, here are the ones I found:

"A girl can't read that sort of thing without her lipstick"

2011-07-26T16:20:00.000-07:00

I watched one of the greatest classic movies this week: Breakfast at Tiffany's. I've watched it once before, but this time it was extra magical, like most brilliant movies you watch for a second time, because you take the time to notice all of the gorgeous quotes and the old-fashioned humour.

I LOVE Audrey Hepburn, and Holly Golightly is just so gorgeous you just want to step through the television screen and be her friend. I could write a novel on this movie - oh wait, there is one (which I have to read now!) - but I thought I would instead sum up my favourite moments with some golden quotes:

Holly Golightly: You know those days when you get the mean reds?
Paul Varjak: The mean reds, you mean like the blues?
Holly Golightly: No. The blues are because you're getting fat and maybe it's been raining too long, you're just sad that's all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you're afraid and you don't know what you're afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling?
Paul Varjak: Sure.
Holly Golightly: Well, when I get it the only thing that does any good is to jump in a cab and go to Tiffany's. Calms me down right away. The quietness and the proud look of it; nothing very bad could happen to you there. If I could find a real-life place that'd make me feel like Tiffany's, then - then I'd buy some furniture and give the cat a name!

Holly Golightly: Thursday! It can't be! It's too gruesome!
Paul Varjak: What's so gruesome about Thursday?
Holly Golightly: Nothing, except I can never remember when it's coming up.

Holly Golightly: I'm not hotfooting it after Jose, if that's what you think. Ohhh no. As far as I'm concerned he's the future president of nowhere.

Paul Varjak: You know what's wrong with you, Miss Whoever-you-are? You're chicken, you've got no guts. You're afraid to stick out your chin and say, "Okay, life's a fact, people do fall in love, people do belong to each other, because that's the only chance anybody's got for real happiness." You call yourself a free spirit, a "wild thing," and you're terrified somebody's gonna stick you in a cage. Well baby, you're already in that cage. You built it yourself. And it's not bounded in the west by Tulip, Texas, or in the east by Somali-land. It's wherever you go. Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself.

Holly Golightly: I'm like cat here, a no-name slob. We belong to nobody, and nobody belongs to us. We don't even belong to each other.

Also desperately want to get Moon River on vinyl... how amazing would that be?!

Happiness is...

2011-07-26T15:37:00.000-07:00

Today I'm celebrating happiness and all the different sneaky little ways it has of finding us, because suddenly I find myself truly happy, despite the fact my life has not changed drastically. I've finally realised that true happiness comes from inside yourself, not from the siuation you're in. It's how you react to the situation that makes the difference. Nothing is ever as bad as you think it is, and man are we lucky to be alive!

So here are a few things making me smile lately...

♥ making bacon and egg pie for the first time ♥ sitting infront of the fire on chilly nights with a cup of hot chocolate ♥ snow on the mountains ♥ wiping the snow off my car on monday ♥ making a snowman on the bonnet of my car ♥ driving out into the country to take photos of the snow, watching it get thicker as I go further out ♥ putting an electric blanket on my bed and wondering why I never bought one before ♥ roast dinners at the parents house ♥ seeing everyone in my family succeeding and being happy ♥ baking muffins ♥ singing along to the glee soundtrack in the car with the boyfriend ♥ hearing about my sister and friend's adventures overseas ♥ dreaming of owning a house and planning what colours to paint it and how to decorate ♥ getting to the part in pride and prejudice where elizabeth falls in love with mr darcy ♥ looking in the mirror and smiling at my gorgeous clear skin for the first time in eight years ♥ snuggling my warm boyfriend on cold winter weekends

"Happiness is like a butterfly; the more you chase it, the more it will allude you, but if you turn your attention to other things, it will come and sit softly on your shoulder." - Thoreau

IT'S SNNNOOOWWWING!!!

2011-07-24T21:12:00.000-07:00

Although I live in a country notorious for its snowy mountains, I can count on my fingers how many times I've acutally seen snow. Where I grew up, near the city and the sea in a little valley, we got a sprinkling of snow maybe once every five years. But last night, very few towns in New Zealand escaped the snow, as we experienced our worst snowfall in 15 years. So us Wellingtonians get very excited about the prospect of snow, especially me!
Where I live now, in a rural area over the hill from where I grew up, there is a mountain range and endless country roads.

This was my morning - driving around the Wairarapa with a massive grin on my face, squealing with delight at the magic of snow!

A thought for your weekend...

2011-07-21T18:17:00.000-07:00

"The things I want to know are in books; my best friend is the man who'll get me a book I ain't read." - Abraham Lincoln

Twenty-six writers, one story

2011-07-20T21:58:00.000-07:00

Saw No Rest for the Dead in the book store the other day, and it looks great! Not really the genre I would read, but just the fact that twenty-six authors wrote it is enough to entice me to read it, so I think it will be a birthday present for the other half so if I don't read it, he will. He loves thrillers/mysteries - he barely reads, but when he does get stuck into a book, he gets a little obsessed.
The story of the story is here on Stuff. Pretty awesome idea I think - a publishing first by the sounds of it.

Anzac Day... Missing Since Tuesday

2011-07-19T13:56:00.000-07:00

This is an excerpt from the last third of Missing Since Tuesday, and I know that compared to the other excerpts, it makes absolutely no sense, but that's the way it's supposed to be - I like to keep my readers on their toes. Enjoy!

***

She started to wonder why she even went to the city that dark, early morning on April 25 to stand among a crowd of twenty-first century New Zealanders, mourning men they had never met.

The retired Army Colonel got up to speak of such things as "sacrifice" and "freedom", and a few tears welled up in the eyes around her and she looked at every one of them through her own blurred eyes.

Most surprising was the twenty-something girl standing a few feet away from her, seemingly alone with a single tear running down her cheek.

How can someone so young still be affected by this? She wondered. The Last Post has that affect on people, I guess, no matter how young you are or how detached from the war you are.

The words of the colonel and the words of the minister went by in a blur of tears, which she had long since stopped trying to quell.

The Last Post rang in her ears and she was glad to be standing at the edge of the crowd, leaning against a tree when her vision blurred and her knees gave way.

"You alright love?" Said a tall middle-aged man, who leaned down, supporting her with a hand on her elbow.

Her vision cleared enough so she could see his genuine concerned face and managed a small smile.

Heaving herself up with his hand on her elbow and other faceless mourners supporting her, she slowly regained her balance and thanked them, her voice thick with grief.

"Here, come and sit down," said the man, leading her to a concrete wall near the cenotaph where she could hear the bugle horn even louder.

"Always brings tears to my eyes too," he said, sitting down next to her.

She nodded, unable to speak and ran her hands over her belly protecting the little being inside her as she had been unable to do for him. She looked at the faces in the crowd, seeing only him.

She wondered if he had made a sound when he fell, if he cried out for her - or for his mother. Maybe it was instant, and he felt no pain and made no sound except for a gasp of shock as the bullet passed through him.

The service concluded and the marching band started. People lined up to pay their respects by placing their poppies inside the memorial, and she stayed, watching them disappear inside one by one.

