I’ve long said the only thing I wanted to be in life was as good a father as you were – You set such a high standard by just being you – Kind, caring, loving, supportive.
I ask my daughter if I’m a good dad and she says I’m the best, so I must be doing something right. And I just do those same little things, too – Be supportive, loving, help out.
There has been a lot of that over the years:
Taking her Kiwi Cricket team throughout primary school – Not because I wanted her to play cricket – She wanted to play it because I do.
Always going to her sports/gymnastics/dancing/aerials practices and performances.
Going on school outings and camps.
I’ve (humorously) convinced her that there is a “Parenting Rule Book” (‘Rule One, Line one, Page one: “You MUST embarrass your child at every opportunity”!’), but we all know there is no such thing. It’s always been almost purely seat-of-your-pants stuff, hasn’t it?
Growing up sometimes a safe, happy, loving home is all you need. I was very fortunate that mine was.
I still wish you were here to lend a hand, give advice from when I was her age, or just tell me I’m doing OK.
Because as you get older it seems like you’re constantly told you’re wrong (even when you aren’t), but so seldomly told you’re doing well.
Feeling guilty that you have a secure job that is slowly driving you mad when others are losing their income source is rather brain-busting.
But it has had advantages – My work doesn’t care about developing me, so I’ve taken every bit of leave I can to help my daughter develop and experience new things.
The absolute best parts of last year were being one of the parents that accompanied her year group’s camp to Wellington for a week, and helping out when her class went sailing on Ahuriri Estuary.
Such brilliant kids!
I just hope we can provide them with the future they deserve, not the imminent apocalypse our current crop of global leaders appear hell-bent on driving us towards just to benefit their own financial enrichment.
I hope she’s happy wherever you are if that is the case.
This year will be my 20th wedding anniversary.
You two made it to 37, but we had a 13-year head start by comparison.
Like parenting I wonder how we do it sometimes. A few of our fellow school year’s parents have parted ways since primary school started.
Similarly, we don’t make anywhere as much as other families, yet still somehow manage to live comfortably on a single income like our family did growing up when others I know are earning far more individually and are on two incomes yet still seem to struggle.
I sometimes wonder if we are doing something right or wrong.
Admittedly, unlike us, most of them have more than one child, and I guess the extra costs and things like childcare must be taking a lot out of that income.
You never really know what others are going through, eh?
Do you hear me when I talk to you? I do it almost every day.
Asking your opinion, guessing what you’d say in similar situations, apologizing when I stuff something up.
I spent about 80% of my time quietly muttering “Sorry, Dad” while clearing out the garage and your shed of all the will-be-handy-some-day stuff you had collected over the decades when I was getting our old home ready for sale.
In the end there was a couple hundred dollars’ (and kilos) worth of metal, brass, nuts and bolts, old nails, copper pipe, wire and electrical bits and bobs across the various sheds and back yard that I took to the metal recyclers.
There was a lot of heavy physical lifting, and a lot of emotional weight – So many memories in those sheds.
I kept a lot of your hand tools, and those little plastic drawer sets full of new, unused nails, screws, rivets, etc.
I figure they will be handy someday…
I even repurposed some of the recycled native wood you had lying around into frames for some of the other gems I discovered.
It felt like a very “Dad” thing to do.
Speaking of making things you’ll be pleased to know your skilled woodworking genes that lay dormant for most of my life have finally kicked into gear!
The sheds are all gone now. And so are the back yard’s old features – The rotary washing line, the ancient lemon tree, the camelia you successfully moved from one side of the yard to the other. The tree outside your shed you would work in the shade of (I’ve kept bits of that for various modeling projects, so its memory lives on).
My wife alternates each year between the traditional and the New Zealand version, otherwise known as “A Pukeko in a Ponga Tree”.
This year was the Kiwi Christmas Deliciousness Edition.
The dishes usually have a direct correlation to the songs (Five Big Fat Pigs = Pork/Ham/Bacon), others use a fair chunk of artistic license as, if we stuck COMPLETELY to the original “Twelve Days” song’s days’ feathered features, we’d be swimming in poultry with French Hens, Swans a Swimming, Geese a Laying etc. etc. otherwise.
And while the fast-food chain Colonel Harland Sanders’ founded predates even McDonalds in New Zealand, so it holds a special place in our nation’s stomachs, I don’t think a “12 Days of KFC” would be dieticianaly advisable.
I’ll do my best to explain the pairing concepts as we go.
So sit back and prepare to adore what my true love made over the Twelve Days of Kiwi Christmas Deliciousness 2024
A Pukeko in a Ponga Tree
Broccoli & Anchovy Pasta with Blueberry Smoothies
Pukeko, otherwise known as the “Australasian Swamp Hen”, are blueberry-colored birds that live in or near creeks and wetlands. where they can feed on tiny fish (like anchovies). The penne pasta looks like Ponga logs, with the broccoli representing the ferny plume of the Ponga tree.
Two Kumara
Baked Kumara with Mole Sauce
Kumara are a sweet potato. For this dish we baked kumara, filled if with vegetables and chocolate mole sauce, which can represent the dirt or mud kumara are dug out of.
This is where the inspiration for this dish lies – Black Cake (like the feathers), with the cream and sprinkles representing the plume and blue-green hues,
Four Huhu Grubs
Prawn Mousse Filled Pasta Shells
Huhu grubs are a creepy crawly larva-like delicacy usually served at most “Wild Food” festivals. They are renowned for their gooey-squishiness when you bite into them.
The ribbed pasta shells resemble Huhu grubs, with the Prawn Mousse and Marinara Sauce giving them their squishy centre.
Five Big Fat Pigs!
Battenburg Cake
The pink outside of the plump Battenburg Cake represents portly pigs. The rich, sweet, chocolate cake that makes part of the cake began its life as a “muddy” mix, which pigs like to wallow in.
We think these mushroom balls look like Poi, E(h)?
(We only had enough spaghetti for my wife’s dish, so I had these smaller penne rings)
Seven Eels a-Swimming
Sushi
The Longfin Eel are native to New Zealand. and can be found in lots of muddy waterways – even the creek that runs past our house.
The Māori name for eel is “Tuna”, which is why Mrs. Frame had tuna sushi.
