"Rachel, you are not allowed to go anywhere with a volcano, or it will undoubtedly erupt."
-My father, on my luck with natural disasters.
I severely dislike hurricanes. This has got to stop. For a person who is never prepared for anything, natural disasters really screw with me. As always, I'm just thankful I have good friends who know what their doing.
Hurricane Irene wasn't nearly as bad as the earthquake in Christchurch but it was still miserable. We had our first hurricane scare a few weeks ago that turned out to be a light drizzle, but I was fully ready for it. Early on, Irene was only classed as a tropical storm so we were only half ready. By half ready I mean I bought a gallon of water, a pink Cinderella flashlight, bottle of champagne and foodstuffs necessary to make nachos. My new television show, Woman vs. Nature, will be coming out soon.
My friend/boss Val offered me and a few other friends a place to crash for a day or two, and seeing as how I had to get off the boat I went to her place in Luquillo. By the time the storm was over us it has turned into a full-blown, Class-3 hurricane. It poured nonstop for 2 solid days with winds blowing up to 75 miles per hour. I now understand why every house in Puerto Rico is made out of concrete. I also understand why all the water, canned food, candles and batteries were gone from the store. Really the hardest bit was waiting in an airless, concrete house with no running water or electricity and getting soaked when trying to open a door or window for some air for two days.
When we able to venture outside we found a 30 square foot piece of roof that wasn't ours in the backyard and what looked like a palm tree explosion in the front. From my other boss Juan we heard that he woke up to someone's TV satellite on top of his mini van, and our friend Aminda's windshield was smashed in by a tree. My car Maverick: The Beast was miraculously untouched and even started, although drenched with water. The boat, when were able to and check on her, is another story.
I have to say in all honesty that it has never really occured to me that there might be things in this world I couldn't do. If I learned and I tried hard I could achieve anything, and I've never questioned that until yesterday. Yet taking care of a sailboat during hurricane season in the Caribbean might be too much for me. I understand the fundamentals of sailing a boat, but the mechanics and electrics are way over my head. Not to mention the physical strength needed to tie lines and move the boat. For someone who is not used to asking for help, it's been really hard. When the boat to my port side snapped it's lines and rammed my boat repeatedly during the storm, I wasn't there. There was not much I could have done anyway but it's left me feeling helpless. Helpless like when my van Crazy Carl kept dying in New Zealand and there was nothing I could do. So I guess I'll take a deep breath and leave this to the professionals and insurance companies and take it day by day.
What the hurricane and earthquake ultimately taught me was that life doesn't care about your plans. You can be as prepared as possible, plan every detail down to the last minute, and an earthquake will still fuck up your day. Plan your day, plan your career, plan your future and life will go and do what it pleases anyway. Maybe it teaches us that life can end at any moment, and that is natural, so enjoy the sunshine. Maybe it teaches us that change is a positive force. For me, it reaffirms what I already know: Live one day at a time, love with a full heart and smile at what life throws my way.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Thursday, August 18, 2011
It's a Fine Day
Thursday, August 11th was my 26th birthday. Thank you to everyone for the birthday wishes, it was really a great day spent with great friends. Every year my stepmom Jaz asks me what I had learned that year and I've been putting some real thought into what exactly I have been learning lately. Now lets face it, I'm just a spring chicken barely hatched and wandering around a bit lost, but I guess wandering is just my way. As long as I keep my eyes open, there's no telling what'll happen. So here it is:
Presenting:
"What Rachel Holan Has Learned From The World,"
or
"What Would Willie Do?"
or
"It's A Fine Day To Make A Mess Of Things."
1. Smile at whatever life throws you. Smile when you wake up, when the sun is out, when you feel a bit down, and when you meet old ladies. Smile at rude people, it will really piss them off. Anything is obtainable in this world with a smile. Smiling is contagious, spreads joy, has no race, color or religion and costs nothing.