She felt humbled that people this far into the future still held feelings for those men she once knew, and wondered how long it would take before they were forgotten and Anzac Day ceased to exist.

She felt an unexpected pang of jealousy. These people shed a couple of tears one day a year for the heroes who gave them freedom, and then went on with their lives. They had never touched those men, held them in their arms, kissed them fiercely as they left Wellington harbour to defend their country. They had never loved them.

Now she had a constant reminder of all she had lost, growing in her belly, getting bigger every day, and every day closer to knowing the pain and sorrow and love the world holds.

The people left and she stayed and stared at the cenotaph as the sun rose above the hills. The city came to life around her as the workers came off the trains to start their days and slowly she got up and walked to her car.

Tiny feet pummelled her ribs as she broke down in racking sobs in the solace of her car, crying out for Arthur.

*Copyright Sarah Hardie 2011

A thought for your weekend...

2011-07-15T18:51:00.001-07:00

"A room without books is like a body without a soul" - Cicero

Something a little more happy from Missing Since Tuesday

2011-07-15T18:50:00.000-07:00

Starved of love during the war, Arthur certainly made up for it when he returned. Drinking at the officer's club became a nightly occurrence and woman after woman after woman, who were also starved during wartime, strolled through the club and were plucked like duck feathers and fed.

He never forgot the first one. Her name was Martha and she waltzed into the bar mere days after they had returned from war, her hair curled into a tight bun, wearing a light yellow dress far too short which stopped at the knee, and she smiled at him.

She had asked him for a light and he gave it to her. He offered her a drink and she accepted. He asked her back to the barracks and she said yes and he lasted barely seconds.

She understood, and she smiled and laughed and he never saw her again.

The next night there was Ruth, single but looking for someone to settle down with. He took her to the barracks and she settled down with someone else.

Then there was Elizabeth, a red-haired, brazen girl who he saw again and again and again until she realised he was not the one she was supposed to marry, and then he had Margaret. Married, but bored and childless with a silent husband who had not made love to her since before the war. He took her in the alleyway behind the club and returned for a drink and a go with Ellen in the park.

Then there was Barbara, then Sandra, then Nancy, then Dorothy, then Joan, then Anne.

Then he stopped remembering their names, and then he stopped stubbing out his cigarette.

Soon he and some of his fellow officers ran out of women, and he and Stanley and Alf ventured to new pastures. Already feeling lightheaded from a few beginners at the officer's club, they stumbled down Cortenay Place together and into one they had never been to before. They had barely made it through the door when he glanced toward the angelic singing voice and saw the magnificent woman attached to it. He looked her up and down from her black mane made of silk, down her silver sequined dress to her impossibly high red heels.

"Jesus, would you look at that," said Stan as they sat down close to the stage.

The more drinks they had, the louder Stan and Alf got, whooping and cheering for her while Arthur sat somewhat quieter, watching those hands move with her words and those hips move with the rhythm of the music.

He was up at the bar buying another round of drinks when he heard the click of heels approaching directly behind him and a voice said in a beautiful Irish lilt, "So are you goin' to buy to buy me a drink or are you goin' to stare at me all night?"

He turned around, smiling and she ordered herself a white wine, batting her eyelashes at the bartender.

They did not talk until she got her drink and he paid and instead of going back to his table, he stayed and was about to open his mouth when she looked down at the three beers infront of him and said, "Those all for you?"

He laughed and said, "No not for me, for those buffoons over there," and cocked his head in said buffoon's direction.

"So I haven't seen you in here before, what brings you here?" She asked.

"Change of scenery I guess," he said. "The buffoons insisted."

She cast her eye over him, trying to determine who he was and where he came from.

"You a soldier?"

"Good guess, how did you know?"

"The haircut kind of gives it away," she said with an approving look at his head.

He ran his hand over his shorn locks and smiled. He had become so used to being around soldiers with an identical haircut, he had forgotten others existed.

"Molly!" came a voice from near the stage, pitched loud to be heard over Stan and Alf, who now each had a girl on their lap and were not being coy about it.

"So will you be back again you think?" she asked, picking up her drink off the bar.

Looking into those bright green eyes, he said, "I think I will be, yes." And she left him at the bar, brushing past his arm as she went.

He went back to the barracks alone that night for the first time in he didn't know how long, curled up into an empty bed, fell straight to sleep and dreamed of red high heels.

*Copyright Sarah Hardie 2011

This is where I live!

2011-07-14T21:19:00.000-07:00

So today I went on a little adventure on some country roads around where I live and ended up stopping the car every five seconds along this one stretch of road on my way back to take photos of the beautiful mountains sprinkled with snow, which I can also see when I drive out of my street on a frosty, blue-sky morning - what a way to start the morning:)

I drove over the hill and could see the mountains in the distance...

And then I was greeted with beautiful snowy mountains, which I snapped through some lucious green trees

And there they were, right infront of me.

Even though I don't plan on living here for much longer, I do love driving on country roads, appreciating the very best this beautiful country had to offer.

A new page for your reading pleasure

2011-07-12T21:08:00.000-07:00

For those of you just dying to know what my novel is about after reading excerpts one, two and three, I have added a new page and FINALLY revealed what Missing Since Tuesday is all about. You will see my new page above, which is called... wait for it... Missing Since Tuesday. As well as a synopsis of the book, I will also post all the excerpts I post on my blog so you can refer to them whenever you like without trawling through my blog.

So here is my little synopsis. Tell me what you think. Are you excited? Intrigued? Would you buy Missing Since Tuesday?

In New Zealand's captial city of Wellington in 2010, Duncan Grant lives a normal life. At 21, he lives with his widowed mother in the quiet suburban town of Lower Hutt where nothing interesting ever happens, and studies history at Victoria University, where he meets a chatty, popular girl named Maria who is drawn to him just as he is drawn to her, despite their polar opposite personalities. Their unconventional love story faces some challenging hurdles, and is shattered one day at the mythical Red Rocks on Wellington's South Coast where Maria slips and falls into the violent sea - or so they think.

On his death bed, Duncan's grandfather tells him the secret of the rocks - they have the power to send certain people back in time - and, determined to save the love of his life, Duncan finds himself in the midst of World War Two and the lives of his sister Sophia, a drop-dead gorgeous soldier and part-time pianist named Arthur and his war-time sweetheart Molly are changed forever by the events that follow in the race against time to bring everyone back to where they belong.

Arthur's sweetheart... Missing Since Tuesday

2011-07-12T18:38:00.000-07:00

She was so beautiful. Her body swayed and flowed to the music and his heart felt full. This was the girl he would marry and he nearly had to pinch himself to believe she had really said yes, and woke this morning wondering whether it was in fact a dream. That was, in part, why he had come in to see her tonight; to be sure she had actually said yes.

From the stage, she looked him in the eye for half a second before swirling around in a mass of skirts. There was a glint in her eye he had not seen before, and Arthur was instantly reassured. She was his fiancé, no doubt.

He went to the bar and chatted to Lewis for while, still watching her from the corner of his eye. Lew went to serve another customer and that was when Arthur noticed him.