I had Katsu Chicken sushi. pictured above) with its nori seaweed wrapping looking like an eel wrapped around lettuce looking like waterway greenery.
Eight Plants of Puha and Nine Sacks of Pipis
Citrus Lymph Flush and Seafood Pizza
Puha is a leafy, green, wild vegetable that usually grows in or near waterways, so a detox drink made of verdant fruit and veges matches the liquid and color categories.
Pipis are bivalve mollusks like cockles. We kept the aquatic theme with seafood pizza.
Ten Juicy Fish Heads
Crab Stick Dogs
Despite the name, Crabsticks are usually made out of fish. Deep fried in batter they become very juicy. With some coleslaw salad and sauce the dogs got even juicier!
The addition of half a scoop of chips was just a given.
We have made these pastry-wrapped sausages several times before, usually around Halloween and called them “Mummy Dogs”, as, like piupiu, we cut the pastry into long strips, which we wrap around leg-like sausages.
We hope you’ve been inspired to try some of these, or your own version next Christmas.
From the Napier in Frame family to yours, we hope you had a Merry Kiwi 2024 Christmas and will have a safe and happy 2025 New Year!
My clearest memory of the original trilogy was seeing a “behind the scenes” documentary on TV one weekend showing how they did the special effects for Return of the Jedi and in particular the Endor speeder-bike chase.
Here I was – young and impressionable, watching how the most awesome movies ever made were created using what they called “models”, but to all intents and purposes for a six-year-old were TOYS!!!
I have a plan – I’m going to recreate my favorite movie memory!
With the modelling skills I’ve acquired over the years fizzing at the bung I set off on recreating a suitable diorama!
I order two Speeder Bikes and Scout Troopers. In an utter fluke I come across Endor Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia on sale at Farmers in Hastings. I can’t afford to get them there and then, but when I go back a few weeks later they are still there, so I buy them.
I got a clear acrylic case from The Warehouse to keep everything contained, tidy and dust-free. I print out an Endor-esque forest background onto an A4 sticker sheet and adhered it to the inside of the back wall of the display case.
I sprayed the base with a can of my modeling Tamiya Olive Drab spray paint that I used for the 1/72 Memphis Belle this year to make it look forest-ish at the very least
I had used off-cuts of this tree for previous model scenes over the years, so it also keeps my old back yard alive not just in my memory.
After test-placing the speeder bikes I glued them (and the figures in places too) to make sure they stood still and didn’t fall over when the case was closed..
I added the “trees” and some logs. These would help hide the clear plastic stands that the Speeder Bikes “fly” on. I noted there appeared to be a path of some kind on the background pic, so incorporated that into the corner of the base.
Now it was just a matter of adding the groundcover and lichen bushes to cover the base and any errant gaps in the scenery that popped up.
With the glue dried, ground cover, figures and Speeder Bikes secured I put the clear acrylic case on, literally encapsulating the scene.
Job done!
While I’m not expecting job offers from Lucasfilm, or Disney for my creative effort any time soon, I was still really pleased with the result – It recreated what I saw 40+ years ago and doing so allowed me to “play” with the coolest toys from the coolest movies ever again!
I’ve had an Airfix 1/72 scale B-17G in my unbuilt model stash for some time, having bought it from the Napier model shop Platform One just before it closed down. But when I came across a cheap kitset of the B-17F Memphis Belle I had to get it.
(As a result, there were likely Memphis Belle bits in the B-17G and vice-versa…)._
I started with the Memphis Belle:
Giving the interior and exterior a liberal first / final coat to make later construction stages easier I went with “Olive Drab” top and one of my many “Sea Gray” Tamiya can sprays underneath.
Despite several fiddly, tiny interior parts, I was able to complete the cockpit and navigator/bombardier nose sections without issue or any lost bits.
I even “kitbashed” some cockpit oxygen tanks by cutting sprue pieces into short lengths and painting them yellow (above, left, just behind the pilots’ seats.)
Most remarkably, when I fitted and glued the two halves of the fuselage together (with all the bits and pieces, turning turrets, and interior details, there were few to no issues!
All glued together, painted and decaled the ‘Belle looked stunning!
You could even see the oxy’ tanks in the interior!
Up next was the B-17G.
The difference between the older Memphis Belle’s B-17F, and the B-17G was the newer G had a “chin turret” – A pair of co-axial 50 caliber machine guns remotely controlled by the plane’s Bombardier mounted under their big, conical aiming window at the front of the aircraft, under its “chin”.
I didn’t want to make these two big planes looking the same and, like the P51 Mustang the B17 really was blank canvas for paint schemes, variances and “nose art”.
Different groups, squadrons and units had different color combinations to help identify their own aircraft in the gigantic formations of bombers that flew over occupied Europe during the war.
The combination I picked actually came from a screenshot of the flight simulator “DCS”, with Gloss Aluminum fuselage, Matt Yellow tail and wingtips, Matt Red engine cowlings, and Olive Drab anti-glare nose top and in-board engine (so as to not blind the pilots from looking at bright, shiny aluminum.)
Once all the bits were put together, painted and decaled the B-17G looked absolutely stunning in its glossy metal finish
With the recent experience of building the Belle, (and already having painted/constructed most of the parts) this build went together even faster and easier.
These kits were a childhood dream, and a pleasure to build.
The only problem was finding somewhere big enough to display them…
“Regional journalists employed by New Zealand Media and Entertainment (NZME), owner of the NZ Herald, Newstalk ZB, as well as a raft of regional and community mastheads, have released a statement seeking support from their local communities as they face potential job losses.”
As part of these cuts ALL HB Today’s Visual Journalist (“photographer” to us old-schoolers) positions are to be axed.
While many in media say that a journalist with a smartphone can’t compete with the quality of industry-grade digital picture and video cameras, that’s looks EXACTLY like what NZME expect their Hawke’s Bay Today journalists to do from now on.
Oh, and cover a region that ranges from Dannevirke in the south, to Mahia in the north, and has a population of around 180,000.
Six full time-equivalent journalists are enough to cover that entire region.
RIGHT?!
“The changes will ensure those newsrooms have the appropriate resourcing to produce the right mix of high-quality content that better connects with our print subscribers and local communities, while continuing to serve our digital audiences,” NZME editor in chief Murray Kirkness.