2. Put down the clicker and read a book. Or listen to some good music that really touches your heart. I am convinced that it would greatly benefit humanity if everyone threw their television out the window and went outside to enjoy the day. If you would like a book suggestion, I just finished a great one. My brother gave me "The Tao of Willie," a little book by Willie Nelson talking about life and relating to the Tao Te Ching. We all have a lot to learn from the original Cowboy-Hippie who can jumpstart your heart with his smile and his song. If you don't know who Willie Nelson is, please, for the love of everything sacred, do yourself a favor and go look up "Nightlife" or "Still is Still Moving" or "Whatever Happened to Peace on Earth." And if anyone needs any other book suggestions, I can send you a list of a hundred or so to choose from that'll change your life in a very positive way.
3. I severely dislike earthquakes. It definitely feels like I've filled my quota on natural disasters this year, but seeing as how we're mistreating our planet, I can see how Mother Nature is a bit pissed off. At the same time, the Earth has been around for millions of years, whereas our small industrial revolution has only been going about 200 years. To quote the late, great George Carlin, "It's not the planet that's in trouble. It's the people who are fucked!" There has got to be a balance where humanity can responsibly co-exist with the rest of the planet before we get wiped out for our insolence. I intend to spend my remaining years figuring out that balance and living with what this planet has graciously given.
4. Speaking of humanity, we really need to pull ourselves together people. It's just all getting a bit ridiculous and sad. A few days ago I saw two kittens sitting in the sun next to the biggest iguana I have ever seen. I cannot think of two species more different, but if kittens and iguanas can get along then dammit!-we should be able to as well. It's high time to set aside petty differences like religion, color and sexuality or we are just not going to make it. To quote Willie Nelson, "I learned: If you forgive your enemies, it messes up their heads."
5. Love is definitely worth fighting for. This year on New Years Day I took a flight back to New Zealand to be with a man I truly love. I went back with almost nothing and risked a lot but it was worth every minute to be with him again and now we're planing our adventures all over the world. It took me 25 years to realize that dating a nice man who cares about me was a good idea. They should be teaching this in schools instead of abstinence.
6. Give back to your community, even if you're only there a short while. The day before my birthday a group of friends got together to clean up the beach in Luquillo. It amazed me what people we dumping on this stunning beach, and how much disrespect they had for their own neighborhood. We picked up everything you could imagine in a trashcan from beer bottles, plastic forks, styrafoam cups, and glass shards to a couch, a toilet seat and a heroin needle. The worst was the cigarette butts. Five cigarette butts to every other piece of trash on the beach. I truly believe that there is a special circle in Hell designated for flickers-of-cigarette-butts. Listen up butt-flickers! If you are truly ignorant of the harm you are causing, or if you simply do not care, maybe it is time to wake up. Please stop flicking your cigarette butts on the ground, we all share this world together.
7. Follow your bliss. Traveling is the only thing in life that ever made sense to me. It keeps me calm and grounded, wild and saucy, and makes me happy every day. I could not ask for a greater gift than the knowledge of how I'm supposed to live my life. There are people in my life who do not understand, who feel I should come off my cloud and back down to the "reality" they live in. To them I say thanks for your concern, but no thanks. I'm just fine where I am.
8. No worries, mon. "If a situation occurs in your life that worries or concerns you, stop and think! Is there anything I can do about it? If yes, then there's no need to worry. If no, then there's still no need to worry." -Dalai Lama. Enough said.
9. There is always a balance, a middle-ground. Exercise vs. Laziness. Vegetables vs. Ice Cream. Work vs. Play. Beer vs. Liquor, etc. Trying to find the balance in all aspects of life isn't easy but I'm doing what I can. I still haven't figured out that last one though.
10. Shake it up! Make a mess of things. Call your boss or an immigration official "Bro." Throw away all your shoes. Dance and sing in the street. Hug strangers. Smile at homeless people and ask them how their day is. Get your phD in Anthropology if you are so inclined. Whatever makes you happy. Happiness is, to me, the most important thing there is. Once you have it, share it with the world.
In my own way, that's what I'm trying to do here. With you.
Presenting:
"What Rachel Holan Has Learned From The World,"
or
"What Would Willie Do?"
or
"It's A Fine Day To Make A Mess Of Things."