He had become used to the way they looked at her, the men who came to this club, the men she walked past on the street, men in general, but this one was looking at her with something more than lust.

A long nose peaked out from beneath a mop of mousy brown hair which covered most of his face, but he saw the eyes. They burned holes in her, taking her in from head to toe as if he wanted to swallow her whole.

It was not until the shaggy head swivelled to the side of stage and the music changed that Arthur noticed Molly was finished. She would come out from side stage in a minute and he would take her straight home, away from him, whoever he was.

As expected, she emerged from the small changing room on the side of the stage and walked quickly towards him, a spring in her step.

She was beaming from ear to ear, and his heart was full of her. His hand reached out and grasped her tiny waist, pulling her to him. He could not resist bringing his lips down to hers and burying his fingers in her hair. She just looked so beautiful when she smiled like that, how could any man resist?

Evidently, there was one man who could not stand the sight of their fevered embrace.

They were startled out of their passion with the crash of a beer mug being thrown against the wall, and both turned around in time to receive an angry glare from mousy man as he stalked out the door.

He looked at Molly in puzzlement. "What in the hell was that about?" He asked anyone who would listen.

The noise had picked up again and a bar tender was cleaning up the broken glass, so he got no answer. Molly looked back at him, face gone pale and fear swirling in the blue depths of her eyes. When she did not say anything, it dawned on him. "Was that him?" He asked her.

"I don't know. He usually hides in the corner in a cloud of smoke, but maybe not tonight," she replied, trying her best to hold back the tears. "That look was for us, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it sure was," he said, and led her out the door, scanning the street for the brown head and the cheap suit.

Locking his arm tight around her, they walked silently up the terrace to Arthur's apartment.

What do you think???

Mothers and daughters

2011-07-11T22:57:00.000-07:00

Following the passing of my nana over the weekend, today I am celebrating the beautiful bond between mothers and daughters.

I shot down to Wellington on Friday night after receiving the news that my nana was in hospital and it wasn't looking good, and sat with my mum, who was sitting with her mum, holding her hand, all day Friday.
As soon as I got in my car to drive to the hospital, I knew I would have to take on the role of mum for the weekend. When someone else is going through a crisis, mum always jumps in to help in practical ways by doing the things that need to be done like grocery shopping, looking after pets and driving kids around, so on the weekend, I became my mother and did her grocery shopping, drove my sister and her American exchange student to the places they needed to go, looked after the animals, kept the house tidy, and brought mum coffee.
Even though my brother and dad were around supporting us, the whole weekend was a very surreal mother-daughter experience, and it reinforced the fact that even though mothers and daughters drive each other crazy and clash a lot, they're always there when you need each other and no questions have to be asked, we just do what needs to be done and comfort each other with hugs when it's all over.

Thinking about this post made me remember a book I heard about called Mothers and Daughters by my favourite author, Diana Gabaldon, and other best-selling authors Faye Kellerman, Eileen Goudge and Joy Fielding. I haven't read it yet, but I intend to (I know I say that a lot, but I promise I'll get there!)
It also made me think of the teaser I wrote last week for my novel Missing Since Tuesday, and it's quite eerie that I managed to write that without having properly gone through the death of a loved one before, and even more eerie that I got it pretty much right - a lot of the feelings expressed in that small excerpt were true to how I felt being there with my nana from when she was admitted to hospital to when she took her last breath. This next week will be a hard one, but it will also be an opportunity to experience grief, which will help me with the next stage of my novel, since the best way to write about something is to experience it first-hand.
So I am unofficially declaring today as mother-daughter day, and I encourage you, my faithful readers, to appreciate your mother/daughter/grandmother/grandaughter. Give her a hug and tell her you love her or, if you're to far away to hug, give her a call or write her a letter, because you never know when it could be over and you don't fully appreciate what you have until they're gone.

Let's get to know each other better

2011-07-11T21:02:00.000-07:00

I found this list of questions on Suzy Turner's Blog and thought it would be fun to answer them myself so we can get to know each other better.

So feel free to copy and paste and answer them yourself and leave the link in the comments below:) Look forward to seeing your answers, here are mine:

Have you ever read a book that made you think 'wow'? If so, what book was it and why did it have such an effect on you?
A lot of books have made me go ‘wow’, especially Diana Gabaldon’s books. But I will go for something more recent here… The Bronze Horseman by Paullina Simons. Everything about this story was just so damn intense. It’s set in the midst of World War Two in Russia and it gave me a raw, stark view of what it was like to live during that time. It also showed the incredible power of love and how it can survive the very worst the world has to offer.

Who is your favorite author and why?
Diana Gabaldon has always been my favourite author. I started reading her books when I was 14 years old and have pretty much grown up with them as she adds more books to her Outlander series. I love her writing, her characters are so complex, and I’m a bit of a history nut so the way the story weaves with history is magic.

Who, or what, inspires you?
So many things inspire me. A lot of the time it’s music – I can hear a line from a song and suddenly a whole novel is created in my head in about ten minutes, although I always sleep on my ideas and if it’s still a good idea in the morning, I run with it. Other times it’s the city. People watching in a big city is a great way to form characters in your head.

What was your favourite book as a child?
Go Dog Go by P.D Eastman. I loved this one simply because my dad used to read it to me most nights and I loved the build up. I would get so excited because I knew what the last page was and when we turned to it, we would both yell, “A DOG PARTY!”

Where is your favorite place to write?
In my room, in the dark, with just my dim desk lamp on, and no noise.

What is your favorite film that was based on a book?
I have to be a hopeless romantic girly girl and say The Notebook. I’m a sucker for love stories and Nicholas Sparks sure knows how to make you cry. I love Rachel McAdams, and she played Allie amazingly. The thing I love about the story is how passionate they both are – it’s not all roses and butterflies. They fight, they yell, and they hurt each other, but in the end they’re made for each other.
My favourite quote would have to be this:
Noah: “That's what we do, we fight... You tell me when I am being an arrogant son of a bitch and I tell you when you are a pain in the ass. Which you are, ninety-nine per cent of the time. I'm not afraid to hurt your feelings. You have like a two-second rebound rate, then you're back doing the next pain-in-the-ass thing."

Tell us a random fact about yourself.
I am obsessed with the 1960s. I love everything about the era from the hippies to the mods, the fashion, the war, Woodstock, the music, the art, just everything. Especially John Lennon – I’m a huge fan of him and The Beatles.

Tell us something interesting about the area where you live.
There’s a flashy Copthorne Hotel down the street and endless farmland over my back fence… it’s a land of contrasts, is Masterton.

Pursuing new hobbies

2011-07-11T18:23:00.000-07:00

For those of you who have read my about page, you will know that I am constantly pursuing new ideas and I hunt down inspiration every day. I am a creative, and I have always felt the need to use my hands to create beautiful things. I paint, I draw, I scrapbook, and I take photographs. Lately, I've stumbled upon the largely unappreciated art of woodworking. I used to love woodworking as a kid and teenager, but forgot all about it once I finished school.

