Settlin' in

After three weeks of being here, our lives are beginning to even out a bit. Chris is into the working routine…8:30 to 4:30, 5 days a week, and I’ve ticked enough things off my “critical” list that it’s seeming more and more that we really live here. Got a kiwi bank account, the electricity is switched over to our name; all our regular bills have been put on “direct debit” (this is what they do here), we have a cell phone and land line with honest-to-god dialup internet, and…I'm mowing the lawn about once a week.

The big bugaboo is still the internet, not something I ever thought would get me in a twit. We do have dial-up through the phone company, but going back to that now is like going back to a cave. Since the phone company doesn’t offer hi-speed in our neighborhood, the only options are either wireless or satellite, and the wireless guy already came out and after seeing the location said it wasn’t possible. Actually, he said “Neu wye, mite” which my NZ phrase book told me meant “No way, my friend”. The trees on the neighboring lots are too tall and apparently, wet leaves are the bane of microwaves, which are the vehicle for wireless internet. Our last option is satellite, which, of course, is the most expensive of all, not to mention the most complicated. In order to qualify for the satellite company discount, we had to join a farmer’s coop, which as a nice side benefit, allows us discounts on all our milking equipment and fencing needs.

Two days ago, we got a big box of mail forwarded from our friends at the Homer Post Office who, incidentally, had lost the New Zealand forwarding order that I had carefully typed out so there could be no mistakes. What does that say for careful planning? So my last 2 days have involved paying off all the overdue bills that had languished in our PO box for a month. Of course, it’s not like it would be any real detriment to our lives if they shut off our Homer phone or close out our SBS (lumberyard) charge account.

My understanding of the language here is increasing. I only have to ask the natives to repeat about half of what they tell me. Mostly, I don’t have to ask anyone to write it down anymore. I met our closest neighbor across the fence the other day who introduced himself as Wine. After some internal head scratching, I figured he had to mean Wayne. Then he introduced me to his son Lickus, which I initially assumed must have some Celtic origins, but when he eventually spelled it for me, after a few failed attempts, it turns out his name is Lucas. Of course, all I can think of anymore is Lickus.

I have made a couple profound observations about Kiwis, one of which has me a bit irritated. Not one of them can give directions to anywhere. “Right” could just as well mean “left”; 50 meters could be up to a mile; uphill, downhill; 5 minutes, ½ hour…none of it seems too important unless you actually want to get to a particular location. The 2^nd drive on the left could as easily mean the 3^rd drive on the right, and so on. On the other hand, most Kiwis do have excellent diction…in their own funny way.

We both have bikes now; mountain type, which allows us to wreck them by riding on sand and through salt water. The sand has already become one with my chain, which came coated with the stickiest substance I have ever encountered. I’m hoping the bike and chain will last a couple years before I can pawn it off on some unsuspecting tourist.

Here’s an ironic thing. In 34 years in Alaska, I’ve never had a carport or garage. I learned to just expect to have to chip ice off my windshield every morning for 7 months each year. But now we have an attached carport to keep our Subaru, and us, from getting too much sun. Is this really irony or something else?

And one last thing. Don't forget that the Naked Bike Ride (Google this) is tomorrow. Sign up for one in the town nearest to you.