1. Smile at whatever life throws you. Smile when you wake up, when the sun is out, when you feel a bit down, and when you meet old ladies. Smile at rude people, it will really piss them off. Anything is obtainable in this world with a smile. Smiling is contagious, spreads joy, has no race, color or religion and costs nothing.
2. Put down the clicker and read a book. Or listen to some good music that really touches your heart. I am convinced that it would greatly benefit humanity if everyone threw their television out the window and went outside to enjoy the day. If you would like a book suggestion, I just finished a great one. My brother gave me "The Tao of Willie," a little book by Willie Nelson talking about life and relating to the Tao Te Ching. We all have a lot to learn from the original Cowboy-Hippie who can jumpstart your heart with his smile and his song. If you don't know who Willie Nelson is, please, for the love of everything sacred, do yourself a favor and go look up "Nightlife" or "Still is Still Moving" or "Whatever Happened to Peace on Earth." And if anyone needs any other book suggestions, I can send you a list of a hundred or so to choose from that'll change your life in a very positive way.
3. I severely dislike earthquakes. It definitely feels like I've filled my quota on natural disasters this year, but seeing as how we're mistreating our planet, I can see how Mother Nature is a bit pissed off. At the same time, the Earth has been around for millions of years, whereas our small industrial revolution has only been going about 200 years. To quote the late, great George Carlin, "It's not the planet that's in trouble. It's the people who are fucked!" There has got to be a balance where humanity can responsibly co-exist with the rest of the planet before we get wiped out for our insolence. I intend to spend my remaining years figuring out that balance and living with what this planet has graciously given.
4. Speaking of humanity, we really need to pull ourselves together people. It's just all getting a bit ridiculous and sad. A few days ago I saw two kittens sitting in the sun next to the biggest iguana I have ever seen. I cannot think of two species more different, but if kittens and iguanas can get along then dammit!-we should be able to as well. It's high time to set aside petty differences like religion, color and sexuality or we are just not going to make it. To quote Willie Nelson, "I learned: If you forgive your enemies, it messes up their heads."
5. Love is definitely worth fighting for. This year on New Years Day I took a flight back to New Zealand to be with a man I truly love. I went back with almost nothing and risked a lot but it was worth every minute to be with him again and now we're planing our adventures all over the world. It took me 25 years to realize that dating a nice man who cares about me was a good idea. They should be teaching this in schools instead of abstinence.
6. Give back to your community, even if you're only there a short while. The day before my birthday a group of friends got together to clean up the beach in Luquillo. It amazed me what people we dumping on this stunning beach, and how much disrespect they had for their own neighborhood. We picked up everything you could imagine in a trashcan from beer bottles, plastic forks, styrafoam cups, and glass shards to a couch, a toilet seat and a heroin needle. The worst was the cigarette butts. Five cigarette butts to every other piece of trash on the beach. I truly believe that there is a special circle in Hell designated for flickers-of-cigarette-butts. Listen up butt-flickers! If you are truly ignorant of the harm you are causing, or if you simply do not care, maybe it is time to wake up. Please stop flicking your cigarette butts on the ground, we all share this world together.
7. Follow your bliss. Traveling is the only thing in life that ever made sense to me. It keeps me calm and grounded, wild and saucy, and makes me happy every day. I could not ask for a greater gift than the knowledge of how I'm supposed to live my life. There are people in my life who do not understand, who feel I should come off my cloud and back down to the "reality" they live in. To them I say thanks for your concern, but no thanks. I'm just fine where I am.
8. No worries, mon. "If a situation occurs in your life that worries or concerns you, stop and think! Is there anything I can do about it? If yes, then there's no need to worry. If no, then there's still no need to worry." -Dalai Lama. Enough said.
9. There is always a balance, a middle-ground. Exercise vs. Laziness. Vegetables vs. Ice Cream. Work vs. Play. Beer vs. Liquor, etc. Trying to find the balance in all aspects of life isn't easy but I'm doing what I can. I still haven't figured out that last one though.