So I Googled - as I do whenever I hatch an idea - and got so excited that I bought a book about woodworking called The Complete Manual of Woodworking by Albert Jackson from Amazon, despite having no space in my house (since it's not my house - I just board there), no workshop, and no tools whatsoever. But I thought, why not learn about woodworking now so in the summer, when I move back home to Wellington into my own place with my partner, I can start doing some practical stuff with knowledge about tools and wood.

I have always loved the smell of sawdust, the sound of a saw going through wood, and the pure satisfaction of finishing something you have put your sweat and blood into. I also love how woodworking is not just about creating something pretty, it's about creating what I like to call "practical art" - something beautiful that you can use. My short term goal is to make myself and my partner a French shabby-chic bedside table each, and my ultimate goal a few years down the track is to make my future daughter(s) a stunning victorian dollhouse like this.

Do you read books for inspiration for your own novel?

2011-07-04T21:16:00.000-07:00

I often wonder about this. I've heard that some authors strictly do not read other people's books while they're working on their own for fear of their work being influenced.

But I for one cannot bear the thought of not reading, and I find that my writing sucks when I'm not reading and if I'm reading something I'm really enjoying, my writing gets awesome - but I've still got my own style, I'm not copying theirs (which is possibly a reason why some authors don't do it?)

But what to do when you find a book that carries the same themes as your own novel? Once you get over the initial panicked feeling that someone else has beaten you to it and published your novel (which should disappear after you've read past the first two sentences on the back cover), do you read it?

I picked up Love in the Years of Lunacy by Mandy Sayer the other day because I liked the cover and, when I flipped it over, found that it is set in the midst of World War Two in Australia, it's a love story that gets tested by the war and involves jazz music in smoky bars.

My story is set in Wellington, New Zealand during World War Two (Which had a lot of similarities to Australia during the war), my main character plays the piano in smoky jazz bars and is shipped off to fight in the war, which tests the love story. The edge mine has over hers is that mine involves time travel and five main characters.

It sounds like a great book, but should I read it?

Dreaming of solitude

2011-07-03T15:48:00.000-07:00

You know when life just gets so damn busy that all you want to do is jump in the car, drive to a cottage in the middle of nowhere and stay there for a few days to simply sit in the sun on the porch with a glass of wine and a good book? This is exactly what I need right now... life is just too much. So even though I have no chance of leaving anytime soon, I went Google-dreaming anyway.

First I found some beautiful cottages nearby, like a 1924 fully restored cottage, Shearers Cottage, which borders an olive grove and is furnished in a french style, and Cobwebs Cottage by the sea at Riversdale Beach, with views of the ocean. But they weren't quite far enough away...

So I went further south to a beautiful sunny place called Nelson, and found Thackwood Cottage, which overlooks farmland to the warm blue waters of Tasman Bay, Nelson towards the Abel Tasman National Park.

But, as New Zealand is such a tiny country, it is hard to find a place way out in the middle of nowhere with no TV, no wireless internet, and especially no Sky TV. I just want a place with hot water and an oven. I don't even need lights - candlelight will be magical. But these days, people tend to have withdrawals without their precious 21st-century technology and forget the fact that there is so much more to life, like walking through national parks listening to the birds, playing card games by the fire, reading a good book by candlelight, sleeping under the stars, and swimming in the sea.

Inspired by last night's dinner of mince stew, mashed potatoes, "neeps" (turnips) and Haggis, cooked for us by my brother's Scottish partner to welcome us to their new home, I looked even further afield to - yep, you guessed it, the rocky moors and isolated isles of Scotland.

And there, searching for the most secluded cottages possible, I found Shepherds Cottage on the Isle of Skye and Braigh-na-Leitre in Dingwall, Ross-shire.

All I want to do is read my books in peace, far, far away from everything and everyone.

Another teaser...

2011-06-30T16:32:00.000-07:00

Would really appreciate some feedback on this one!!

Excerpt from Missing Since Tuesday by Sarah Hardie

Duncan sat at his desk attempting to study and preparing for an all-nighter, when his mother appeared at the door looking a little worse for wear. “Honey, your granddad, he’s had a fall,” she said, eyes brimming with tears. “I’m going to the hospital now, do you want to come?”

He didn’t need asking twice, and grabbed a sweatshirt, pulling it over his head as he followed her downstairs and out the door.

“Call Sophia will you?” she said to him, passing her cell phone over as she sped off down the street. He called her and she said she would meet them at the hospital. The rest of the drive was spent in tense silence with Duncan staring at nothing out the window and his mother trying to see the road through her tears.

They arrived at accident and emergency and were taken to a tiny hole in the wall with a curtain pulled across the front by a frumpy nurse, who explained they were doing some tests and would move him to a ward soon.

While Lynn asked the necessary questions, Duncan edged closer to the bed, staring in disbelief at his skeleton of a grandfather. Once such a tall, strong, man with muscles envied by so many, Henry Grant lay limp in a white hospital gown, attached to an oxygen machine, helping him take shallow, struggling breaths. An extraordinary feeling of guilt overwhelmed Duncan as the old man reached for him, and he felt terrible for his neglect since Maria died. He took the frail hand and only felt bone, and suddenly wished his sister was here – she would know what to do.

As if he had summoned her with his thoughts, a light hand appeared on his arm, just as it had six months ago, and Sophia stood by his side solid as one of those godforsaken rocks.

Hours later, after sitting by Henry’s side comforting each other and dozing sporadically, the nurses moved him to a ward and Duncan, Sophia and Lynn were told to say their goodbyes. The doctor said his organs were shutting down and would be surprised if he lasted the night, and Lynn broke down and sobbed, leaving Duncan on his own as Sophia comforted their mother.

Duncan left them in the corridor and went into the room to say his goodbyes. He was greeted with a smile and he sat down, unsure what to say.

Henry saved him the trouble by taking a deep, broken breath and said, “You’re a good boy, Duncan.”

He nodded, unable to speak. His grandfather reached out to him with a bony hand and he took it. Henry looked straight into his eyes and squeezed Duncan’s hand with surprising strength.

“Son, there’s something you need to know.”

Shifting in his seat, apprehensive of what was to come, Duncan steeled himself for what could either be “I love you” or a secret he had been planning to take to his grave.

Looking at the emotions struggling for dominance on his face, Duncan thought it was the latter. He nodded, urging him to continue.

“The Red Rocks.”

Mention of those thieving, destructive freaks of nature tensed every muscle in his body and he was only drawn back to reality by a small gasp coming from the bed, telling Duncan was squeezing the old man’s hand too hard. He lessened his grip and let him continue.

“They’re magic, son,” he smiled, and Duncan breathed a sigh of relief at the fact that his dear old grandfather was becoming delirious as he neared the end.

“Your lovely Maria; she’s not dead, just gone.” And with that last statement, he closed his eyes and took his last breath.

As the withered old hand relaxed in his, Henry Grant’s last words echoed in his grandson’s head. “Not dead, just gone.”

