Memories for all time: #3, the first hour in Singapore

02-DEC-1978

It was a much longer plane flight than we were accustomed to. 12 hours! half a day from your life is a big deal at 9 years old. I don't remember being grumpy. I don't even remember my 5-year-old brother being grumpy. Probably best I don't ask my Mum for an adult recollection of the trip.

We were charmed by the care-package of strange fluffy socks, folding toothbrush, tiny tube of toothpaste.  We'd had a smoker in our home until the previous year - so the drift from the aeroplane's smoking section had a familiar comforting feel.

Mum had prepared us for moving to Singapore by teaching us to eat with chopsticks. Sliced banana in a bowl! No mere noodle, beansprout or shrimp was ever safe from us after that initiation. We were quite disappointed to discover there were forks...

So...finally the big plane lands. The doors open. A wave of soft warm moist air rolls almost visibly through the dry chill of the cabin. And the smell! A complex mixture of avgas and jungle - decaying leaves and waxy sweet perfumes dissolved in kerosene.

Down the stairs onto the warm tarmac in the sudden dark of tropical early evening. Bright lights haloed by the most Enormous flying insects, unable to dodge the tiny bats feasting among them. Strange faces and accents directing us onto the old-fashioned white bus, rattling off into the mysterious scented night....

What I did on February 1

There are three perfectly good posts I've written tonight, and they can all wait because I'd rather give you the truth in my heart right now

My overflowing joyous pain-clotted leaky heart

It's been one of those days with a lot in it. 

Beginning in easy harmony with a dear longtime friend -- doubting my own judgement -- walking hard up the high hill, alone and pleased to work hard -- smelling the scent of roses in the stone-terraced gardens -- friendly chat with strangers -- being cross with myself -- finding a good cup of coffee -- getting irritated with beloved people -- finding a tactful way to be alone -- watching Aotearoa slip by beneath the plane -- nurturing the seed of a plan to see more -- maintaining discretion -- saying goodbye to three dear people, not knowing when I will see them again -- dreading that yet more choice and change will be upon me soon --  realising i can have my cake and eat it too -- messing around and wasting my own time -- driving far too fast to arrive on time -- hyperventilating with anxiety because nearly running out of fuel, having to stop to fill -- relieved to not be late anyway -- coming to a favourite place and finding myself quietly accepted -- enjoying my sewing project -- hating my sewing project -- enjoying it again -- feeding the kitten --  talking, listening, laughing, embracing, kissing -- sharing pain and fear and grief -- eating the delicious dinner -- enjoying a moment of pretending i belong to a family -- helping with a simple chore -- discovering new connections and ideas -- wishing that everything were different -- mocking my own self-pity -- finishing a project -- planning a next-time -- being peaceful -- seeing a shooting star -- knowing that despite all the difficulties: 

If you, dear reader, were part of this day, thank you for all you gave 

Memories for all time: #2, plane journeys

We'd been flying Auckland to Oamaru to visit grandparents as long as I could remember, at least once a year. A plane to Christchurch. A much smaller plane for the flight Christchurch to Oamaru - with a brief bounce at Timaru, if you can believe it. Grass runways at both these small airports.

The pilot stayed overnight at the only hotel, and flew back the next day. He (always a he!) was always a friend, and welcomed my small brother and me into the fascinating crammed cockpit for pre-flight inspection.

The little plane flew low and the South Island sky was always clear. We cherished our turns at the window seat and were utterly fascinated with the landscape - mysterious braided rivers, dry hills, endless straight roads, crawling cars and tractors, tiny cows and sheep. Later we would drive through that landscape - unbelted between the grown-ups on the front bench seat of Granddad's big blue Holden. To this day I cannot comprehend how anyone can be bored on a long car journey, or ignore the miracle of physics that lifts a machine into the sky.

Some early mornings on the return flight there were crates of tiny yellow day-old chicks in the rear of the cabin. Being ferried up to Christchurch to begin their miserable lives as battery hens, no doubt.  I can still hear their tiny peeping calls over the roar of the propellers.