10. Shake it up! Make a mess of things. Call your boss or an immigration official "Bro." Throw away all your shoes. Dance and sing in the street. Hug strangers. Smile at homeless people and ask them how their day is. Get your phD in Anthropology if you are so inclined. Whatever makes you happy. Happiness is, to me, the most important thing there is. Once you have it, share it with the world.
In my own way, that's what I'm trying to do here. With you.
Friday, July 29, 2011
Wayward
When speaking of his children, my father refers to us as Samuelito and the Wayward Spawn. I am the Wayward Spawn.
Wayward have been my movements of late. After the earthquake rocked Christchurch Pete and I started re-evaluating our life's priorities, such as living in a town with a low death toll. My dad offered us his boat in Puerto Rico and we jumped at the chance, and for the last four months I have been floating happily in the Caribbean. Maybe I'm just lazy or maybe it's the heat, but I've been having a hard time trying to write and describe Puerto Rico in words. Perhaps it's because this country is just so Damn Loco.
"Oh Puerto Rico, land of the MayoKetchup," as my friend Chris likes to say, is a weird mix between Latino culture and American. Although they are technically a teritory of the United States, when put to a vote to be
A. A State
B. An independent nation
C. Neither/ I don't know
the resounding majority vote was for C. They love Burger King, Walmart and enormous shopping malls. It is very difficult to be a vegetarian here considering that their four food groups are meat, cheese, fried meat and fried cheese, all dipped in butter, fried, and then dipped in more butter. Many seem unaware that throwing trash on the street has a negative impact on their island and recycling is unheard of. The Spanish spoken here is a mutated Spanglish spoken so quickly that they often don't understand one another. "Puerto Rico," my friend Shella says, "where the women eat more than the men, and the men gossip more than the women."
All of that, though, is just a tiny piece of the greater puzzle. I love Puerto Rico. I have met some of the friendliest people here, always willing to help you out without hesitation. Puerto Ricans say hi equally to their neighbors and strangers, stuff you until you're way beyond full, smile, dance, laugh and love their families. They have immense pride in their island and rightfully so because it's just beautiful here. I have a great job working at a surfer bar called Board Riders, right across the street from a beautiful beach in Luquillo and at some point will probably try to learn how to surf.
"Puerto Ricans drive like they've run out of cigarettes," says my friend Dave. I absolutely adore Puertorican people until they get in their car, then it's like going into battle. Like most people who have at one time lived in Mexico, I consider people who stop at red lights to be good drivers. It's not as bad here but it's pretty horrible. Driving here should be considered an extreme sport as every lane is a turn lane, there's no speed limits and there are potholes the size of bathtubs at every turn. On top of all this, there is no required inspection for cars. If the entire front of your car is smashed in, none of your lights or indicators work, black clouds of smoke issue from underneath and it still runs, well then you can drive it. Scary and true, and I haven't even told you about my car yet.
I can say with absolute certainty that my car could only be street-legal in Puerto Rico, and maybe India. He is a 1992 Chevrolet Lumina/Tank named Maverick and I got him off my friend Angel for $300. Angel ran him into a lightpost and the whole left side is scraped up, there are metal shards sticking out of the drivers side door and I have no drivers side mirror. To open the hood there is a rope under the floor mats that, if pulled quite forcefully, will open it. One window won't roll down unless you take the stick out of the wedge and I don't think any of my blinkers work. Don't even mention AC or stereo. The real problem is that the car won't die. He just roars to life every morning and I can't scrap him and get my $300 back.
The good thing about Maverick is I found out he can run without oil, water or gas.
Wayward indeed.
Wayward have been my movements of late. After the earthquake rocked Christchurch Pete and I started re-evaluating our life's priorities, such as living in a town with a low death toll. My dad offered us his boat in Puerto Rico and we jumped at the chance, and for the last four months I have been floating happily in the Caribbean. Maybe I'm just lazy or maybe it's the heat, but I've been having a hard time trying to write and describe Puerto Rico in words. Perhaps it's because this country is just so Damn Loco.