Busy, busy times and a little bit of Paul Henry

2011-06-26T21:40:00.000-07:00

Hi all, can't believe it's been a week since I last posted! How slack of me! I guess that's what happens when life gets totally overloaded with work, winter sickness, overseas visitors and a busy social life.
But I'm back, still struggling my way through Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. God it's hard. But I'm hoping to finish at least one of the two books I'm reading by the end of next week because I'm sooo keen to get into my latest purchases.
And what better time of the year to get into some good books than the middle of winter when there's snow on the hills and a nice cozy fire inside.

So, guess what's on the New Zealand bestseller list at the moment... Paul Henry's memoir, What Was I Thinking.

Now I know most of you reading are not from New Zealand, so here is a little insight into Paul Henry.

He's new Zealand's most controversial broadcaster. He has been in the media for years, and has climbed up the ranks to breakfast television, from which he recently resigned after a series of deliberate racist jokes which caused an international uproar. One included making fun of Delhi Chief Minister Sheila Dikshit. Here is the video.

Another one included him asking our Prime Minister John Key if our Governor General Anand Satyanand is in fact a New Zealander and if the next Governor General will actually be a kiwi. Here is that video.

I met him a couple of weeks ago when he was doing his book tour and in my opinion, he's gutsy and is just saying what everyone else is thinking. But I'll let you make up your own mind...

Just a little teaser...

2011-06-19T19:47:00.000-07:00

Hope everyone had a fabulous weekend! I've been doing a lot of writing lately, so I thought I would share a little bit of my novel, Missing Since Tuesday with you. So far I'm about 20,000 words in and I'm reluctant to share what it is about for fear of someone stealing my idea. But I will tell you that it's set in Wellington, New Zealand, and it involves time travel, World War Two, 2010, love, murder and betrayal.

So here goes... hope you like and look forward to reading your feedback.

---

As she stood in the hallway watching her brother’s hands weave frantically over the papers strewn across his desk, lit by a single desk light in the otherwise pitch-black room, Sophia worried for her brother as she always had.

Predictably, he had drawn into himself when Maria died, not speaking unless spoken to and going through life with his eyes half shut, staring at the ground as if he was waiting for it to swallow him whole. Since their granddad had died, she worried for him even more. He had not gone deeper into the chasm of depression as she had expected; he had opened his eyes and stopped staring at the ground. But he wasn’t happy. He was frantic. Awake until ridiculous hours of the morning and constantly going for drives, he almost looked as if he had a new sense of purpose, and she worried what it might be.

“I know you’re there Soph, come in if you want.” His voice startled her out of her thoughts and she went in and sat on his bed behind him.

She let him work for a little while, still watching his hands fly over the photocopied papers, grabbing the ones he wanted and scrawling notes readable only to himself.

“So what’s up little brother?” She finally asked.

He finished up a sentence and turned to face her. “What do you mean, what’s up?” He asked in a voice she thought could almost be accusatory.

“I mean how are you doing?” She said cautiously. “It’s been a hard year for you and I just wanted to check in and see how you’re coping.”

“Coping? Why wouldn’t I be coping?” He challenged, his voice rising slightly as he shifted awkwardly in his seat.

She put her hand on his knee in an attempt to assure him she wasn’t accusing him of anything and he quickly pulled away.

“Duncan, I’m not going to go all Dr Phil on you, I’m just worried about you okay? I just want you to know that I’m here if you need to talk.”

He was not sitting still and it was starting to irritate her. He was drumming his fingers on his legs and constantly flicking his eyes back to the pile of papers. He flicked them back to her and, with a start; she saw the thin red veins of his eyeballs stark under a cover of glass.

“Oh my God,” she mumbled. “Duncan, are you high?” She demanded, and he leapt off his chair and walked to the other side of the room away from her, and sat on the floor, putting his head in his hands.

“Duncan, answer me. Are you high?” She asked again, getting off the bed and edging towards him.

She reached him and when he didn’t answer, put a firm hand on his arm.

“Duncan!” She said fiercely. “What the hell did you take?”

“Nothing, I’m fine!” He yelled, and stood up, rounding on her and pushing her towards the door. She resisted and rounded back on him. “NO! You’re not fine!” She yelled.

“Just talk to me!” She pleaded in a quieter voice.

His red eyes seemed redder as he continued to push her out the door. “I don’t want to fucking talk about it! Get out!” He screamed, and pushed her out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Sophia stood in the center of the hallway, shell-shocked until her mother came towards her, yawning groggily and passing a hand through her short tousled hair.

“What the hell’s going on?” She asked, wanting to be angry but too tired to care.

“Nothing, Duncan’s just in a bad mood,” she replied, trying her best to stop the tears that were brewing falling down her face. “Mum, is it alright if I stay the night? I really can’t be bothered driving home,” she lied.

“Of course,” her mother replied with a yawn and toddled back to bed.

Sophia went to her old room and took the duvet off her bed. She went back to the hallway and sat down by Duncan’s door, wrapping herself in the big, warm feather-down. She kept her ears trained on the sounds coming from inside the room and heard the continuous shuffling of paper, and in the silence of the night, she could faintly hear the scratching of his pen, a soothing sound that caused her to doze. She came suddenly awake when she heard the sound of the chair creaking and the covers of his bed being thrown back.

She willed herself to stay awake and when enough time had passed for her to think him asleep, she reluctantly crawled out of the warm solace of the duvet and crept into his room. She kneeled beside his bed until she could be sure he was breathing normally and wasn’t in any danger to himself, and eventually got up, trudging back to her room, in which the digital alarm clock glared at her with a stark 3.00am.

She collapsed on the bed still rolled up in the duvet, and slept fitfully, getting up twice more to check on Duncan.

*Copyright Sarah Hardie 2011

Timewarp to 1965

2011-06-16T18:37:00.000-07:00

Just had to share this blog post from Stuff blogger Moata. She found a bunch of 1960s magazines in an op-shop and bought a 1965 issue of New Idea. Her observations of the adverts made me laugh out loud! A brilliant way to put a smile on your face. :)

Happy Birthday to ME!!

2011-06-16T16:26:00.000-07:00

Twenty-three years ago today, a little girl named Sarah was born. She had jet-black hair and a big red birthmark between her eyebrows, and was so very cute. She grew up in a loving household with her parents, who have now been married 28 years, her younger brother and younger sister, her kitty cat Nuggie who is now 14 years old, and four different dogs. It's been a great 23 years, and among times of devastation, heartbreak and sadness, there have been so many more happy times thanks to her gorgeous family and amazing partner who has been by her side for four years.

So today, I plan to treat myself to a nice, expensive lunch at my favourite cafe in Masterton, the Ten O'Clock Cookie and then head over the hill to see my partner and my family. Mum's putting on a roast pork for me - my favourite! And Golden Steamed Pudding and Chocolate Chippie Log (mum's own creation) for dessert. (See what I mean about my life revolving around food!)

