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To the south and west of the city centre here is a dryness that is as literal, as in the ground, as the cultural aridity of which our northern friends sometimes accuse us. It is a dryness that has been fought over politically for some time now, most recently — and, to my mind, most troublingly — at the highest levels.
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A word to the wise, said a colleague of mine a fortnight or so ago, the mother of two very lively young boys. Take as many weekend breaks as you can before the baby’s born, because after that comes a period in which you are more or less housebound. By this collegial advice was the decision that the señor and I should spend Waitangi weekend in North Otago further strengthened. As the pregnancy fog, which I understand is said by most researched accounts not to exist, continues to envelope my mind, it felt also like an opportunity to do something involving fine-motor skills — such as driving — before my previous accomplishments of coordination and logical sequences of thought desert me completely.
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The (contestable) fact of a decade passing has been slow to come to my attention, and it was only really the appearance of the obligatory lists (particularly by writers whom I admire) that alerted me. I have nothing in particular to rank — and what would you gain, gentle reader, if I told you that 2007 was better than 2002, for example? — but have been trying mentally to compile some chronologies that might sum up my experiences of the last ten years.
Normally I ignore the contention, both reasonable and logical, that a better measure of a decade is one that begins with 1 and continues through to (1)0, but on this occasion, this would be a more meaningful division for me. I handed in my PhD in mid-2001, a fortnight or so after I started working in tertiary preparatory programmes, and defended it in either November or December of that year (I forget which). This was the end of a period of continuous study that had various markers of “beginning” in the compulsory and non-compulsory sectors. Since the ’01, therefore, it’s been a different game I’ve been playing.
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Regular readers will have inferred that Señor Mojito and I got married a week ago, at Labour Weekend. I have more to tell about this but must first exercise my obligations at our wedding hub, which may take a little time, as I find the process both of uploading photos, and of looking at myself in the photos, quite challenging.
All signs point to a good time being had by most, and I managed not to ironise the event while it was taking place, a process much helped by having paid some invoices in the days prior to the ceremony and the joyful company of our friends and family.
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By curious coincidence, 
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Posterous
Meandering metaphors partially executed
3 April, 2010
in at home,commentatrix,in Aotearoa,the social round,we are family
View Larger Map
To the south and west of the city centre here is a dryness that is as literal, as in the ground, as the cultural aridity of which our northern friends sometimes accuse us. It is a dryness that has been fought over politically for some time now, most recently — and, to my mind, most troublingly — at the highest levels.
[click to continue…]
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