happy 5th of july, america

I have been out of the United States for over nine months now.  Nine months.  I’ve gestated quicker.  While it’s been an adventure of a lifetime and a lesson in adaptation, I think the harsh reality of our move is finally sinking in.  It’s not missing my friends or family.  I knew that was the cruel price of a one-way ticket to the antipodes.  Or no longer seeing Nicole Kidman at Starbucks at 26^th and Wilshire anymore.  Six times I saw Virginia Woolf.  At my Starbucks.  Either she was intentionally stalking me or I was accidentally stalking her.  I did like examining her Botox so maybe--  (My wrinkled forehead and) I digress.  What I didn’t expect from this move was the toll it would take.  On my holidays.  

I had this epiphany on July 4^th.  Actually, July 5^th.  The festive star-spangled day came and went two weeks ago and you know what I did?  Nothing.  Stayed home and wrote.  Not in an American flag bikini.  Without a twelve pack of anything.  Didn’t make eye contact with a single hot dog.  It’s not that I forgot it was Independence Day.  I just didn’t remember.  When you remove all the stars and the stripes and the ads for Old Navy’s something off of everything Fourth of July sale and the Veterans on the corners of West LA and the fireworks and the dogs barking at the fireworks and the Americans, you’re not left with a lot of reminders.  Absence doesn’t make the heart go stronger.  It just makes you forgetful.  And hot dog less.    

But this was not the first run-in with a messed up holiday.

Halloween 2010.  Imagine the least decorated block in your neighborhood and you’ve just imagined all of New Zealand on Halloween.  My new country has yet to embrace this holiday of begging.  That’s okay.  Traditions take time.  But what wasn’t okay was this:  a house with a paper pumpkin on its door (universal sign for “we have candy”) ran out of candy at 6 pm.  As we found out from someone yelling down from an upstairs window:  “Sorry, we ran out of candy!”  What the what?  They were our first house!  They ran out of candy?  And did they just relay this information to us by shouting down from their upstairs window? Our little Frankenstein and tiny devil were pissed.  It seems impossible to run out of candy at 6 pm unless a. you never had any candy to begin with and you’re mean, b. you only had one piece of candy and you’re mean or c. you ate all the candy and you’re mean.  We concluded they were mean.  And ate all the candy and their stairs. 

Thanksgiving 2010.  Charlie Brown had an easier time.  No one here had turkey for sale because no one here eats turkey unless it’s Christmas.  Want a turkey sandwich for lunch?  Too bad.  But I get it.  It’s not their holiday.  It’s ours.  So we were on our own.  Just like the Pilgrims way back when.  But with access to a store that sold meat.  Our local butcher advertised that it carried beef, poultry, duck and pigeon (!) so we had to order our turkey.  It came a week later.  From I don’t know where.  Frozen.  And cost us about $95.  It tasted like pigeon.   

And then came Christmas 2010.  Smack dab in the middle of summer.  Piles of pine trees for sale next to the cricket field.  My in my flip flops and my husband in his shorts searched for the perfect one. The kids coated in SPF 30 watched.  It was weird.  Christmastime should be cold.  I would’ve accepted chilly, brisk or even mildly windy.  But it wasn’t any of those.  It was hot and sunny and beautiful.  And therein lies the weird.  Have you ever tried to have a snowball fight with sunshine and grass clippings?  It’s almost as hard as singing “Jingle Bells” in a tube top. 

Which brings us to Mother’s Day 2011.  I reminded my husband this holiday was coming up so it wouldn’t sneak up on him.  Like it does.  But he assured me he knew.  He was all over it.  He and Mother’s Day were like that.  Insert close up of his pointer finger and middle finger tightly crossed.  Cut to Mother’s Day weekend and my husband acting like he was just snuck up on.  “Wait.  Mother’s Day is THIS weekend?   I thought it was next weekend like in America.”  Oh yes he did.  To which I replied, “Mother’s Day is THIS weekend in America, too.”  Husband:  “Huh.  Well, you’re going to love what I planned next weekend.”  And I did.  But still. 

