Posted by: rivettingkatetaylor | September 9, 2008

Father’s Day

Father’s Day has been and gone – the father in our house is probably pleased about that.

On one hand he won a spectacular game of golf the day before against two of the best players in the club (winning my just four&two despite the other players having to give them 28 shots due to handicaps). On the other hand, he celebrated by his notoriously social partner by buying a bottle of rum and gatecrashing our netball breakup!

This meant some great entertainment for the girls but massive hangover for Thomas in the morning!

He might have enjoyed going out on to the golf course to try out his new golf bag. But he didn’t. I might have encouraged him, but I didn’t. I had a good night too.

The children also bought their father a shag bag. Now before you collapse giggling onto the floor (or slap me for being an irresponsible mother) a shag bag is a ball-picker-upper-thingie. You push the tube down on the ball on the ground and it picks it up. Not lazy when you’re picking up 50 balls you’ve just hit out into the paddock. Why it’s called a shag bag I’ll never know.

It can’t actually be used out in the paddock yet. The grass is so long you almost have to stand on them to see them! It will be a different story in a few weeks when the calves get out there.

Friendship Day golf was held at Waipukurau (golf) last Friday.At least, friendship might have been the order of the day if we could see each other under the Niagara Falls coming off our umbrellas. Only 10 stablefords for the first nine holes – I was very pleased to see the Club Captain venture onto the fairway to say it was all over and the kettle was on. Even more pleased when my playing partner sunk a great chip from off the green that would have netted her three stablefords – should the hole have been counted!

So, I am still enjoying my golf. There are a great bunch of ladies at Takapau Golf Club and even though my golf leaves a bit to be desired, the long walk chasing the little white ball can’t do me any harm.

(Footnote: special thoughts for my Dad Graeme and Thomas’ Dad Murray who are no longer with us.)

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Posted by: rivettingkatetaylor | September 4, 2008

Treasure hunts

The most awesome treasure hunts happen at our house.

Sometimes there is treasure involved but more often than not, it’s all in the thrill of the chase.

Trade Me has done quite well out of my book purchases in the past few weeks. But yesterday instead of just giving them one each of the latest lot to arrive, they wanted a treasure hunt (they’re eight and six). So out they go to the trampoline to keep themselves busy while I write up some clues. Walking around the house looking for clues isn’t as easy as it sounds but once you get going… this gets very hot (fire), this gets very cold (fridge), What’s the time Mr Wolf? (dad’s alarm clock), Who Wants to be a Millionaire (TV), let’s go to a construction site (Lachlan’s Bob the Builder hard hat)… you get the drift. They rush from one clue to another until they find the books (then I get half an hour’s peace while they read them!)

It was Dad’s turn when he got home from work. The kids had been busy in the yard with clues like moo moo for the cattle yards, oink oink for the pig sty and chop chop for the wood shed. He had to run too otherwise they were threatening to beat him to each clue!

They’ve been promised an outside one today – I better hurry up as they’re due home in an hour (and I still have washing to hang out – yes, sunny again.)

Tennis aerobics kept me busy this morning. No sooner is netball over than another sport begins (I do work a lot too you know – I’m just in between deadlines this week!) This tennis aerobics involves some warm ups and then drills or games keeping you moving all the time. Yes, it got a sweat up although a slip-over on the astro twisted a knee and threatened to end my season before it had begun, which wouldn’t be fair as I had to sit out the start of the netball season after spraining an ankle at the first practice!

Because of golf on Wednesdays, I’m only a fill-in for when someone’s away as even numbers are needed to make the drills work properly. It was extremely enjoyable so I’m pleased they need me next week too.

Social tennis in Takapau starts in another month (with daylight saving). Can’t wait. Every Thursday at 6pm between 30-60 people turn up to 11 courts (three astro) to have a game. The organisers try to match everyone up fairly so you’re not getting shown up too badly by young whippersnappers or vice versa (not that the latter applies to me!)

As mentioned yesterday, my netball team’s breakup is this weekend with the club prizegiving the following weekend after we host a memorial tournament in Takapau. The theme of the club party is T for the B team (for Takapau) and N for the A team (for Netball).