"Oh Puerto Rico, land of the MayoKetchup," as my friend Chris likes to say, is a weird mix between Latino culture and American. Although they are technically a teritory of the United States, when put to a vote to be
A. A State
B. An independent nation
C. Neither/ I don't know
the resounding majority vote was for C. They love Burger King, Walmart and enormous shopping malls. It is very difficult to be a vegetarian here considering that their four food groups are meat, cheese, fried meat and fried cheese, all dipped in butter, fried, and then dipped in more butter. Many seem unaware that throwing trash on the street has a negative impact on their island and recycling is unheard of. The Spanish spoken here is a mutated Spanglish spoken so quickly that they often don't understand one another. "Puerto Rico," my friend Shella says, "where the women eat more than the men, and the men gossip more than the women."
All of that, though, is just a tiny piece of the greater puzzle. I love Puerto Rico. I have met some of the friendliest people here, always willing to help you out without hesitation. Puerto Ricans say hi equally to their neighbors and strangers, stuff you until you're way beyond full, smile, dance, laugh and love their families. They have immense pride in their island and rightfully so because it's just beautiful here. I have a great job working at a surfer bar called Board Riders, right across the street from a beautiful beach in Luquillo and at some point will probably try to learn how to surf.
"Puerto Ricans drive like they've run out of cigarettes," says my friend Dave. I absolutely adore Puertorican people until they get in their car, then it's like going into battle. Like most people who have at one time lived in Mexico, I consider people who stop at red lights to be good drivers. It's not as bad here but it's pretty horrible. Driving here should be considered an extreme sport as every lane is a turn lane, there's no speed limits and there are potholes the size of bathtubs at every turn. On top of all this, there is no required inspection for cars. If the entire front of your car is smashed in, none of your lights or indicators work, black clouds of smoke issue from underneath and it still runs, well then you can drive it. Scary and true, and I haven't even told you about my car yet.
I can say with absolute certainty that my car could only be street-legal in Puerto Rico, and maybe India. He is a 1992 Chevrolet Lumina/Tank named Maverick and I got him off my friend Angel for $300. Angel ran him into a lightpost and the whole left side is scraped up, there are metal shards sticking out of the drivers side door and I have no drivers side mirror. To open the hood there is a rope under the floor mats that, if pulled quite forcefully, will open it. One window won't roll down unless you take the stick out of the wedge and I don't think any of my blinkers work. Don't even mention AC or stereo. The real problem is that the car won't die. He just roars to life every morning and I can't scrap him and get my $300 back.
The good thing about Maverick is I found out he can run without oil, water or gas.
Wayward indeed.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Christchurch Earthquake 22.2.11
This is dedicated to the people of Christchurch who lost their lives, and to their families. Currently the death count is 148 and rising, with hundreds still missing. My heart and prayers go out to them.
When the earth shook Christchurch seven days ago I was sitting next to my boxing coach Adam, chatting away, stretching, getting ready for class. Without warning, the city went from calm to chaos in seconds. The ceiling tiles started falling, the long, fluorescent light bulbs exploded over our heads. Adam grabbed my arm roughly and we dashed for the doorway, arms over our heads, legs unable to balance on the rolling floor, as if it were made of ice. The receptionist at the desk screamed as a giant bookshelf fell over, nearly crushing her. I tripped and tumbled my way into the small space between the two doors, now holding about twelve of us and prayed for the shaking to end.
I heard later that it had lasted 40-50 seconds and I can say with certainty that it was the scariest minute of my life. Once the rumbling stopped and we all started breathing again, it took time to stand up and get over the shock of the experience. Small bursts of hysteric laughter filled the room and we knew we were lucky to be alive. Quickly we left the building, everyone grabbing their phones to try to make contact with their loved ones. I tried frantically to get in touch with Pete, knowing he could have been high up on scaffolding, but all lines were dead. All electricity down. All water off.
Within minutes the streets were jammed with cars trying to get home to see if their house was still up and their families safe. Luckily I was on my bike and it was easier to navigate through the traffic, large cracks and holes, piles of rubble and liquefaction: giant mounds of mud and sand that came out of the earth through the pavement. I remember being amazed at the damage but also at the efficiency of the police, fire department and many others who were instantly on scene, commanding order from insanity.