Cutting an award-winning newsroom’s staff BY HALF “will ensure those newsrooms have the appropriate resourcing“?
What utter bullshit.
New Shub
Failing to Read the (News)Room
“A key feature of (NZME’s) restructure is the creation of a “hub”, from which news directors and editors will oversee multiple regions at once” Stuff reports.
Sadly this is nothing new for New Zealand’s regional news outlets.
Hawke’s Bay Today itself was formed when Hawke’s Bay’s two newspapers (Napier’s “Daily Telegraph” and Hastings’ “Herald Tribune”) were merged into one in 1999 by NZME’s corporate predecessor APN. It added a section of Tararua District news when the Dannevirke News was also osmosed into the masthead in 2005.
Advertising income dropping? Cut newsrooms! Readership dropping? Cut newsrooms! Shareholders not making enough profits? Cut newsrooms! Online presence failing against entrenched main centre competition? Halve award-winning regional newsroom!
As regional newsrooms were cut to the bone the amount of news they could produce obviously dropped as a result.
As the amount of local news regional newsrooms produced dropped, less and less locals read and advertised in their once thriving, informative regional papers, as due to their corporate masters’ machinations and poor business decisions they lost relevance to the locals.
One of the most startling examples of this in Hawke’s Bay Today was a few years ago, under a previous editor, where there was almost as much in-house NZME advertising padding out space in the daily newspaper’s pages as there was local news content!
There were also “Editorials” and opinion columns galore from NZME’s regionally irrelevant Auckland radio talkback hosts taking up valuable column inches where local news, issues and opinions used to take forefront, too.
NZME can’t even be bothered getting humans to write relevant, topical opinion pieces that get reproduced online and across the country on their regional mastheads!?
NZME then wails that “Facebook has taken our audience (read “profits”) away!”, and cuts regional newsroom staff numbers EVEN FURTHER to try and make up for money lost because of their own big city executive idiocy!
At the same time Newshub had devastated the employment opportunities of New Zealand journalists, competitor and media mainstay for generations, Television New Zealand (TVNZ) did what you would expect absolutely no logical competitor to do and ALSO cut staff numbers as well as long-running, popular AND PROFITABLE shows Fair Go and Sunday.
With all this devastation across the media landscape it might have made it a bit hard to hear the additional regional media losses NZME proposed because, as we’re aware, “regional New Zealand doesn’t matter”, apparently..
And that’s something that none of the coverage of the “twee little café incident” mentioned: An international award-winning paper, that overcame a major natural disaster to get the news out to the people who needed it was having their newsroom staff numbers cut in half.
This isn’t a failure of regional journalism.
It’s the failure of NZME.
This was never an issue of “no one reads newspapers / watches the 6pm news anymore”.
The news in newspapers, websites, apps, radio, and television ALL comes from newsrooms like Hawke’s Bay Today’s.
One evening RTR Countdown plays the new music video of a song that will quickly gain regular radio airtime. It’s by an African American woman named Tracy Chapman who has short, spiky dreadlocks and it’s called “Fast Car”.
“You got a fast car I want a ticket to anywhere Maybe we make a deal Maybe together we can get somewhere Any place is better Starting from zero got nothing to lose Maybe we’ll make something Me, myself, I got nothing to prove“
While Napier is my entire existence in 1988, I realize it is merely a small part of a much bigger planet, but It’s a good starting point. At ten years old my life and the world lie ahead of me.
That’s 10-11 year old me in yellow, middle row, second from the left.
“Fast Car” will continue to develop and deepen each time I hear it over the coming years. Every time I hear it there will be different meaning in it for me.
1993-95
“You got a fast car I got a plan to get us outta here I been working at the convenience store Managed to save just a little bit of money Won’t have to drive too far Just ‘cross the border and into the city You and I can both get jobs And finally see what it means to be living”
Some time in 1994 I bought my first “Fast Car” – A ’69 (nice!) Ford Anglia, which my Dad helped me paint and get in good running order. The Anglia enabled me to “cross the border” between Napier and Hastings – the Tutaekuri and Ngaruroro river bridges. Owning a car is also a really big step on the way to “adulthood”.
My first car, Circa 1994
Chorus
“So I remember when we were driving, driving in your car Speed so fast it felt like I was drunk City lights lay out before us And your arm felt nice wrapped ’round my shoulder And I-I had a feeling that I belonged I-I had a feeling I could be someone, be someone, be someone”
OK, my first car was nowhere near “fast”, I didn’t go very far, and I sure as hell never drove drunk, but owning a car did provide mobility – A highly intoxicating drug for any teenager.
Driving back to Napier from Hastings at night the city’s lights are gorgeous – all the house and street lights on Napier Hill (Mataruahou) look like a sparkling, multi-jeweled crown.
While I wouldn’t so much as hold hands with a girl until 1998 (not for lack of trying!), so snuggling-and-driving was out of the question, I DID feel like I belonged at home with my family.
We were a small unit, but we were tight, and we loved each other.
I was a panelist on RNZ’s “The Panel” six times between 2018 & 2019. The briefest of National Radio exposure
1996-1998
“See, my old man’s got a problem He live with the bottle, that’s the way it is He says his body’s too old for working His body’s too young to look like his My mama went off and left him She wanted more from life than he could give I said somebody’s got to take care of him So I quit school and that’s what I did“
While my Dad wasn’t a drinker and Mum never left us, Dad did have a heart attack around 1997. As I’ve written about before, my parents had me quite late in life and Dad was nearing retirement age not long after I finished school. Not long after the heart attack he ended up taking early retirement. His work and hobbies had always been quite physical and taxing, so it wasn’t too surprising.
We still managed to live happily, never struggling financially despite Dad’s solo income or pension being far less than I would end up earning later in life.
Rather than going to university like so many of my schoolmates, I ended up working back in the same supermarket I had my first job in. I didn’t know what I wanted to do, but I knew I didn’t want to spend three years of my life and $30-50,000 on a student loan to STILL not know, so working on the checkout and stacking shelves provided a regular, albeit reasonably small, income and kept me closer to my parents who I was now starting to worry about.
(The line about quitting school to look after a sick relative also reminds me of Toby Morris’ exquisite cartoon “On a Plate” that (very rightly) never fails to anger me.)