Father’s Day 2011 was not without its problems.  Found the perfect scarf for my husband.  Wrapped up some gumboots for the early morning soccer/mud games.  Kids made the cutest cards.  I even let him sleep in while I snuck out super early to get us coffee and a paper.  And that’s when it happened.  I ran into my friend Jenny and she told me the bad news.  It wasn’t Father’s Day.  I was shocked. “What?--  I thought it was THIS weekend like in America.”  Oh yes I did.  To which Jenny replied, “Nope.  Father’s Day is in September.”  One scarf, a pair of gumboots, a couple of cute cards, a NZ Herald and a hot cup of coffee later, my well-rested husband was not disappointed by the news of another Father’s Day.   

Next up is Labor Day 2011.  September 5^th.  We don’t have high expectations for this day.  1. Because they don’t spell labor like that here and 2. it’s not Labour Day here.  Life will probably go on as normal – our new normal – and that’s okay.  They say change is good.  I’m starting to believe them.  Even though our American holidays are all jacked up over here, the ones we do remember to celebrate have turned out to be some of our most memorable. 

Now all I need to do is figure out how to get that second Mother’s Day.  And my forehead less wrinkly. 

eleven meals with mom

When someone comes to visit, you go out and eat and drink.  When someone comes to visit when you’re living in a foreign country after no one has visited you for six months, you go out and eat and drink A LOT.  This is what happened when my mom came to visit for eleven days.  Food didn’t stand a chance.  My liver was played by Sandra Bullock and was blindsided by Pinot Noir.  It may have won an Oscar.  I’m not sure.  I probably ate it.   

Back in the 80s when I was so very small, I had this beach towel with this scantily clad hippo in a bikini on it.  Below this sexy fat mammal were the words, “If you got it, flaunt it.”  I don’t know where I got it or why I had it or why my mom would let me, a so very small girl in the 80s, have such a beach towel but I had it.  And I never really understood it.  I used to think, “If I have what?”  “What am I supposed to flaunt?”  I was clueless.  Not anymore.  New Zealand is that sexy hippo and it is totally being flaunted out here.  The fresh produce.  The clean food.  The just-caught fish.  The smaller portions.  The endless vineyards.  And a real nice proper cup of coffee. 

And Mom and I had it all.  Seems only right that I now flaunt it.  Unbutton your pants.

1.  Prawn risotto with zucchini and topped with rocket.  Friday lunch at Alphabet Bistro.  Mom flew in from LA this morning and this was her very first meal in New Zealand.  It was important that it didn’t suck.  So I took her here and ordered the prawn risotto.  Even though I was at this restaurant the day before for lunch with my husband and ordered the very same thing.  He thought it was redundant.  I knew it was a sure thing.  It was.

 

2.  Steamed New Zealand green lipped mussels in chardonnay, garlic and fresh herbs.  Saturday night family dinner at Iguacu.  Which we call Iguana because we’re not quite sure how to pronounce its actual name even though we’ve only eaten here about five hundred times since we’ve moved here.  The mussels were unbelievably fresh with sauce you would drink out of the bowl if people didn’t judge you for drinking sauce out of the bowl.  (Please note this picture was taken about ten consumed mussels and a bottle of wine too late to properly represent this yummy dish.  Sorry, Iguana.)

 
3.  Smoked chicken, brie and caramelized onion panini with some sort of relish.  Sunday afternoon lunch stop on our way to Piha beach.  The most beautiful beach ever.  Just a sandcastle away from the beach where “The Piano” was filmed.   We bought this sandwich at a dairy.  Tiny little market with a little bit of everything.  Including a delicious smoked chicken, brie and caramelized onion Panini with some sort of relish. It didn't win any beauty contests but it did win our $9.50.  Food is not cheap, did I mention that?