Good Kiwi tucka

2011-06-15T14:59:00.000-07:00

My life pretty much revolves around cooking. I cook for myself at home – which is a bit of a struggle because it’s so hard to cook nice meals for just one person. It’s hard to get inspired when there’s no one there to say, “yum, this is really good Sarah”. When I still lived at home, I invented the Dinner Roster to take the pressure off mum – we all had to cook one day a week and then we all pitched in on weekends – it worked well for awhile, and then fell apart when I left home…

Our family has always had a family dinner on Sunday nights, which has become all the more important now that the babies are leaving the nest. So in summer, we have true kiwi barbeques complete with dad’s amazing steak, sausages, chips, fried eggs and salads topped off with Watties tomato sauce; and in winter we have a roast with all the trimmings. Most of the time it’s me and mum or sometimes just me preparing and cooking food in the kitchen, which I love. There’s nothing like a good, hearty Kiwi meal.

My partner and I also cook together some weekends (we used to cook all the time but now we’re so busy, takeaways have become more frequent), which is great fun and really satisfying when it all works out. He also cooks for me when he knows I’m stressed out or when it’s our anniversary or sometimes just because he wants to, which is so lovely – we don’t really do big romantic gestures so little things like that are our version of romance.

So to carry on the cooking theme this week, which I unwittingly dove into and now can’t stop thinking about, I would like to share some great New Zealand cookbooks that have some fantastic classic Kiwi recipes as well as some new ones using our country’s great produce.

The New Zealand Vegetable Cookbook

I gave this one to mum for Christmas last year and she's just started using it - by that I mean she's taken it out of the cupboard and book marked what recipes she wants to make. Bless her, she's such a busy bee. I got it because mum and dad built a veggie garden a few years ago and they've grown a lot of veggies they just don't know what to do with, so I thought this would be perfect... I've just got to convince dad not to give up on the garden - he gets quite frustrated with it sometimes (especially when he has to spend loads of money fencing it off so the dog won't get in there), but soldier on dad, it'll be worth it!

Kiwi Favourites

Looove this one. It's full of tried and true Kiwi recipes most New Zealand mums should know how to make, and every Kiwi kid will have tried at least one. It has yummy meals like whitebait fritters and bacon and egg pie, and delish desserts like ginger crunch, pavlova, and lolly cake. Yum yum yum, it's making me hungry just writing about it!

The Free Range Cook

Annabel Langbein is one of New Zealand's best cooks, and this book is just brilliant. My partner's mum has this one and I just love it. Instead of having recipe after recipe, it has a bunch of other stuff like growing veggies and baking bread in an outdoor oven. It's a companion to her brilliant TV series and it takes you into her life in the country where she cooks great food in a simple, natural way.

Language of love

2011-06-14T16:25:00.000-07:00

Some say that food is the language of love, and I for one believe that it is in many ways. Cooking is one of the most relaxing things to do for those who are "active relaxers" like myself. They also say that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, and I think this is true too. Cook him a good steak and he's yours. Although, men also take a lot of pride in cooking a good manly steak themselves, and those who love to cook (like my partner, lucky me!) can also reach a woman's heart through their stomach.

While reading Recipe for Life by Nicki Pellegrino, one of the few things I got out of it (wasn't the greatest book in the world) was something that one of the Italian men said. I can't remember the quote exactly, but it was something like, "the best way to show someone you love them is to cook for them. I'm making something with my own hands and putting it inside you, what could say love better than that?"

After reading, my second love is cooking, and since we're a very multi-cultural society here in New Zealand and don't really have a lot of national dishes, many of us like cooking different kinds of international food. I love Italian food with a passion - wood fired pizza, pasta, breads, herbs, yuuum! And my partner is a quarter Italian so he's got the natural flair for cooking, especially Italian food.

So a couple of weekends ago, my mum cam to visit me and we had a girly weekend watching movies and pigging out of icecream and pasta, staying in our pyjamas until midday. We watched Julie and Julia, a movie we've both wanted to watch since it came out, but there's always been others around (like men) who moan about it so we've never gotten round to it. After watching it, we now both want to try French cooking - my mum's a great cook and taught me everything I know - so I've put Mastering the Art of French Cooking on my Wishlist on Amazon.

So what are your favourite cookbooks?

Notice there's been a couple of food posts lately? Yeah, I'm having a dinner party on Saturday night so I've been stealing mum's cook books and googling recipes, so cooking is very much on my mind right now - little bit nervous actually. Was thinking about making these Red Velvet Whoopie Pies for desert, which I found on a great blog, Here Comes the Sun.

Goodbye Sarajevo

2011-06-13T15:08:00.000-07:00

As you probably know, I'm a journalist, and in Masterton, where I live and work, we have this awesome bookstore called Hedley's Booksellers, which has been there for over 100 years. David Hedley, the owner, always lets us know about authors coming to town, as they get a lot of them because he's really passionate about what he does and always pushes to get these great authors into the store. So at the Wairarapa Times-Age, I'm the "author interviewer", simply because nobody else is really interested and I obviously LOVE books.

My latest interview was with Atka Reid and Hana Schofield, survivors of the Bosnian war, and was so, so interesting - authors are all so lovely.

The story is here on the Wairarapa Times-Age website.

I'm also reading the book myself - David gave me a reading copy to help with my story, but he hasn't asked for it back yet and I'm hooked after the first chapter, so I'm going to keep reading until he asks for it back... so watch this space for a review.

Leaving the nest

2011-06-13T14:39:00.000-07:00

Leaving home is a strange, emotional, frightening, stressful time for both parents and children, and although I'm not yet a parent, I'm dreading the day when my children leave me and go out into the big wide world. My little brother (well, he's 20...) moved out of home on Saturday and it's amazing how much we all had to think about.

I moved out of home a year ago and I'm loving it, but it was a lot different for me because I moved to a different town four hours away from family, friends and partner (I now live an hour away so I'm getting closer!) and into an already furnished house with flatmates.

My brother has moved in with his girlfriend into an empty four bedroom house and has had to beg borrow and steal furniture and kitchen things and then find other tenants to help with the rent and fill the empty rooms. They also intended on spending $100 between the two of them on groceries and ended up spending $100 each. I just found it amazing how much stuff you need to set up a house. Off the top of my head, the essential furniture/appliances include a couch, dining table and chairs, bed, dresser, toaster, jug/kettle, bookcases/shelves ... and then you need to organise things like insurance, rubbish collection, internet, power, phone. In the next six months I'll be doing the same thing, so, even though our parents have kept all the kitchen stuff they've ever owned for this very purpose, I'd better start collecting some furniture!

So today I thought I'd share some books about leaving the nest...

Edmonds Cookery Book

This one's a classic and I'm sure every mother owns one. I know my mum and grandmother had them - mum has nana's old one I think. It has all the basic recipes like macaroni cheese, plus some more exciting ones and should be an essential item for children leaving home. Mum bought me a copy when I left home and it's served me well.

Food for Flatters

Not only does Food for Flatters have recipes, it also tells you what basic utensils to buy and what to keep on hand in the pantry. This one is especially good for the males because it has manly meals like burgers and things and, as they're not as instinctive as us about things they need for the home, the list of untensils and essential ingredients is especially handy - this one graced the kitchen of my partner's house when he went flatting with a bunch of guys.

Leaving home - A Survival Guide

This was written by two mothers who, when their children were leaving home, thought "I wish I knew then what I knew now", so decided to write a "survival guide" with all sorts of tips for kids and parents. Topics include: Real estate, renting advice, sharing with friends, money saving tips, credit card debt, economic shopping ideas, how not to be conned or ‘ripped off’, and much more.