Any ideas for T?  Tart, trollop, trolleyed and try-hard have all been suggested…

What about tooth fairy? Can any grown woman bigger than size 8 really pass it off?

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Posted by: rivettingkatetaylor | September 2, 2008

Spring has sprung

The solar panel is finally making its own way in the world.

At least three degrees of heat were added to the water cylinder yesterday and the same the day before. Bring on summer! 

Well, let’s not get carried away but it’s funny how since Sunday, the last day of August, it has been sunny and warm. This time last week I was worried about the ever-dwindling pile of firewood in the shed. Sunday I was chopping firewood with the school PTA to deliver to a few people who were also running drastically short and we haven’t lit the fire since.

Murphy’s Law. I’d like to meet Murphy one day. He’s very annoying.

I even cleaned the barbecue yesterday. I thought Murphy would magically empty the gas cylinder for me, but as we were having spag bog he didn’t get the chance! (Note to self: check the gas cylinder before chops defrost.)

Now the mornings are much more pleasant, I’m able to take a coffee to the bus stop to drink it, not just to keep frostbite away from my fingers. However, now the neighbours have moved away (see last post) I’m only out there for five minutes. How can the problems of the world by solved if Toni and I don’t spend our quarter hour talking about them? I felt like the little slugs on the animated movie Flushed Away (DVD borrowed from those very neighbours) singing “I’m so lonely….” as I wandered up the driveway after the bus had been this morning – half full cup of coffee still in hand.

Feel sorry for me? No? Oh well, you go back to work and I’ll go put my golf clubs in the car. It’s Wednesday, work is up to date and it’s not raining.

There’s always housework. In the words of Mr Tui, Yeah Right. My netball team breakup is being held here this weekend (how many wines did it take me to offer to host it? Too many but we had just gone through the whole season unbeaten. I think there’s a separate blog in that!) 

Ten couples and several toddlers with portacots in tow will be making their way here on Saturday afternoon (no darkness to hide my lack of gardening skills) including the people we bought the house from. I don’t know which makes me more nervous – welcoming nine couples into my home for the first time or watching the Taylors (no relation) look at everything through we’ve-lived-here-before eyes (they’re nice people really!)

Mother-in-law told me to focus on the positive. Tell them about the plans for the extension as they notice mould formations in the bathroom; tell them about the new vege garden in the farm driveway as they notice the dramatic this-is-a-hazard-to-biosecurity weed sculpture where a shubbery used to be; etc etc etc.

At least I can’t kill daffodils (touch wood). They come up every year without help from me. Thank you Mother Nature.

PTA bought a kowhai tree to give to a recently-retired treasurer – roll on Friday so I can get out of the responsibility of looking after it. One member had to buy tree #2 after her pigs got out and has given it to me for safe keeping. Has she no idea how dangerous that is?! Not only frost, lambs, erratic reversing and kids bikes – but my bright orange mitts with pink and purple stripes (not a green thumb in sight, if you missed that one). I’m convinced we’ll be on tree #3 before we actually get it to the intended recipient.

Righto. Spring has sprung. The lambs and calves have been fed, another half dozen eggs are sitting in the hen house, the grass is growing lush and green and the daffodils are swaying in the breeze – I’m off to golf.

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Posted by: rivettingkatetaylor | August 29, 2008

Home is where the heart is

Is your house just a house – or is it your home? Or is it both?

Is there a difference? Does it matter?  So many questions, so little time.

My answer – it doesn’t matter where you live as long as your family is there.

But having said that – how many times can you move without it having an effect? There are two little girls in my daughter’s class who are on their third school (they’re only Year 3 or about the old Std2). They are both bright and friendly, but the mother of one readily admits her daughter doesn’t make friends easily. Is that because she knew she might have to say goodbye to them come next gypsy day (changeover of sharemilkers on dairy farms)?

One move may make you stronger – will lots of moves have the same effect or the opposite? Hey – I’m no psycho-analyst (psycho maybe) I’m just thinking out loud.

……..waiting for the smoke to clear.

Does having the same bed, duchess and pictures make the room your own no matter how long you’ve had it or how many have gone before it? Different house, different garden, different adventures – change is as good as a holiday?

