Monday, June 25, 2007

Both provincial and pretentious

This weekend we packed up our entire lives and flew down to Wellington for a few days of frolicking about in a new place. Our ulterior motive of course was to find out how H managed on a plane trip and sleeping in foreign locales. (Our trip to the UK is in 4.5 weeks and counting!)

Not that a 50min flight to Welly EXACTLY prepares you for a 24hour flight to the UK.

The plane flying out from Taupo was roughly the size of my left shoe. And it was a windy day. And the plane (the shoe-sized plane) was springing about in the sky in a rather excitable fashion. Plus the shoe was making the most outrageous amount of noise. A sort of thundering buzzing that made your eardrums start picketing to be allowed out of your body, and instead travel buried in the deep velvet lining of a small, sound-resistant box.

I felt sick. Eyeing up the sick bag kind of sick.

Honour? She fell asleep.


On our second flight (yes we were detoured!!!) the plane was bigger - a sort of large shoe or perhaps skiboot size - thank goodness. H was her normal self - aka The Busiest Baby in the Entire World and I Am Not Even Exaggerating.

I had my usual bag of tricks -(notes in brackets are the length of time for which she was skillfully distracted by my bag of tricks)

sucking on the rice crackers (1minute 30 seconds)

sucking on the spatula (2 minutes)

sucking on the elephant (not actual) (34 seconds)

rattling...and sucking the plastic container with spoon inside (3 minutes)

pulling my hair (2 minutes)

stroking my coat (15 seconds)

trying to pull my earring out ( 3 seconds before I stopped her)

sucking on bits of tangerine (2 minutes)

trying to stroke my coat with tangerine-embossed fingers (3 seconds before I stopped her)

That was eleven minutes down.

At this point I started to think about having her on a plane for 13 hours to Hong Kong.


You know that bit in the bible where it says something like 'And if all the things Jesus had done were written down in books there wouldn't be enough room in the world to store them'?

Well "If I carried all the items needed to distract Honour on a 13 hour flight there would not be enough room in the plane to store them".

After my magical bag of tricks was sucked upon and discarded. She lunged wildly for the magazines, the seatbelt, my coat, my ear. etc etc. In fact the non-stop wild lunging is pretty much a 24/7 activity, partially interrupted by sleep.

At this point she discovered that it was fun to play with her tongue. She started to experiment making all sorts of weird shapes with it. Her favourite was to make it all big and fat and then poke it out of her mouth. Then she lunged over my shoulder to look at the people behind us. Then she stuck her tongue out at them. About 15 times in a row.

I mean maybe we are just hard up for entertainment these days, but it was the most hysterical thing ever. (Since I put two legs in one leg of her jeans).

Sadly nobody was looking at her, except us. Or perhaps, fortunately, as it looked extremely offensive and deliberate. Hee, so that was fun.

Anyway we eventually arrived in Wellington - which we all know is the capital of NZ, right? And the 3 sherpas that we brought with us to carry the luggage moved us into our hotel room. Then we bundled her up in her snowsuit, into the stroller and off around Wellington for a mosey around.

This is where I started to get freaked out. Bear in mind I haven't been anywhere except Taupo (small) and Rotorua (bit less small but still small) for over 10 months. TEN.

And now I am in a CITY. With people. And buses. And lots of shops. And noise. And people walking past you on the street and not smiling. NOT SMILING. Oh the people! And the not smiling!

I was totally freaked out.

A) by the people and the buses and the noise (I think we covered that )


B) by how freaked out I was by A)

I mean, people, I used to live in Toronto...and now I want to run and hide under a table when a bus squeals its brakes next to me?

How provincial have I become exactly?????

But then I saw Borders. Borders the bookshop. A bookshop unlike those in Taupo. The main difference? It has books. Actual books. More then 11.

And I saw Esprit. With Clothes. Unfailingly fabulous clothes.

And I started to come right.

I'm going to have to cut this short cos the wee Munchie has just awoken and is making subtle indications that she might like my full and undivided attention.

So, yes the next day I scampered off for a few hours of alone-time and went to Esprit and bought the most divine green top with silky green oversized hood. (Sidenote: it was in the sale, and I apologise for this. I usually like to buy things full-price. You know with that 'I can spot the most expensive item in the entire store without looking at the price tag' radar that many women have. I felt that I'd let the side down by buying something that could be called a 'bargain'. I'll try better next time.)

Then I went to BORDERS. Oh heaven. Oh delight. BOOKS. By you know, people. People other than Maeve Binchy and Agatha Christie.

And then that's when I happened upon Kurt Vonnegut.

(This is the pretentious part).

HELLO? Why did nobody tell me about Kurt?

Where have I been all my life that I have never read any of Kurty boy's books?

(Ok the fact that I don't know how to pronounce his surname always put me off reading him before. It seems a little rude to read a book by a person when you don't know how to say their name)

I bought 'Cat's Cradle'. And it is SOOOOOOOOOOO good. It is funny. And weird. SO weird. But funny weird. And deeply meaningful weird. And genuinely clever but not over doing it weird.

The truth be told, I am a little in love with Kurt. Although seeing as he died recently it is a little late to love him AND want to have his babies. Just as well, I still don't know how to pronounce his surname. And you should really be able to do that if you are having that person's babies.

Anyway, pretentious bla bla - there you go.

Provincial and pretentious. It's the new me.


Anonymous Kristy said...

Well if you're lucky, perhaps he donated some little swimmers somewhere & you can still have his babies. & his name is pronounced just like it's spelled, silly: VONN-e-gut. Doesn't that help?

9:04 AM  
Blogger Adele Richards said...

Thanks Kristy for being the voice of reason.

For some reason I always want to pronounce it like Connecticut:


Hmmmm....don't know why.

10:16 PM  

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