She's Leaving Home: Letting go as Daughter Goes to College

Here's one a little different. This is a memoir telling the story of a mother and daughter over two years and the daughter goes to college. It's all about being prepared, keeping relationships going and families together, and eventually, letting go. I read some reviews on Amazon and, as expected, there are a lot of parents who can relate to this story.

Letting them go

In Letting Them Go, author David Veerman offers support, help, and understanding from a parent who's been there. It's all about preparing your heart and your child for leaving home, so it's good for both parents and children. He also offers practical advice for the time together before they leave, and a sneak peek at issues that will arise after they've gone.

Barbara and Susan's Guide to the Empty Nest

Here's one for the parents. With the kids gone, it's often hard to form a life without them and allow yourself to be selfish and do what you want to do - especially for mothers. So this one is all about discovering new purpose, passion and your next great adventure.

500 year old book for sale

2011-06-09T16:43:00.000-07:00

If you have a spare NZ$42,000 (US$35,000) lying around, maybe you'd like to buy a 500 year old book, the German language edition of the Nuremberg Chronicle, printed by Anton Koberger and published in 1493.
It's for sale at a rare book store in Utah and is considered one of the earliest and most lavishly illustrated works of the 15th century. Pretty amazing!
Story from Stuff

How cool does this book sound!?!

2011-06-09T15:09:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, while pleading for more advice on my Mother's Group project, one of my followers Mary J suggested I do a one-chapter-per-family kind of thing, and told me about a book called The Imperfectionists by Tom Rachman. So I looked it up for inspiration and it sounds AMAZING. It's set in a newspaper office and follows the stories of each staff member from the editor in chief down to the lowly copy editor and each person's story is told in one chapter, which all interweave with each other and come to an end with a "firecracker of discovery".
The review is in the New York Times... read it!

More on the Mother's Group

2011-06-08T16:23:00.000-07:00

So for some reason Blogger won't let me comment on my own blog, so to add to yesterday's post, it's really the structure of the thing I'm struggling with.

I'm trying to decide whether to tell the story in order from start to finish in a novel-type format, but then there are so many different scattered memories over the 36 people in the group.

Or should I go family by family?

Or generation by generation (there's four different generations born within two years of each other)?

Or scatter the memories through a novel-type format?

Or do one page per person?

And then there's the "extras" (new spouses/step kids etc) who have unofficially joined the group over the years as a couple of marriages broke up and people remarried.

Maybe looking at some old photos might give me inspiration... hhmm

I suppose I just need to start asking everyone if they're in, which is a bit nerve-wracking because even though they're all like family, some of them may think it's a dumb idea... lol.

So thanks for your comments and keep them coming!

Sarah xo

New project idea: Advice needed!

2011-06-07T17:25:00.000-07:00

Hello everyone, hope you all had a great weekend. I for one feel like I haven't sat down in days - kids are so exhausting!

So I need some advice. I have this idea that I don't know what to do with.

When I was a baby, my mum joined Plunket (for those non-New Zealanders, Plunket is a support service for mothers). One of the things Plunket did back then was get groups of mothers together who had babies born around the same time and they got together for coffee, playdates etc. Most mother's groups dissolve after a few years once life gets busy and more babies are born, but in my case, our mother's group continued. The oldest of the 23 kids are turning 23 years old this year and we're still going strong. Instead of coffee and playdates, however, the parents do all sorts of things together like go on crazy holidays and cycle around the country.

So I want to write a book about it. There's already been a book written about Plunket to celebrate 100 years, so I think my idea has a chance.

We all get together at least three times a year for significant birthdays like 21st's and 50th's, and I had the idea to write a book after going to one of the 21st's a couple of weeks ago - this one was my brother's best friend and I've always seen him as my second little brother.

The mother's in the group are mums to all of us. If one of us gets in trouble and our mother isn't there to help us, there will always be one of them there. For example, about a year ago, my partner and I went on an organised two-day cycling trip called Big Coast and a couple of the mothers group parents went as well (as their own group, not with us). On the first day before lunch, I went down a steep gravel road too fast and fell off my bike, and was rewarded with cuts and grazes on my knees, elbow and face. I got up and kept going, with an embarrassing plaster (band aid) on my chin and I arrived at the lunch spot a little worse for wear. The mother's group mums saw me getting patched up by the first aid guys and came over straight away to give me "mummy hugs" and make sure I was okay.

As for the friendships between the kids, we all have our best friends in the group and whenever we see each other at the many, many parties, there's hugs all round and instant, non-awkward conversation. They're all like ready-made friends who will never, ever not be friends.

Although some people have left over the years, the core of the group remains strong. I think the most special thing about us is that out of 23 kids, not one of us has got pregnant, died, been arrested or disowned their family. In a time when so many families are breaking up, or not even marrying in the first place, our story is a breath of fresh air - reminding people of the importance of family.

I think it's a story that needs to be told, but where to begin? Thoughts?

Happy weekend!

2011-06-03T15:30:00.000-07:00

Hi all,

I'm signing off for the long weekend to spend three days with family, so I hope you all have a great weekend whether it's three days or two days (depending on where you are in the world). And wish me luck! My parents house is going to be full with nine people including my two 12-year-old and one six-year old cousins and my mum and her sister who NEVER stop talking when they're together.

Happy weekend!

Seeing Red

2011-06-02T14:20:00.000-07:00

I'm a bit shy when it comes to sharing my own work, even though I write for a living. But journalism and creative writing are whole different ball games, so it takes a lot to share something like this. Seeing Red is a little short story I wrote ages ago - hope you like it!

SEEING RED

BY SARAH HARDIE

The rain beat down on her windscreen as she turned into the car park. Sadie was late and stressed out, but she knew she had to soldier on for Rosie's sake.

A peak in the rear vision mirror showed her a pair of painfully pathetic blood-shot eyes, and she wiped the mascara smudges away in an attempt to feel normal.

Next she was bolting across the car park to the door of the hotel, praying her heels would not betray her. That would be just what she needed, something else to crumble underneath her.

She made it to the door without too much damage to her hair and makeup, and caught a glimpse of red in the window. Not bad, she thought. She had found the dress in the back of her wardrobe, unworn for years and, despite the fact she never, ever wore red, decided on a whim to give it a go. Maybe she was rebelling against herself, maybe it was him. Whatever the reason, she felt stronger. They do say red cars go faster.

Arriving in the kitchen, she apologized for her lateness and was rushed into work preparing chicken sandwiches. Rosie appeared in the doorway, a look of relief on her face. "Oh thank God you're here, chick, I thought you weren't going to come," she said, and was called away before she could notice the bloodshot eyes staring wearily at the chicken in front of her. Sadie's hands moved with a mind of their own, robots putting the sandwiches together.

She took a completed plate of sandwiches out to the table, not watching where she was going. The sandwiches went flying, as did she, as a leather jacket containing a tall, dark-haired God came seemingly out of nowhere. A hand reached down to help her up and she frantically gathered the wasted food onto the platter, not looking up.