Each to their own. This isn’t a gripe session at those who move – I am just dreadfully sad to be losing some wonderful neighbours – again. It’s a rental and our wonderful neighbours keep finding places to buy.

These neighbours have moved many times before – but this move requires a change of school for their seven year old and the realisation that their preschooler will never be taught by the wonderful Mrs Ormsby at Takapau School (and we have to look for another BOT member).

The first 17 years of my life were spent in the same house on the same farm with the same school bus times, same neighbours, same cats, same parents, same sisters – although being the youngest the number of siblings gradually reduced until I was the apple of Mum and Dad’s eye (or the bane of their existence?) and had the choice of bedrooms.

Aside from four years flatting – Gore 1, Christchurch 3,  Alexandra 2 and Napier 1 – I have only lived in three houses (although you can take a ChCh one off as I discovered on the first night that not only were they vegetarian and don’t appreciate home grown roast mutton but their main green leafy plant wasn’t legal).

I digress (as usual). After 17 years at The Glen in West Otago and then flatting, I had 11 years at Waipari in Hawke’s Bay and now five years at our lovely little cottage in Central Hawke’s Bay  – the only one where I’ve had to pay the mortgage.

But I am no different in mental status (some would beg to differ) from my sisters – Tania’s had only two houses since flatting days, Keri has only had a couple but Maree is on number #38574545 (only slightly exaggerated).

As long as the home fire is burning, I don’t suppose it matters where it is. Imagine if you forgot you’d moved and drove up the driveway of the old place (they say ginseng is good for memory… slap me).

In the words of Paul Young  … wherever I lay my hat, that’s my home.

Shame on you if you just sung it. That’s like that email about licking your elbow…..

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Posted by: rivettingkatetaylor | August 26, 2008

Golf and girls weekends

Guilt is weighing heavily on me this morning.

All these people around the country who are struggling to cope with yet another deluge of rain and I’m annoyed I have to go and play golf in it. That’s selfish isn’t it. I’m undecided whether to go and get wet. I do have work to do and my office is significantly warmer than the great outdoors today. And my handicap has dropped 10 in the past six months and I don’t really want a weather-related blowout to ruin it (I have enough handicaps of my own).

Welcome home to the NZ Olympians and well done to Wesley Gough for getting his bronze medal along with the rest of the track cycling team. He put a lot of work and CHB put a lot of fundraising into his Olympic dream and it’s wonderful to see it recognised (he rode in the first one or two races and then was replaced, understandably, by silver medallist Hayden Roulston).

Yesterday I mentioned I was in Wellington for a girls weekend when the twins won their gold medal. I have been meaning to tell you about my wonderful antenatal group. Now I say that with a giggle, because it’s really a coffee group now as our #1 children are now eight years old.  We met one night a week for about six weeks before the births of our babies – 12 women who didn’t know each other from a bar of soap.

Since then, we have had a dozen more children added to the fold – the latest born earlier this year. Several families have moved out of the district including me from Napier to CHB. Three new families have been welcomed to the fold – thanks to having children the same age. 

We know each other pretty well – especially the birth stories! But no, the children are not the only topic of conversation. Although, come to think of it, we have solved many a problem for each other just by talking about things and relieved serious stress by making it clear to a harassed mum that she is not alone!

Seven of us went to Wellington for our annual girls weekend (we’ve gone to Taupo four times previously – usually coinciding with Father’s Day!) Four originals and three newbies ( I say with tongue in cheek because Ilsa has been around for about three years now).

It was great – Mexican and a nightclub on Friday night, shopping all day Saturday with numerous coffee stops (we are a coffee group after all). Mama Mia kept us wonderfully entertained – I have never seen so much spontaneous applause at a movie before! Monsoon Poon for tea (that’s the restaurant where we had the pleasure of telling everyone about the twins’ gold). Sunday was a drive around Oriental Parade/Lyall Bay etc, brunch at Astoria and negotiation of the Rimutakas before more coffee and more shopping in Greytown.

What a lovely weekend and lovely company.

I miss doing the coffee thing on a weekly basis (almost every Wednesday for seven years) but unfortunately the price of petrol and a falling handicap have made golf down the road look more appealing.