4.  Salmon and avocado on a sunflower roll with tomato chutney.  Monday lunch at Milk.  This is a little café in my husband’s office building.  Which is down the street from the school where Mom and I volunteered all morning in Max’s class.  They were making masks for literacy week.  Everyone had to pick out a character from their favorite book and then make a mask to parade around in front of the whole school on Friday.  Max chose the blue penguin from Club Penguin.  Club Penguin is not a book.

5.  Waiheke Snapper with mussel croquette, butternut, pine nuts, broad beans and FLOWERS!  Mudbrick Winery on Waiheke Island.  This restaurant is described as one of the most romantic places on earth.  And it was.  But since Mom and I aren’t romantically linked, we choose to describe it as one of the best drinking places on earth.  And it was.  I ordered the Waiheke Snapper and not only was it awesome, it was beautiful.  It was stacked and arranged and drizzled and flowered and topped with a pile of foam.  I’m sure the waiter told me exactly what the foam was but the Mudbrick Sauvignon Blanc refused to let me bring home that information.

6.  Breakfast salad with bacon, poached egg, tomato, avocado and mesclun dressed in fresh herbs, extra virgin olive oil and lemon juice.  Wednesday lunch at Café People.  Charlie turned four on this day.  Mom and I celebrated by sending him to school and having this amazing salad.  If the breakfast salad could’ve ordered lunch, it would’ve ordered the breakfast salad and ate itself. 

7.  Nachos with homemade tortilla chips and everything that’s good in the world:  cheese, guacamole, margaritas, the Pacific Ocean.  Thursday lunch at Dos Amigos in Mission Bay was perfect.  There is not much Mexican food in New Zealand but what they do have is off the charts fresh and mighty.  Hola.

8.  Ravioli with Jerusalem artichoke, sage and walnut brown butter.  Friday night dinner at Coco’s Cantina.  Coco’s Cantina is one of those places where adjectives such as hip, dark, small, cool loiter about like the people standing at the bar waiting for a table.  If you want to eat here, you will have to wait.  A long, long time.  But if you can stand it, literally, you will be rewarded.  With this dish.  Because.  Oh.  My.  God.  C-razy good.

9.  Dinosaur cake.  Saturday birthday party for Charlie 4^th at Seedling.  A super cute kiddy craft store that sells super cute kiddy crafts.  This making of this cake involved a lot of assistants.  Mixer lickers (Max and Charlie), homemade frosting whipper (Mom), dinosaur body carver (me), expert froster (my husband).  This delicious quadruped was reduced to crumbs as the last verse of the Happy Birthday song still lingered in the air. 

10.  Trim flat white.  Sunday morning coffee from Mink Café.  This little brown takeaway cups may not look like much but the coffee from here – Mink and the entire country of New Zealand – is THE coffee.  I know other places say they have the best coffee in the world but they’re liars.  I’ve been to Spain, France, Costa Rica, Starbucks.  The moment the first New Zealand trim flat white hit my lips, I was besotted.  

11.  Maketu Prime Beef and Blue Cheese Pie.  A random meat pie Mom and I picked up at the grocery story eleven days ago.  Mom took the 1:05 pm Quantas flight from Auckland to LA on this day.  At 1:06 pm I realized we never got around to that pie.  It had 2,095 kilojoules (kilowhat?) of energy.  I decided I couldn’t consume all that energy without her so I didn’t.  Plus, it expired sometime between meal one and the 1:05 pm flight. So instead of using a picture of an old expired meat pie, here's a baby goat.  We went to a farm after we dropped Mom off at the airport.  We didn't eat the baby goat.

And there you have it.  Eleven meals with Mom.  I hope I made it very clear you have to come to New Zealand.  With or without my mom.  If not for the in-your-face beauty and the clean air and to visit me and the relentless hills and the ridiculously cute baby goats and the kind people and the charming accents that make you sound like you belong in a barn and the way “man oh man, is it pretty here” feels rolling off your barn tongue then come for the food.  And the wine.  And the COFFEE!

Someone please tell Starbucks we're through. 

the other me

I am not alone.  