I worked at the supermarket during the day, went home, had dinner and travelled out to the station around 11pm to be on air from midnight until 6am. It was physically and mentally draining. Management decisions hardly helped.
At first we were allowed to talk between every few songs, like normal radio announcers. But a few months in we were told we were only allowed to play music. It defeated the purpose of being a “radio announcer“.
Aside from manually queuing up and playing the preset lists of songs on stacks of the station’s compact discs (things were far from digital in 1995/6) we also had menial tasks like doing the dishes and vacuuming the station offices. You got pretty good at being able to do certain tasks in the three and a half minutes it took for most songs to play, then get back into the studio in time to seamlessly start the next song. I didn’t mind doing the cleaning, as it was the sort of things the youngest/newest staff members just did when they started jobs, and it helped pass the long dark hours.
But after being silenced on air us midnight-till-dawners just became some sort of “manual automation”. Taking off secondary tax it soon didn’t even pay enough to get to Hastings and back every weekend, either.
Not long after I left midway through 1996 the graveyard shift was digitally automated/simulcast and what had been the entry point for regional broadcasters for years ceased to exist.
My dream radio career had lasted six months.
“You got a fast car Is it fast enough so we can fly away? We gotta make a decision Leave tonight or live and die this way”
2001-2004
“You got a fast car We go cruising, entertain ourselves You still ain’t got a job And I work in the market as a checkout girl I know things will get better You’ll find work and I’ll get promoted We’ll move out of the shelter Buy a bigger house and live in the suburbs”
I got a job at Dymocks Booksellers in Napier in 2000. I met my future wife while working there in 2001. She ended up working there part time, too, and would go on to work in the book trade much longer than I did.
Our boss, Jeff, was very good and managed to organize it so we had our “weekends” (usually Wednesday and Thursday from memory) together. We had a fair bit of disposable income and planned to get a flat together at some stage in the near future.
In 2023 the store was bought by new owners, who interviewed us all and asked what our plans / goals were. I said after three years I’d like to move up and become some sort of manager eventually.
The new owners fired all the incumbent staff and took on new employees when they took over.
My wife got immediately head-hunted by a bookshop down the road. She would go back to working at Dymocks until its closure under even newer owners who took over after the owners who fired us failed.
I got a job as an Assistant Manager (the shop had only two staff including myself) at a video game store in the CBD a month after the bookshop let us go. This was “Big Money” in 2023: $10 per hour!
While still living at our respective homes the double income allowed us to regularly go out to the movies, have coffee and dessert on long Hawke’s Bay evenings and go for aimless drives.
We even found a flat with very good landlords who charged below market rates that allowed us to move in together in my childhood suburb of Tamatea!
There’s just something special about sunsets over Tamatea, as the big, golden orb dips below the Poraiti hills..
2004-2023
“You got a fast car I got a job that pays all our bills You stay out drinking late at the bar See more of your friends than you do of your kids I’d always hoped for better Thought maybe together you and me’d find it I got no plans, I ain’t going nowhere Take your fast car and keep on driving”
In 2004 I was finally able to leave low-paying retail after a decade when I got a job in the same company (and office) as my (now fiancée’s) father and our income more than doubled.
I was only supposed to be for a year to cover maternity leave, but the lady who held my position previously decided not to return and I would remain in the job for the next 20 years – a massive change from what had been a natural three-year cycle in different retail jobs.
It meant job security and stability during some very unstable times in my life.
Between 2004 and 2023 my life was a rollercoaster of:
Got married. We honeymooned in Melbourne – our last trip overseas to date.
Not to mention all the interior and exterior crises of regular life, coming to grips with parenthood, and still trying to figure out how to be an adult.
I’ll certainly never be a “deadbeat dad” and have tried to be as involved as I can in our daughter’s life – Going on school trips, coaching her cricket team, doing all I can to ensure she knows she matters, is loved and can do her best.
I’ve sacrificed time, money, and opportunities for my family’s security, but that’s just what you do as a Dad. Right?
Sadly, security is no panacea for the feeling of stagnation when your own life and career goals fail to materialize after years and years of trying to effect change for yourself.
Despite two decades of loyal service and dedication to my job, doing odd hours and going above and beyond, often working solo and still meeting work targets, I still haven’t risen from the position I inherited 20 years ago.
Being unsuccessful in both internal promotions and finding a new career closer to what I actually want to do started to ulcerate some time ago.
Seeing people like Ke Huy Quan and Brendan Fraser win Academy Awards in 2023 showed that good guys with dreams can still get there in middle age, despite decades of feeling redundant or inadequate.
In 2023 Tracy Chapman became the first Black woman to have written a country music number one. She also becomes the first Black woman to win a Country Music Association award for “Fast Car”, 35 years after the song was first released, when Luke Combs’ cover of her song won “Song of the Year”.
2024
“You got a fast car Is it fast enough so you can fly away? You gotta make a decision Leave tonight or live and die this way”
Throughout “Fast Car” there is a beat that ticks away like an old analogue clock, and a plinky-plonky acoustic guitar riff that repeats over and over and sounds like water dripping constantly, endlessly.
I can’t and won’t leave my family, as my daughter is the best thing I have. But I can’t keep going without catching a break.
There is a stage where the line “live and die this way” stops being a way of life and becomes an imminent threat.
The snare and high-hat tick away like a clock. The plinky-plonky acoustic guitar riff repeats over and over, like water dripping constantly, endlessly.
The year started out all innocent and full of hope like so many others (not looking at you, 2020…), but there were early portents of unusual and unstable times ahead.
The fact that so much ruined infrastructure like many of the bridges that were taken out in the flooding Gabrielle caused have been repaired and trains and vehicles are using them again within 10 months of their destruction is remarkable.
Groups of people got together in the aftermath of the disaster and helped clear out properties, remove cubic kilometers of silt and help get others back on their feet as soon as possible speaks volumes of the care and compassion Hawke’s Bay people have for their neighbors and communities.
While things were getting back on their feet, I wrote a rather extensive piece covering the days of darkness that Napier endured and, at the suggestion of Twitter friend Jolisa Gracewood, I sent it to The Spinoff. Editor Mad Chapman graciously published it as their “Sunday Essay” the following weekend and it was very well received. In my last email to Chapman, I optimistically (deludedly?) wrote “see you at the 2024 Voyager Awards!” (We’ll come to that bit later.)