Except when it’s raining.

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Posted by: rivettingkatetaylor | August 25, 2008

What earthquake?

What earthquake? I didn’t feel an earthquake. I feel robbed. So far four phone calls or texts have asked me about this quake – but the earth did not move for me in Takapau last night.

GNS Science recorded the 5.9 quake, which struck at 11.25pm, as being centred about 10km southwest of Hastings on the North Island’s East Coast at a depth of 30km (Takapau is about 65km south of Hastings).

Hubby felt it but didn’t say so until this morning (obviously didn’t think it was worth copping the wrath of sleeping wife). A sharp jolt followed by a loud rumbling and then a bit of rock and roll.

Would the three drunken swimmers in the NZ Olympic team have felt it had they been home? How embarrassing – taking a snap of a drunken teammate on the toilet. I don’t think it should reflect on their performances at the games though. For goodness sake, they have been under so much pressure for the past four years. Let them let their hair down. It sounds pretty tame (I would stand to be corrected if someone wants to let me in on the gossip). And doesn’t it just make you want to know who the subject of the photo was?!

Speaking of Olympic performances – there was a poll on stuff.co.nz the other day asking us to rate NZ’s performance at the games. My vote went the way of pretty good. We had a few fourths and near misses (Moss Burmester and Emma Twigg spring to mind immediately), prospects with young athletes in a number of sports, such as the BMX racing and canoeing, not to mention what could have been for Mahe Drysdale without the flu (but to get bronze despite it – amazing).

But the Games wouldn’t rate any higher because there were also disappointments – like the men’s rowing four not making it into the finals, the equestrian team off the pace (can Mark Todd do 2012?)

At the time my vote went in, the poll rated our NZ performance at the Olympics as pretty good (55% or 2823 people) hugely successful (19%), average 17%, below average 6% and the rest, a mere 3%, thought we were shocking (165 people). I bet those people haven’t broken into a jog for a decade or so.

When I went to the Stuff website to update those figures just now, I saw another poll I hadn’t noticed asking people what they would remember most about the 2008 Beijing Olympics.

NZ’s medal haul (1678 votes, 11.7%), Michael Phelps’ string of wins (4195 votes, 29.2%), Usain Bolt becoming fastest man on the planet (3518 votes, 24.5%), the controversy over the fake singer (1387 votes, 9.7%) or not much, I’m glad it’s over (3578 votes, 24.9%).

One lasting memory will be the weightlifter who dropped the dumbell thingies on top of himself and left his arm at a peculiar angle underneath it. The thought still makes me shudder.

The twins’ gold medal race is the most memorable of all though . I was in a pub in central Wellington on a girlie weekend away when they won – the place was so quiet while we waited for the placings to be confirmed. Then we had the pleasure of going to a restaurant for dinner and being able to announce to the patrons that we had won gold! Whether they wanted to know it or not, really. Another savvy girls?

The diving was great watching (did you see poor Tamati on TVOne’s Breakfast “dive” off the high board? Very funny.) And I laughed at the synchro swimming – okay, the swimmers need plenty of training, timing and discipline, but it’s like dancing in water and dancing isn’t an olympic sport.

Olympics sports should be something you can quantify – jump the longest or highest, lift the heaviest, run the fastest, score the most goals or points. Although I guess that would remove the ever popular gymastics and diving, as points are deducted rather than added up.

I have watched handball for the first time, grimaced at the weightlifting and turned off the table tennis. Thomas watched more women’s beach volleyball than was sportsmanlike, but I did actually appreciate their skill (especially in that final between the States and China).

All in all, congratulations to all the NZ sportspeople who competed in Beijing – medals or not, they are amongst the best athletes in the world. We are looking likely to make the trip up to Hastings on Saturday for Caroline and Georgina’s victory parade – they deserve it. I have trouble thinking about a rowing machine, let alone using one.

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Posted by: rivettingkatetaylor | August 21, 2008

Life and death on the farm

The wonder of natural birth came home to my children yesterday – with the birth of triplet lambs courtesy of Brownie, one of our pet ewes.

