Farm Babies and Feeble Excuses

Well, it’s that time of year again. No, not time for another blog epistle…OK, that too…, but farm-baby time. Our neighborhood is crawling with little cows and sheep. Something about little animals seems to bring out some kind of unexplained tendency to ooh and ahh that is if one doesn’t ponder their likely fate as veal cutlets and legs of lamb. But like so many other realities in our lives, it’s nicer just to revert to our Happy Place.

And speaking of animals, there was a story in the news this week about a young hoodlum somewhere on the North Island, on the lam(b) from the police, who took to hiding in a tree-line at the edge of a cow pasture. Seemed like a pretty good idea except for the fact that when the cops arrived, the entire herd of cows were staring directly at him.

 Training trotters.  Our house behind trees at far end of beach.

As seems to have become a pattern, it’s been a few months since my last entry here; partly due to the fact that I, myself, have actually been working; partly due to my inherent nature to procrastinate on any tasks that require the least real effort or thought; and partly because our lives have come to feel pretty normal. Our first several months here, everything was new and different…the sights, sounds, our house, the people, and the side of the car that has the steering wheel. Now, I don’t even give a conscious thought to which side of the road to drive on or have to wonder what kind of bird is making that cool sound. Not that this is a bad thing but, I suppose, just a natural progression of adjustment. Rather than try to outline our lives and activities of the last few months, I’ll try to keep this entry to a manageable length and do another one sooner than later.

 Tom on guitar during our joint choir/orchestra concert. Chris @ center.

I’ve also become a little more lackadaisical about snapping photos of everything as I did the first many months, but I will throw in a few photos, here, even though they may be totally unrelated to these ramblings….If you’re like me, you’ll only look at the pictures anyway. (For me, the worst part of moving on from elementary school to Jr. High and beyond was there weren’t pictures in the books anymore).

 Shags.  Yes, shags, aka cormorants.

In my last blog entry a few months back, I mentioned that we were appealing to the Minister of Immigration for an exemption to their age policy (maximum immigration age, 55) in our quest of Permanent Residency in New Zealand. After 3 months of watching the mailbox and repeated thoughts that we didn’t have a prayer, the Minister…actually, the Ministeress… granted our request. Immediately, we sent in our 40-page application and 500 bucks, and after another 6 weeks, got a letter that our application had been scored and that it had been forwarded to the selection mill. We’ve been awarded 180 points, which is pretty good. Most applications over 140 points make the cut after which we’ll move onto the next step, which is the character and medical screening. This could be where my sleazy, pastry-thieving history could prove to be our undoing.

 Chris & Dia at Odd Rock Beach

The parallel reality to this immigration process is that we’re not at all settled on whether or not we even want to stay in New Zealand. Just give me a guitar, an internet connection and some decent weather and I could be pretty happy most any place. Easy to say for a guy with a list of friends shorter than a list of viable Republican presidential contenders, but Chris is developing a serious hankerin’ to be closer to friends and family, which is also easy to see when you consider the stresses and frustrations brought on by the fact that most her clients spend serious amounts of time thinking of ways to off either themselves or someone else. Not too easy to make close connections, there. And then there’s the fact of some very serious illnesses being suffered by some very close friends back in the US of A. Hard to lend much comfort or support from 8000 miles away.

Chris at friend Paul's gallery.  His partner, Robin, at right. 

It’s not like we don’t know people here. In fact, we have quite a few friends, just not the kind of connections you have with those with whom you share a long history. And, of course, there’s that family thing…hard to find substitutes for siblings, parents and children even though we might be tempted to try occasionally.

So it’s a bit like limbo…or is it purgatory? I tend to confuse my Catholic concepts. However you define it, it’s still a pretty unsettling, and bound to become more-so as October, 2010 gets closer…that’s when Chris’ job commitment ends. I don’t think people my age are supposed to be unsettled are they? But since we still have a year to come up with a plan, why worry about it, now? And since our house in Homer is still unsold, we don’t have to even think about what we’d do with the proceeds if we had them. There’s a lot to be said about having a limited number of options for someone who struggles with decisions as I do. It seems like every possible option has as many drawbacks as every other one. New Zealand: Good environment, climate and health care but far from everywhere & everything. Alaska: Good friends, free fish but seriously crappy weather. Oregon: Family; family & fairly crappy weather. Snowbirding between NZ and somewhere else: Good weather; never permanent and need 2 of everything; crappy commute. Other options will be entertained. Any suggestions?

 Here's how you tell a boy orange from a girl orange

We are going to have a steady stream of visitors this summer…your winter…from late November through March: Chris’ brother Dan with his son Joseph and nephews Michael and Jordan; Paul/Jenny/Ren & Elan, good buddies from Homer; Abby & Paddy, Paddy’s bro Matt and their parents; Gail & Lawrence Radcliffe, more friends from Homer and Chris’ sister Nancy. I may be looking for alternate accommodations a few days into it.

 Lots of daffodils this time of year

Of course, thinking of living back in the US brings up a lot of unpleasantness related to the politics of hate and polarization that seems to enter into everything these days. And remind me again, what exactly is wrong with The Government providing health care for everyone? The US spends more on health than any developed country, but ranks somewhere around 56th in quality and effectiveness of care. I can’t make any sense of how trying to improve the dismal situation in any way makes Obama a Fascist? People here just roll their eyes at the US health care system.  For comparison sake, here’s a summary of our 2009 health care expenses in both the US and New Zealand (converted to US $).

New Zealand: Cost this year: $72. What we’ve gotten: Eight or nine doctor visits, two blood tests, two flu shots, one colonoscopy, one arterial ultrasound and ninety days of meds for two separate prescriptions.
US: Cost: $10,510 (for a $10,000 deductible health insurance policy and 2 U.S. Dr. visits applied toward deductible.) What we’ve gotten: Poorer and more pissed off.

Tom has a go at 2-person juggling with hippy chick

Stay tuned. Oh, and is anybody reading this?