Call me cynical if you like

Don't get me wrong. I genuinely admire Tony Blair and hope that he will make a good envoy for peace in the middle east?

Call me cynical if you like though, but what happens to international oil prices when there is trouble in the middle east? Which two countries control the majority (if not all) of Iraqi oil? What would become of the international arms industry if he succeeded. How would the return of so many thousands of US soldiers impact a sagging US economy and does the West really want peace in the middle east, or is it all just so much political'spin'?

Well, I guess he'll make a much more acceptable envoy than George W, but it's still a little like sending Hitler to advocate for those in the concentration camps. Don't you think?

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How precious are the little things we take for granted.

It's Tuesday। Not usually my day off but Ciara & Youjae are having a family day with baby, so I take the opportunity and head for the country. Avoiding the main highway I trace a back mountain road (we call them hill roads) to the west coast beaches north of Wellington. I stop for a few moments at the roads highest point, 205 meters above the small township of Paekakariki, overlooking Kapiti Island just a few miles off-shore: the winter sun, filtered by high cumulus cloud casts a steely gray huge across the Tasman Sea, making its calm shiny waters mysterious and murky looking.

To my left I can clearly see the rugged outline of the the South Island and to my right, gray sanded west coast beaches stretch endlessly before me until they vanished into the distant nothingness of the horizon। Just looking down from the sheer cliff beneath my feet to the rocky coast immediately below gives me an uneasy churning deep in my stomach. It's been several years since I came this way and as I have forgotten this view more times than I care to remember, so this time I pause a little longer - to enjoy it.


What I don't know at this time is that in an hour or so, my dear aunt, Bea, will tell me of her increasing blindness, and her need to move to more supervised accommodation as her world closes daily around her.

A stark and sudden contrast to the endless vistas I enjoyed from the top of the Paekakariki hill road just a few minutes earlier. I will not forget it now.

He that is strucken blind cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost.

- William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

Romeo (1.1.162)

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a quick succession of busy nothings

Winter has settled in and made herself at home, the skies remain still, but the temperature has plummeted. I've taken my winter coat from the closet and fear it will remain my constant companion now till at least the end of October.


Last weekend we pruned the rose vine under the pergola, heavily. It was just beginning to blossom when we left seven years ago and has flourish unattended since then: engulfing everything in its path, including the pergola, and the trellis which will need to be replaced.

Sujin is sleeping more now with the colder weather, so our outings are shorter and less frequent. I have taken advantage of this and busied myself indoors with planning and sourcing of trades people and suppliers for the refurbishing of the interior next autumn, Inshallah Meantime we've installed a home ventilisation system which ducts hot air from the roof cavity through the house raising the temperature and dehumidifying the air.

There has been an excellent concert , meals and outings with friend, but between the 'jigs and the reals' “Life, it seems, has become but a quick succession of busy nothings.” and I am counting the days till Anthea's return at the end of July.

Update: - 6th July, the NewLook Rose & Trellis

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Don't look now John . .

. . but it's finally happened. Suburban neurosis has set in! The challenging boundaries offered last year by the Sahara, the Himalayas' and the Serengeti have finally given way, not to soap operas, but only because I don't have a TV, but to vicariously living through diminishing horizons of other peoples blogs, downloaded news podcasts, talking to the baby as though she understood every word and: horror of horrors, writing letters to the editor.

This final stage, acting out, I believe it's called has finally tipped the balance. You see I was encouraged by a lead article in the local news paper, the Dominion Post, exploring issues, still unresolved, on the 40th anniversary of the Six Day War, and I felt moved to congratulate the editor. This morning, I find my letter published firmly along side the 'rantings' of one who was definitely not amused by the article. Needless to say, I wrote again, reinforcing my view and now am probably committed to the debate should others decide to buy in.

Oh well, at least it's better than talking to yourself!

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Who really calls the shots?

Three weeks ago I strained a mussel in my shoulder. 'Parents arm', the Physiotherapist called it, from picking up babies! Anyway it was still troubling me at church yesterday, so I decided to invite a little 'divine intervention' and went forward for prayer. "What would you like prayer for John". Father Steve asked. My arm, I thought to myself, but to my surprise I heard myself say. "for someone whose life may be in danger," As he laid his hands on my head to pray I had a very clear image, like a photo in my mind, of a young boy, 7 or 8 years old splashing in the surf of a sun drenched ocean beach. The person I was concerned about did have a little boy, but he was only 2 years old, so I dismissed the incident as a bit of a day dream and went on with rest of my day.

This morning, when I checked my friends blog site guess what was centre page. a photo of a boy, 7 or 8 years old splashing in the surf of a sun drenched beach and a note below it saying life was back to normal, what ever 'normal' is in Gaza!

Often we think of ourselves as puppeteers, masters of our own lives, of our own destiny, but perhaps there's someone behind the scene who really pulls the strings? Thanks be to God.

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Missing in action?

I don't think anyone who knows me would describe me as an emotional person: probably more of the pragmatist. However, over the last several days I've become increasingly anxious, and worried about the safety of someone I've never spoken with, written to or met.

Laila is a fellow blogger. A Palestinian mother with a 2 year old boy, living in Gaza and working as a freelance journalist for the Guardian, Washington Post and Aljazeera. Her blog started 2 years ago with the birth of her son Yousuf , and records (in a non political style) her life as a mother on her own (husband has refugee status in US so can not return to Gaza) living in a country that is under occupation, economically disadvantaged and just downrigh dangerous.

As a professional writer, Laila posts blog entries once, sometimes twice a day, depending on what's happening. Her last blog was posted more than 10 days ago and was written as an Israeli gun ship hovered right over her apartment and took out the next door building which housed a money exchange, raising it to the ground.

I guess she is typical of many 'ordinary citizens' that get caught up in political power games and if killed, would simply be referred to by the media as "collateral damage, militant or refugee". I found it easy,in the past, to remain objective about such human suffering. but it makes a difference if it's someone you know, or think you know.

As a grand parent I simply hope that the world Yousuf and Sujin inherit will have learned to get on with itself and value human rights above power. - Yeah, right!

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Another milestone

At last. It's happened. Sujin is on the move. Crawling! Well, it's more of a backways shuffle, but she's also leaned how to turn around, so she can navigate here way back to where she started, if she wants to - though getting stuck under the couch required some intervention from granddad



Oh . . . . how did I get here?


Hay - Im really getting stuck in here!

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