Sadly, there are now only two, but Sarah and Lachlan were very impressed with their speedy arrival in the paddock. Fortunately the inevitable question about the human equivalent wasn’t forthcoming, but I’m preparing my response.

Life and death is easy to explain on a farm. Just last weekend the kids were helping Thomas kill a mutton for the freezer (these are ram lambs who are never pets). They are fascinated by the process (I won’t gross you out with the details but it involves stomach contents and heart valves) and love eating the end results (roasts, chops etc).

A couple of years ago Sarah’s pet lamb died just before pet day. Unperturbed, she asked if we would have it for dinner (we didn’t). When their cat was run over on the road we had a beautiful funeral procession to the hole in the shubbery where a hastily-hammered cross marked Marcella’s final resting place.

They have heard the frantic squeak of a mouse as it is captured by Puss and they have seen the remains of birds and rabbits on the back door step (and too frequently in the living room).

These minor incidents all serve to train our children for more serious incidents in “real life” like the death of their beloved Poppa last year (they were too young to remember the death of Pop in 2002). Poppa is sick. Ok. Poppa is very sick. Ok. Poppa is dying. Oh. Poppa is dead.

But there was no tears and hysterics, which Poppa probably wouldn’t have appreciated anyway. We told the children he was dying and he did. They miss him. They talk about him all the time, but he’s dead. Fact of life. It sounds unfeeling, but for them it has obviously been healing.

I feel for everyone who loses someone important in their lives. I just heard this morning about a lady who was a regular at the golf club I have joined. But I don’t know her because she was diagnosed with cancer at about the same time I started. From all accounts, she is fading away and I feel for what her family is going through as they prepare to say goodbye.

It has been a week since I wrote the last blog – I have been out and about gathering lots of information, interviews and photos and now I am supposed to be doing something with it all. The time to start doing that is right now – see earlier post on procrastination!

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Posted by: rivettingkatetaylor | August 14, 2008

Sucking eggs with no porridge

Aha! I am not alone. Other people don’t know how to cook.

A poll of 1000 people found that one in 10 people  under 30 had never tried to poach an egg or make an omelet and 15 per cent had never scrambled an egg.

I can do all of those things! In fact, when told last night that Mummy would be doing all the cooking from now on (Daddy was joking… I hope) six-year-old Lachlan replied that he “might get a little sick of too many omelets”. Sarah was impressed with the number of times a week she’d get noodles.

Eggs are a staple part of the Taylor family diet – mainly because of the six chooks out in the chook house. They are free range inside their run and are also let out after school for a few hours. For a while we were missing one egg a day and we are convinced there are hundreds of eggs laid behind the shed somewhere (the pigs will have a ball the day we find them!)

Cooked breakfasts are the norm at our house on weekends. I don’t normally have the time to clean up one of hubby’s cooked breakfasts on a weekday but the kids love nothing better than bacon and eggs, “fried bread dipped in egg” or a Humpty Dumpty (boiled egg in egg cup with face drawn on it).

I grew up having cooked breakfasts most school days. Porridge followed by sausages, saveloys, eggs… but one thing I don’t make my children do is have porridge every morning (although Lachlan loves it and asks for it at leats once a week). Mum used to dish up the home-cooked porridge every single morning and me, being a stubborn little miss, turned my nose up and refused to eat it until Mum put the wooden spoon next to me and I had to. If only I had learned that porridge is so much nicer hot than cold and congealed. The lessons life teaches us.

if I was a teenager in today’s world, I would have told her she wasn’t allowed to hit me and I would have gone to school hungry, not learnt how to write and I wouldn’t be here. Oh, the what-ifs.

Note: I haven’t eaten porridge since the day Mum gave up trying to make me. Hehe. Sorry Mum. Love you.

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Posted by: rivettingkatetaylor | August 11, 2008

Procrastination and pet lambs

Procrastination is my middle name. I’m supposed to be finishing an article for a feature.

Lots of other tasks have been done in my office this morning, blog obviously included, but the desire to get stuck into this article has so far alluded me.

It’s a beautiful sunny Hawke’s Bay day outside and I keep gazing out the window at the grass growing.