I think having gone through the Covid lockdowns so recently was a major factor in this – Everyone knew they were in the same boat, so help where you can and don’t be a dick.
Sadly, not everyone learned from that experience.
During the blackout perhaps one of the biggest ulcerations and indications of bad things to come that year was the breadth and scale of rumor and conspiracy bullshit that spread around the region and seeped into social media and news feeds.
All utter horseshit. The same “cooker” mis- and disinformation crap perpetuated since Covid that would slowly suck empathy and intelligence from so many in the lead up to the election later in the year..
As our region recovered, I faced more conflicting communication.
Once things were running (comparatively) smoothly I had an interview for a job I had applied for before the cyclone.
I felt the interview went well and, after doing literally the exact same tasks every day, week and month for the past almost 20 years, I’m more than ready for a change.
But I didn’t get this new job because they felt “I was too negative about my current job”?! If I was perfectly happy doing what I do I wouldn’t be applying for other positions, would I? They said there was no question I had the skills and talent, and if anything else came up they would call me.
Similar positions have come up there and they haven’t called me.
When asked why I was applying for their job I had expressed frustration at a lack of development and progression in my current role, while others with less experienced had shot up the ladder. No vitriol, not knocking my employers just facts. The interviewers even said that was not how things were done there and I took that as a good sign.
But not good enough.
How would you feel being trapped in an occupational Groundhog Day for 20 years? Like so many people I’m not doing what I WANT to do, but it supports my family, so I do it for them.
I’m clearly not failing at my job, otherwise I wouldn’t have lasted this long, but there’s no incentive to excel, because doing that has gotten me nowhere either.
Yet, when an opportunity arose for me to be able to leave that situation, those with the power to help me escape and utilize my recognized skills and talents choose to keep me trapped in my current situation?!
Desecrating the sacred place that was my Dad’s shed resulted in me manually loading one and a quarter tonnes of scrap metal that I took to the recyclers.
It did wonders for my bulking up my arm muscles, if only I’d had feeling in them afterwards…
Between selling the scrap metal, tools and other trinkets we made over $2100, which would have been a great little financial bonus, but taking off the cost of the general and green waste disposal and our wonderful tenants having found a new place and moving out only a couple of weeks into their 90 days’ notice, we were losing around $1000 a month for around half of 2023 before final settlement happened in October.
That just added onto general pressures and worries.
While I do enjoy writing and especially getting paid to write, this year has been a hard one for wordcraft.
I had little free time to write. The commissioned pieces I completed were slotted into busy schedules that all somehow worked out in time for their deadlines. But the pressure to complete amidst the congestion of everything else took the fun out of it for me – I didn’t learn as much as I usually do researching the topics, which is something I really enjoy.
When I had the free time to write for myself, I seldom had the drive or confidence to set words down in type. With everything else going on – Disaster recovery, AI technology taking over print, lies and conspiracy running rampant and the media that I aspired to be a part of continuing to circle the drain the drive just wasn’t there.
My optimistic / deluded dream to be nominated for a 2024 Voyager Media Award for my “Napier in the Dark” essay also came crashing down in December when I learned the News Publishers Association, who run the Voyager Awards, have absolutely eviscerated the number of categories for the 2024 Awards. 2024’s awards will have 10 “Print/Text” and 16 “All Media” categories, whereas 2023 had 19 “Print/Text” and 28 “All Media” categories.
“Best First Person Essay or Feature”, the one I had my hopes set on, was one of far too many being scrapped.
In a time when media, news, reporting and even just the truth is under incredible pressure to prove its credibility, worth and quality slashing the ways the best of the industry can be displayed and celebrated is completely counterintuitive!
In 2023 I was giving up on a dream I had only started to get a foothold in over the last decade. As my creative output ascended, the goal I wanted to reach was sliding off towards a nadir on the other side of the peak I had yet to reach.
When we saw a general election like the one we had this year with one party that had essentially no policies, other than tax cuts for their already rich mates, for the majority of the campaign still come to power, supported by minor parties whose sole tricks are racial division and bug-eyed conspiracy peddling things do not look hopeful for our country!
I took me a bit to believe in myself and trust my own skills, but I like to think enough of my father’s innate craft and woodworking expertise eventually osmosed down to me like some sort of neural slow-release fertilizer and I was really proud of the job I did, especially when it came to cutting the plywood for the case.
We managed to travel in late October and early November as, over Hawke’s Bay Anniversary / Labour Weekend we took our daughter on her first flight(s) to Wellington and went to the zoo.
Even that wasn’t without some drama, as our original flight was canceled with engineering issues a couple of hours before it was due to depart. Fortunately, we were able to re-book almost instantaneously and went to Wellington via Auckland – Two first flights (on a prop plane to Auckland, and then a jet to Wellington) for the price of one!
The view of the cyclone damaged Esk Valley as we climbed heading north out of Napier was very sobering, though.
We stayed in Newtown and walked to and from the zoo. The weather and food was lovely and I happened to meet a few online friends in real life by chance on the trip.
A little over a week later I got to go away on camp with my daughter and her class in early November, which was terrific.
The camp was for three days at Tutira, between Napier and Wairoa, and evidence of the damage caused by Gabrielle was still very visible, with loads of roadworks repairing the numerous dropouts, landslides and road undermining despite months of monumental work to get the vital arterial link open again.
The camp was great, the weather was lovely, and the kids were cool, and we all had a great time away from sub/urban life.
My daughter says she “only cried five times because she missed her Mum” (she counted?!) despite her loving, caring Dad being RIGHT THERE…
Our daughter was the star of my year. While hopes for myself dwindled, my hopes for her continue to soar.
She was awarded a “School Values Medal” for Excellence during the year and got an end of year award, too, which was a fantastic surprise to finish on.
She had been in a mixed class of her and about six other Year 5 students with around 25 older Year 6 students and ended up making friends with so many of the Year Sixes that she was really sad to see them go off to Intermediate at the end of the year.
Her and another Year 5 classmate took out two of the three end of year awards for their class, with her best Year 6 friend taking out the remaining one.