That's what I discovered yesterday at Max's first soccer game.  I was standing on the sidelines in the mom zone, in yoga pants and a ponytail, watching my very red-faced seven-year-old while wrangling my very energetic three-year-old.  Next to me was another mom, in the same yoga pants and a ponytail, watching her very red-faced seven-year-old while wrangling her very energetic three-year-old.  A ball was passed or a kid ran by or something sporty happened when this went down.

Other Mom:  "GO, FINN!"

Me:  "GO, MAX!" 

She looked at me so I smiled at her.  You cannot call me unfriendly.

Other Mom:  "Where are you from?"

Never sure if I'm supposed to say America or Los Angeles or the States so...

Me:  "America--  Los Angeles--  The States."  

Other Mom:  "Oh, so you're new here?"

Me:  "Yeah." 

Other Mom:  "Me, too.  We just moved from Brisbane."

Hmm.  She just said "just."  I should probably correct myself.

Me:  "Actually, I don't know if I'm technically still new.  We've been here six months." 

Other Mom:  "Me, too!"

What?  Why'd she use the word "just" then?  Strange.  On a side note, if we're really counting...

Me:  "Actually we came at the end of September so eight months is probably a more accurate--" 

Other Mom:  "We came in September, too!  Has it been eight months already?"

She really has to get her story straight.  But she's right.  Eight months goes fast!

Me:  "I know.  So fast.  My husband came out before us in June--"

Other Mom:  "My husband came out before us in June, too--"

No.  Way.  Did my husband have a second family? 

Me:  "After just getting the job offer in May--"

Other Mom:  "My husband was informed of his transfer in May--"

She knew!  She knew my pain!  Misery, meet company.
Me:  "I was left alone with the kids for three months!--"

Other Mom:  "And I had to pack up the entire house!--"

I'm still mad I had to pack up the entire house and it's been eight months!

Me:  "ME, TOO!"

Other Mom:  "Worst time of my life--"

Me:  "The absolute WORST time--"

Awful.  Awful.  Awful. 

Other Mom:  "I fought with my husband on the phone across the pond all the time--"

Me:  "I picked Sky-ghts (Skype fights) with mine every chance I got and then walked out of frame."

Hmm.  I wonder if I can say across the pond?

Other Mom:  "That's so funny.  Are you all settled in?'

Me:  "I am.  Well, the kids are."

Other Mom:  "Same here.  It's time to for me now."

Me:  "Me, too."

And we looked at each other and smiled.  I guess I can't call her unfriendly either.  It was time for us now.  Even though we only knew each other for about three soccer plays, we were destined to be friends forever because of this moment, this bond, those three awful, house-packing months...

DING DING DING! 

And then someone rang the bell and the game was over.  All twelve games on this very large soccer field.  Mom zone was suddenly flooded with sweaty, red-faced seven-year-old boys in need of water and lollies and, I don't know, maybe some deodorant?  Next thing I knew there was a scuffle between my boys over who got the orange candy (Max) and who got the purple candy (Charlie), and she was gone. The woman who had been living my life in a different continent with a different man and different children and a different house and a different accent and a different hair color and yet the SAME yoga pants was gone.  I was confused.  How could she have left without saying goodbye?  Hadn't we made a connection?  Aren't we destined to share our war stories?  And that's when she tapped me on the shoulder.  She was still there.  With the other four thousand soccer moms wearing yoga pants and ponytails.  I really have to get a better look for soccer.

Other Mom:  "Hey, so, I'll see you next week."

Me:  "Yeah, I'll see you next week."

Dangit, I wish I had an Australian accent.

And that was it.  And that's when I realized that was all that needed to be said.  When you have a connection like me and whatsherface, names and words are superfluous.  I have no doubt we will be friends forever.  Or at least until next week.  When I am NOT in yoga pants and a ponytail. 

Me:  "G'day, Mate!"

She can't hear me -- partially because she's already in the parking lot but mostly because I don't say this out loud -- but if she could, I know she'd smile.  Me and the other me are very friendly.