Our extended family grew over the weekend. My eight-year-old pet cow aptly named “calfie” after being hand reared when I was pregnant with child #1 had another calf of her own. Just looking at her udder reminds me that women have nothing to worry about when it comes to carrying around our breastfeeding boobs. She’s huge.

It’s a gorgeous wee bovine, but we don’t get attached. We don’t even name it. Come this time next year we’ll be planning to put it in the freezer. Steak, roasts, casseroles and sausages…

We don’t name the pigs either. Well, we do in a way – they’re all called “Pig”.  Big Pig has just left the paddock (courtesy of the butcher’s truck), middle Pig is about to go out in to the paddock and little Pig is in the sty. I’m not sad enough to give them names like Bacon, Chops, Roast or Apple Sauce. 

It’s harder with the lambs. Feeding them by hand four times a day makes you a little more inclined to reach out to pat them and the kids love the way they follow them around nibbling on their knees.

We keep the ewe lambs (that’s the girls for any townies out there) as friends for our ram (an old stud boy that we saved from the pet food line for a dozen cans a few years ago). So Rosie, Brownie, Blackie-Orange (don’t ask, I don’t know why) and Lady are out in the laneway next to the house with their swollen tummies waiting to boost the flock or boost the freezer.

And Diesel is there too. You see, we broke the rules. We named a boy. He’s actually a wether now (no balls) but we can’t kill him because he’s a Champion.

Sarah and Diesel the Champion

Sarah and Diesel the Champion

Sarah took him to pet day with a couple of days notice after her trained lamb died of pulpy kidney (to which Sarah’s first response was to ask if we were having her for dinner).

Diesel was next in line as the next best lamb. He came home with five ribbons, three of them red. How can we eat a champion? He was never meant to be a pet so he’s a professional lawn mower now.

At least the kids can never remember all the chooks names and they like eggs. We’re definitely not getting a rooster! I keep calling Sarah and Lachlan the kids – maybe we should get a goat.

Now. Shall I finish this story for my farming feature or go inside for lunch? I am a bit peckish after all this procrastination.

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Posted by: rivettingkatetaylor | August 7, 2008

A long week

Here I am, Friday morning, in desperate need of a strong coffee, a glass of wine, a good laugh and a massage – in no particular order. Okay, wine first. Let go of my arm.

It hasn’t been a particularly stressful week, but it has been a long one. Monday was at least a fortnight ago. If you read Master Chef the other day, you’ll realise why hubby going away to a conference turns my evenings upside down. And life doesn’t slow down just because you’re a temporary solo parent (reiterate respect for those who do it alone all the time, but who can probably cook).

Annual meeting of the local sports grounds on Monday night (I’m netball and squash, but walked away unscathed without another position – hurray), netball practice Tuesday, PTA meeting on Wednesday (after golf, I might add), all day meeting in Napier yesterday (work!) and to top things off, kids didn’t put sweatshirts or footwear on after neighbour took them swimming in town after school and they both woke up with Niagara Falls on their noses. Sigh.

And Friday’s my busy day. And I have a deadline next week. Somewhere in that list I’ve written a dozen stories for a DomPost farming feature. Last week I did about 400km doing all the interviews. Sigh.

Annoyingly, I have no one to blame but myself. Mr Keen, one of my senior teachers at high school, for not making me listen to him when he put on one school report “spreads herself too thinly over all of her activities”. I don’t remember anything else about my reports but that has stuck in my mind because it’s so frustratingly true and has continued to “haunt” me in my adult life.

Haunt is probably too strong. I probably wouldn’t have it any other way. I love all the things I do and they make me the person I am. You know the saying ‘if you want something done, ask a busy person”.

So, I’m off into my office (the heater should be working by now) with strong coffee and glass of wine in hand (only kind-of-joking) to do some work. I’m off again at lunchtime for Sarah’s netball practice, PTA banking, assembly (where Lachlan is getting a certificate for finishing his second sticker chart), Sarah’s piano lesson and swimming lessons (both in Waipukurau on the same afternoon to save petrol money and be nice to the environment) and Subway for tea.

It’s all about me isn’t it. Roll on the weekend. I love it.

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