She is such a loving, compassionate girl.
It’s this hope for her future that also worries me so much about her future in a world already beset by blatant political corruption and interference in democratic process, the imminent threat of irreparable climate change disaster, the invasion of sovereign nations, and genocide/ethnic cleansing in an age where everyone on Earth is supposed to be happily working together to reach for the stars and travel the galaxies like on Star Trek!
“Concentrate on what is within your power to do. Disregard the hysteria and wrongness around you. Preoccupy yourself with doing what is in your power to be done.”
For me external depressants were hard to suppress in 2023 when for almost every good thing there were just as many, if not more, bad things – A cloud for every silver lining, death of positivity from a thousand newspaper cuts (and don’t even get me started on how Elon Must utterly fucked up Twitter…)
Above the arches that lead from Napier’s Marine Parade to the Soundshell and Veronica Sunbay is an inscription that reads:
“Courage is the Thing. All Goes if Courage Goes.” [The Rectoral Address Delivered by James M. Barrie at St. Andrew’s University May 3, 1922
I would tweak that slightly to read “HOPE is the Thing. All Goes if HOPE Goes”. [Andrew Frame, just now]
This year I hoped I could possibly be nominated for a Voyager Award, I hoped to meet Kane Williamson and Kyle Jamieson, I hoped I was worthy of a new job…
But none of those hopes were, or will, be realized.
But I can’t give up on Hope.
Hope was my Grandfather’s first and Dad’s middle name. I was born the same year as Star Wars: A New Hope.
Hope is what drives me forward and the most powerful force (other than love) that I can offer and support my daughter with.
Hope just needs to be realized, otherwise there is nothing to look forward to in 2024.
This year it was the turn of the traditional “Partridge” version.
Wherever possible she tries to tie in part of the carol lyrics to the dish – i.e. “Partridge in a Pear Tree” will usually contain pears or some kind of bird reference to some degree.
Due to the rather prolific recurrence of birds in the traditional carol (Partridges, Turtle Doves, French Hens, Swans, Geese..), there may also be some sort of alliteration or similar tie-in, otherwise we might as well have the “Twelve Days of KFC”….
When all else fails, a fair chunk of artistic license is brought in. It really takes a fair bit of dedication and imagination to pull off!
I’ll do my best to explain the theory behind each dish as we go.
So sit back and have some fun as I reveal what my true love made for me over the Twelve Days of Christmas Deliciousness for 2023:
Day 1 – A Partridge in a Pear Tree – Yule Tide Log Cake!
Somewhere out there is a chocolate partridge missing their chocolate pear tree, as we’ve harvested it to make this delicious Chocolate Yule Tide Log!
Day 2 – Two Turtle Doves – Chicken Sausage Baguettes with Macadamia and Apricot Stuffing!
The Macadamias (and baguettes) have a hard outer shell, similar to turtles. I’m guessing doves taste like chicken, but apparently everything does…
(Fun fact: For our honeymoon 18 years ago Mrs. Frame and I went to Monreale Estate in the Dandenong Ranges just outside Melbourne, Australia. On one night the estate made dinner for us, which was chicken with this very same macadamia and apricot stuffing!)
Day 3 – Three French Hens: Corn Fritters
A pretty straight forward one here – Chickens eat corn, ergo corn fritters!
Day 4 – Four Calling Birds: Delivered Takeaways (Hell Pizza)
It’s not just birds that come calling, takeaway delivery drivers do too! Two years ago I did a 12 days of HB Takeaways and, let’s be honest, 12 individual, themed meals in 12 days are a real mission, Mrs Frame deserved the break!
Day 5 – Five Gold Rings – French Onion Soup with Golden Grilled Gruyère Baguette Slices
French onion soup has become a regular recipe in the “12 Days” line up, being adaptable from French Hens to many others, including Five Gold Rings – Gruyère cheese grilled until golden on round baguette rings!
Day 6 – Six Geese a Laying – Vegetarian Scotch Eggs!
Ignoring for a moment that Scotch Eggs may not actually originate in Scotland, Mrs Frame, a vegetarian, replaced the usual sausage meat or mince casing for blitzed chickpeas. The result was surprisingly moreish and doesn’t fill you up anywhere as much as the meat does – I can highly recommend! The “a-laying” aspect can either be seen as the whole egg being laid in the chickpea mixture or the egg, still ensconced in the chick(peas) awaiting laying. (I may be overthinking this one…)
Day 7 – Seven Swams a Swimming – Sausage (and Vegetarian) Rolls!
Before being cut up into individual bite-sized pieces these sausage rolls look like a swan’s long neck. Once cut up the rolls look like cervical vertebrae.
Day 8 – Eight maids a milking: Vegetarian Haggis
Okay, here comes some artistic license: Haggis is traditionally made from sheep (“Vegetarian haggis was first available commercially in 1984, and now can account for between 25% and 40% of haggis sales” according to Wikipedia).
HOWEVER: Mrs Frame’s favorite breed of cow (for milking or just observing – SO FLUFFY!) is Highland Cattle. In the Scottish Highlands they eat Haggis, so Vegetarian Haggis!
Day 9 – Nine Ladies Dancing: Pulled BBQ Jackfruit Burgers!
A bit of artistic license here again: Barbeques are often part of a party, and at parties people dance (the burgers and chips are typical party food, too!) Mrs. Frame discovered this Jackfruit recipe just recently and once again it shows how diverse vegetarian dishes can be!
Day 10 – Ten Lords a-Leaping: Baked Eggs with Truffle Oil!
“Lords” are posh, so are truffles. Discovering truffles might be exciting enough to cause the lords to leap! The truffle cream also makes the baked eggs very rich, like lords.
Day 11 – Eleven Pipers Piping: Enchiladas
Enchiladas are pipes of delicious sauce beans, chilies, and cheese. It’s dishes like this, and so many others on this year’s list where you don’t actually miss meat, with all the vegetables and pulses doing the heavy lifting.
Day 12 – Twelve Drummers Drumming: Ratatouille
We did ratatouille as “French Hens” in 2021. This year it’s Drummers Drumming, as we slow-cooked it in our Crock Pot, which looks like a big round drum (does that make it a slow drum roll?). I added leftover ratatouille to some of the meat leftovers from Christmas day as a refreshing mix in the days following (and to avoid cooking in >30-degree heat)
So there you go – the Twelve Days of Christmas Deliciousness completed for another year. Interestingly, only three dishes involved meat!