"You okay?" said a concerned male voice, and a tear escaped as she stood up and disappeared back into the kitchen.

Standing at the bench, she took a deep breath. Pull yourself together, she told herself. She felt terrible for not acknowledging the man who had helped her to her feet and desperately wanted to escape. She could - she was only doing this as a favor to Rosie. She didn't even like catering.

With a sigh, she got back to work, yearning for the time when she could go home, curl up in bed and sleep forever.

The night passed in a blur and her eyes cleared as she gradually pushed the nagging thoughts to the back of her mind.

Finally able to take a break, she sought fresh air out the back of the hotel. She breathed in the night and leaned against the cold brick wall, letting her thoughts creep back in.

She thought maybe she was going through feelings akin to those of grief. Since that moment on the doorstep that afternoon, she felt denial seasoned with a pinch of regret.

She couldn't believe he would just walk right back into her like that after leaving it so suddenly. She understood he left to follow his dream, and how could she say no to that? A girlfriend is supposed to be supportive, but after three years together, she thought surely there had to be room for compromise. His idea of compromise was for her to go with him, but how selfish was that? Asking her to abandon her own dreams to follow his? No way, she was too stubborn for that.

So he had left. Just like that. With no goodbye.

And then he had come back a whole year later. Just appeared on her doorstep with no warning.

How could he expect her to take him back after a year of falling apart and putting her life back together without him? What right did he have?

The anger boiled through her chest and crept down her arm, curling her hand into a fist.

The door opened at the same moment her fist struck the cold wood wall and a man walked slowly over to her, lighting his cigarette.

"You okay?" He asked, sounding concerned. De ja vu.

"Here, let me see," he said and she held her hand out to him. He looked at her grazed knuckles with a slight frown and said, "You'll be alright". He seemed reluctant to let go and smiled, showing off a row of perfectly straight teeth.

"You're in the wars tonight, aren't you?" He said, and she realised he was the same man she had crashed into inside.

She nodded and pulled her hand away, slightly embarrassed that this stranger had come to her rescue twice in one night.

He offered her a puff of his cigarette. "It might make you feel better," he said. She took it.

"I don't think I've ever seen a girl punch a wall," he said with a smirk.

She took a deep puff. "I don't usually punch walls," she said, echoing his smirk. "It's just been one of those days."

A couple more puffs and she found herself telling this stranger about her day from hell.

They talked and she eventually forgot where she was and that her break was over. She told him about her day job. He told her about his band.

He wrote songs and his band was called Chasing Time. They played a mixture of rock and indie music. He loved the Beatles, as did she, and they fell deeper into conversation.

She was giving him her cell phone number when the door crashed open behind them. The sound startled them out of their comfortable bubble of cigarette smoke and conversation.

"There you are! We need some major help out here," came an exasperated voice from the doorway. Rosie disappeared and Sadie turned to follow her, but was stopped by a hand on her arm.

An arm came around her waist and pulled her close. She felt his dark stubble brush her skin and their lips met in a cloud of smoke, which rose up into the air, taking Sadie's day with it. "You look good in red," he whispered in her ear, and then she was gone.

Her shift finally over, Sadie made her way to the car park. The cold air struck her as she stepped outside, as did the realisation that she had not thought to ask his name. She had given him her number and let him kiss her - and kissed him back, but she did not know his name.

Weeks passed, then months, and the number she had hastily typed into the nameless musician's cell phone went unused.

Summer came and Sadie found herself browsing the CD store, one of her favourite pastimes. The words Chasing Time stared at her through the ranks of plastic squares and she picked it up. Turning it over, she saw the name of the first song. Red.

Copyright 2011 Sarah Hardie

NZ's raunchiest read ever

2011-06-01T18:38:00.000-07:00

Saw a story on this writer and her new book, which hit stores yesterday, on Stuff this morning and thought it was interesting. It's not often you get something like this come out of New Zealand, so I'm very keen to read it. It's called Scarlet by Leigh Marsden, and its publisher, Penguin, has described it as the sexiest read they've ever released. Everyone likes a good raunchy novel!

Here's the synopsis taken from Leigh Marsden's Website:

George is captivated by Cass and who can blame her? Cass is beautiful, sexy and outgoing and she and George run riot through the bars and beds of night-time Auckland.
But are George and Cass just girls having fun, or is there something more going on? As George sinks deeper into the nightlife her dark past begins to emerge. And who is Cass? Is she a friend, a lover or something much more dangerous?
Scarlet is an addictive tale of love, lust and betrayal that will leave you breathless.

Beautiful books

2011-06-01T13:51:00.000-07:00

Aren't these just gorgeous?! This is a collection of Penguin Classics including Wuthering Heights, Little Women, Oliver Twist, Alice in Wonderland and heaps more great classics that came out a while ago. Are they not the most beautiful books you've ever seen? I've been meaning to get a couple, and I think my first one will be Alice in Wonderland, and then I'll get Through the Looking Glass. I know they're available at Borders and Amazon if you want some:)

Those Americans and their conspiracies

2011-05-30T15:31:00.000-07:00

I thought this was interesting. It's a new book seeking to explain a new theory about what really happened in 1947 at Roswell. I love the Roswell story and I've always been a believer - maybe because I was a die-hard fan of the TV show when I was a teenager. But I also went to Roswell in 2008 and visited the museum, which was very interesting. The thing I found most fascinating was a material that looked like tin foil (or aluminium foil for those Americans who are reading) that was found at the crash site - it was as thin as tin foil, but it was virtually unbendable (if that's a word).

So this book, Area 51: An Uncensored History of America's Top Secret Military Base, is a new theory that it was not a spacecraft carrying aliens that landed in Roswell that day, but rather a Russian spacecraft with "grotesque, child-size aviators" developed in human experiments by Nazi doctor and war criminal Josef Mengele.

Weird huh?

See the full story here on Stuff

A must-have in my dream home

2011-05-30T14:55:00.000-07:00

Much to my partner's horror, who is studying computer software engineering and can't understand why I don't just buy a Kindle or an Ipad instead of spending so much money on buying books which fill up loads of space in the house, our future dream home is going to have a library.

I swear I will never buy electronic books because I love the feel of a book in my hand and the smell of a new book and it's comforting having them around me. If there's anything material I missed while overseas, it was my books. So here are some random bookshelves/libraries that would be amazing to have in my future house.

100 books in 5 years

2011-05-29T20:42:00.000-07:00

I’m following the crowd and embarking on the FILL THE GAPS 100 PROJECT. What a fabulous idea! Even though there will be lots of books written and published in the next five years which I’m sure I will want to read, this list is a great way to read those books I’ve been meaning to read for aaaaages. I’m so excited about this list! I just want to quit my job and read for the rest of my life.

Some of them are classics, some recommended by friends, and some are stories which have been made into movies – I just love going right back to the beginning and reading the story that inspired the movie. There’s also a bit of New Zealand fiction scattered in there.

My five year quest begins today: May 30, 2011 and ends on May 30, 2016.

So here is my list (it has it's very own page)