All the very best to you and your families in 2024 – May it be more fun and fortuitous than this year!
After much planning, sketching, measuring and staring into the void I settled on a design I was happy with and headed to Mitre 10 to get the plywood that would make up the majority of the case.
I took it over to my father-in-law’s workshop and cut it to length, put grooves in the sides for the Perspex top I intended to slide in and, not having a router, I used the saw bench to make the ends plug in, while seamlessly continuing the lid groove.
I was pretty damn chuffed with the result:
We glued three out of four sides to the base and left it to dry.
The next weekend I cut and drilled out some spare pieces of ply that would hold the bat in place.
A few months passed and I was finally able to get out to Spotlight in Hastings to buy some adhesive-backed green felt to go into the case to resemble the green grass of a cricket pitch and protect the bat from knocks and scrapes.
It was like Durasealing the inside of the exercise book from hell, but I managed to get it done, with the worst of only a few ripples hidden by the bat when it was set in place.
Last was the Perspex lid. This would keep the case sealed and the bat dust free.
Once again I went to Classique Plastics in Napier who had the clear tube for my Top Gun diorama, and they cut a piece of thin, clear plastic to fit perfectly!
The result looks pretty professional if I do say so myself!
Now I just need an office, or regal study / leather armchair furnished library to mount it in…
While we avoided any damage or loss from Cyclone Gabrielle at home I did lose my Rocket Lab drink bottle, along with some other personal mementos when my office flooded with silt, mud and water.
I sent a message on social media to the comms person who sent me the original package asking if they had any more bottles to replace my lost one. I would be happy to pay for it.
They said they would send me one free of charge and the next week a box much larger than just a drink bottle arrived containing a coffee mug, tote bag, mission patch T-shirt, stickers, medallion… and new steel drink bottle!
It was a very cool, unexpected lift after a few wibbly-wobbly working-from-home weeks.
I wasn’t immediately flooded with offers of employment or writing commissions, but I did coincidently get asked to write my first piece in a while for Baybuzz on Wairoa’s post Cyclone Gabrielle recovery for their May print edition.
There were some difficulties getting the article written, as finding the wide range of people we initially wanted to cover proved harder than expected. Some didn’t want to take part, others proved hard to contact (for many in Hawke’s Bay affected by the cyclone “Business as Usual” is still far, far away) and receiving responses on deadline day resulted in an article re-write while I was in the middle of a week’s leave from my day job in the first week of school holidays.
I got there in the end and my editor liked it, but for me it wasn’t accompanied with the usual sense of completion or satisfaction.
Naturally plans and hopes of the new job went out the window.
My workplace was flooded and wrecked.
Fortunately, we had been told to prepare to work from home on the Tuesday the storm hit, so I had all the gear I needed to work from home with me. In the flooding’s aftermath our company’s owners said they were dedicated to continuing and rebuilding, so my job and income was safe.
I was back working remotely before some of my colleagues even had power restored. A little over six weeks after the cyclone we had new, temporary, offices to work out of. Some semblances of work normality, but a different location, different surroundings, different processes and habits to form. Familiar and unfamiliar. All just slightly unbalancing.
A fortnight or so after Gabrielle my phone rang.
I got an interview for the new job I had applied for weeks earlier.
I felt the interview went well.
When they asked why I was looking at leaving my current job I answered honestly – Despite 18+ years of my dedication and service there was a lack of opportunity. I had been overlooked for a promotion recently and outright ignored for internal positions I had applied for previously.
They thanked me for my honesty and providing context and said treating established staff that way was not their company policy.
I though “Great – I’ll get a chance here!”
I left feeling positive about the opportunity that was potentially before me.
But I also felt guilty to be potentially leaving my colleagues in these uncertain and unstable times.
I needn’t have worried.
A couple weeks later I received a call to say my application was unsuccessful.
When I asked why, or how I could improve my chances last time they said I had the skills and talent, but it was because I was “too negative” about my current job.
“Too negative”?
If I was completely positive and happy about my current position why would I be applying for a job elsewhere?
During the interview they had said they understood why I would tell them my reasons for wanting to move on and that how I had been treated didn’t seem fair.
But now that was “too negative”?
I was being honest!
I was sick of being undermined, ignored or micromanaged by people who benefitted from my work more than I did – That’s why people change jobs!
This wasn’t just stopping me finally getting the sort of job I had been after for years, where talents I don’t currently get a chance to use enough could be recognised, developed and rewarded, It was basically saying I wasn’t allowed to feel aggrieved or call it out unfair treatment.
I somehow DESERVE to be denied career development or progress and spend almost 20 years doing the same thing every day, every week, every month, every year.
But I’m not allowed to be or feel “negative” about it?!
I give up!
House Keeping
For the past year we have been negotiating to sell my childhood home to my in-laws, who want to subdivide the section and build themselves a new, smaller retirement house down the back of what must be one of the last (almost) quarter-acre sections on its street.
Selling my old home will pay off our mortgage (and every other debt, loan, credit card etc. we have) several times over (we bought our house almost ten years ago before real estate succumbed to surreal prices) and free us up financially – Something not many people can do these days.
My in-laws plan to live in my old home while construction goes on down the back, and then sell it off to recoup some costs upon completion. With Cyclone Gabrielle reconstruction already pushing builders and building supplies to local limits, it might be quite a task!
Nevertheless, they decided to go ahead with the plan a few weeks after the cyclone hit.
As part of the deal, we had to give our long-term tenants notice of end of tenancy.
I felt guilty as hell.
They had been our tenants since we’d had to move mum into care years ago and looked after the place wonderfully. They tidied the house and section up after mum had been incapable of doing so, even improving bits and pieces like replacing old kitchen benches and bedroom carpets.
It was our house, but it was their home.
Renting out the house was never about money for us and because they looked after it so well, we charged them about half what market rents apparently were.
But I still felt horrible giving them their 90 days’ notice – Especially having even just a general idea of Napier’s rental market and how much more rents were likely to be.
As it happened, they found a place in Havelock North (Napier was just too expensive) only about a fortnight later, so my overdramatized fears of them being out on the street were, thankfully, unfounded.
It did mean, however, that I had to get back in and totally clear out the last of Mum and Dad’s things that I had left stored in the garage and shed on the property, as they would all be coming down as part of the subdivision.
I started making slow in-roads over recent afternoons and weekends, initially muttering “Sorry, Dad! Sorry, Dad!” guiltily as I went.
I can already see the piles going to the tip, metal recyclers and auction house / charity will be immense. Never mind all the ancient paints, cleaners, varnishes and weedkillers that will need to be taken away by hazardous waste removal.
Always the tallest kid in class, I was also always at the back, in the middle for school photos.
First Star to the Left and on till Mourning
It’s not just the waste that’s hazardous – As I go through all the stuff I’m flooded with memories.
Memories of Dad and Mum, memories directly related to certain items and just memories of my first home.
Some memories clear and present, others foggy and indistinct.
Also, a fear of losing memories.
The former house of one of my Dad’s closest friends down the road from their place went up for sale recently. The people who bought it off him are moving on. I went to say “Goldfinch’s’ house is for sale!” out loud but stopped. Realising I’m the only living member of my family who would know what I was talking about.
Now, at the age of 45 I realize it no longer just seems so far away now. It is far, far away.
Between plagues, floods and whatever the hell else we get thrown at us next that reassuring feeling of loving security our parents provided when we were young may as well be as far away as the stars.
Reliving History
Recently I went to Onekawa New World, the supermarket I had my first job at. I go there reasonably often – it’s not far from (either) home. It has markedly changed since I worked there off and on between 1993 and 1998.
I had stopped outside the shop’s stockroom doors to check my list and was just idly looking through the door at the space beyond when a staff member inquired if I needed assistance. I explained that I used to work there (before they were born, it turned out) and asked if it was possible to have a look out the back to see what had changed.
They kindly obliged and for the next 15 minutes or so I gave them a run-down of what the space was like a quarter of a century ago (yes, I had to do the maths on that, too). Removed walls, doors, offices and toilets, but new shelving, walk-in chillers and freezers.
I walked both past and present tense simultaneously, occasionally going back and forth to ensure my memory was in the right spot. The two staff who ended up accompanying me on my modern historic tour seemed quite fascinated.
I felt both incredibly present and temporally displaced.
Many of the dreams and goals I had when I worked there and lived with my folks have changed so much. So many never eventuated at all (never mind recent career goals…).
So much has happened in all those years. So much life, love, marriage, (doing the same bloody job over and over..), fatherhood, activities and events all packed into them.
But there also feels like so much wasted opportunity and time that I’ll never get back.
I don’t feel (or look, apparently) as old as I am, but when I do it’s enough to instantaneously add even more grey hairs to my head.
Selling my childhood home makes me feel just that bit older and more distant still.
The fact it’s going to the in-laws will keep it in my extended family, but it will no longer be “mine”. Knowing they intend to sell the existing house upon completion of the subdivision and new house build adds a drawn-out sense of inevitability.
Other inevitable things have been distracting me this year, too.
While no one initially knew what was wrong with me, Eddie, who was 15-20 years older than me was waiting in Hawke’s Bay Hospital Coronary Care Unit to be sent down to Wellington for a stent to help clear a narrowed artery. It turned out he needed more than that and ended up down in Wellington briefly with me to receive a multiple bypass – a significantly more severe procedure than the mere tests, scans, pokes, prods and eventual biopsy that I was exposed to.
Being in coronary care has been compared to being in battle. You’re isolated from the outside world and are neither alive nor dead, but can be very close to being either during the time you are there. You can never know what it’s like unless you’ve gone through it, so you connect with others who have been through it with you.
I saw Eddie a few times over the years since our time in “Six South”. We would catch up and chat occasionally. I discovered he lived just around the corner from Mum and Dad’s house.
After doing some clearing out one weekend after our tenants had moved out, I drove home past Eddie’s place and noticed a lot of cars and people at his house. I had texted our tenant about something that day and he had replied he was at a funeral. He happened to work for the same organisation as Eddie and when I saw the congregation of people, I put one and one together and texted out tenant back.
Eddie had died suddenly earlier that week.
I was shocked.
“Suddenly” to me usually denotes a coronary incident, although the recent pandemic has also claimed many lives in similar sudden circumstances and symptoms.
If I wasn’t already feeling old, tired and useless enough, Eddie’s sudden passing just ramped up the downward spiral being so close to (figurative and literal) home.
Eddie was older and, back then, obviously far worse off heart-wise than I was. Losing Dad taught me that heart attacks seldom happen as unique, single occurrences and the first one is seldom the worst.
What happened to Eddie was unlikely to happen to me, as we were two completely different cases, but losing a comrade I had been through an experience like that with was shocking and unsettling in already unsettled times.
It didn’t ease my stress levels that around this period my cardiac fibroma happened to be front of mind, because Eddie’s passing happened just when I’d been scheduled for my annual echocardiogram to make sure the lump hasn’t changed or grown drastically – A fear that has been ever-present since its discovery years ago.
The scan came back unchanged in size, and my cardiologist decided we could move to two-yearly scans due to the continued lack of change, which eased heightened tensions.
But the quiet concern leading up to the appointment had just added fatigue upon fatigue, upon fatigue.
Wibbly-Wobbly, Timey-Wimey,,, Stuff!
So there you go. Yet again we have somehow managed to fit about a year’s worth of issues, stresses, worries and natural disasters into a mere four months.
All perfectly normal and healthy, right?
So often in recent years there has been so much going on all at once and it all needs doing “Now!”
Somehow, I always get it all done “now” (but have stopped bothering to hope for a reward, promotion, or new job out of my consistent, reliable performances) mainly by compartmentalising tasks – I’ll do this before lunch, and this in the afternoon. Or spend three days targeting three tasks – one task per day.
But the repetition, fatigue and detachment required to keep on keeping this up is taking its toll.
I’m losing big bits of my past, presently stuck in an endlessly repetitious work cycle and having to be the one clearing out parts of my own history in the present, while unsympathetic job rejections and front row seats to drastic climate change don’t exactly put a silver lining on the cloudy future!