Once at home I joined my neighbors in the confusion. A man walked by with a radio to tell us that the 6.3 earthquake had taken down the cathedral, the symbol and soul of the city. A woman near me started to cry. Another car pulled up with news that the city centre had crumbled and that many people had died, the first deaths since the wave of earthquakes hitting Christchurch began in September. More news, more rumors, more stories circled us, but I didn't start breathing again until I saw Pete turning the corner and biking towards me in one piece. Only then did I allow myself to cry.
As the days have dragged on, all we can do is wait. We got electricity back late Tuesday night, and when the lights popped on cheers and applause erupted from up and down the street. Phones and internet started working again Wednesday afternoon, and every day I've been busy boiling what water we can get hold of. Every night we watch the news, watch the death toll rising, watch the city suffering and we know how good we truly have it.
The good news and hope lay with the people of Christchurch. Hours after the quake thousands streamed to streets asking what they could do to help. Everyone was hugging, helping, giving all that they had, bonding together in this great tragedy. News of disaster response teams coming in from Australia, The UK, The States, Singapore, Taiwan and Japan. Stories of ordinary citizens going extraordinary lengths to help out their neighbors. A man with a well in the suburbs has been pumping 90,000 litres of water a day for thousands. A facebook group formed and received 12,000 volunteers to help clean the streets, shovel liquefaction off the roads and go door-to-door in some areas offering whatever assistance was needed.
All of these stories have been a real inspiration and a real tribute to the people of Christchurch, and of New Zealand. The strength and heart of this small island nation in the face of devastation and pain shows what they are really made of, and what is possible when humanity comes together and gives for the greater good of all. This alone gives me hope for the future.
People of Christchurch: I thank you. My thoughts are continually with you.
When the earth shook Christchurch seven days ago I was sitting next to my boxing coach Adam, chatting away, stretching, getting ready for class. Without warning, the city went from calm to chaos in seconds. The ceiling tiles started falling, the long, fluorescent light bulbs exploded over our heads. Adam grabbed my arm roughly and we dashed for the doorway, arms over our heads, legs unable to balance on the rolling floor, as if it were made of ice. The receptionist at the desk screamed as a giant bookshelf fell over, nearly crushing her. I tripped and tumbled my way into the small space between the two doors, now holding about twelve of us and prayed for the shaking to end.
I heard later that it had lasted 40-50 seconds and I can say with certainty that it was the scariest minute of my life. Once the rumbling stopped and we all started breathing again, it took time to stand up and get over the shock of the experience. Small bursts of hysteric laughter filled the room and we knew we were lucky to be alive. Quickly we left the building, everyone grabbing their phones to try to make contact with their loved ones. I tried frantically to get in touch with Pete, knowing he could have been high up on scaffolding, but all lines were dead. All electricity down. All water off.
Within minutes the streets were jammed with cars trying to get home to see if their house was still up and their families safe. Luckily I was on my bike and it was easier to navigate through the traffic, large cracks and holes, piles of rubble and liquefaction: giant mounds of mud and sand that came out of the earth through the pavement. I remember being amazed at the damage but also at the efficiency of the police, fire department and many others who were instantly on scene, commanding order from insanity.
Once at home I joined my neighbors in the confusion. A man walked by with a radio to tell us that the 6.3 earthquake had taken down the cathedral, the symbol and soul of the city. A woman near me started to cry. Another car pulled up with news that the city centre had crumbled and that many people had died, the first deaths since the wave of earthquakes hitting Christchurch began in September. More news, more rumors, more stories circled us, but I didn't start breathing again until I saw Pete turning the corner and biking towards me in one piece. Only then did I allow myself to cry.
As the days have dragged on, all we can do is wait. We got electricity back late Tuesday night, and when the lights popped on cheers and applause erupted from up and down the street. Phones and internet started working again Wednesday afternoon, and every day I've been busy boiling what water we can get hold of. Every night we watch the news, watch the death toll rising, watch the city suffering and we know how good we truly have it.
The good news and hope lay with the people of Christchurch. Hours after the quake thousands streamed to streets asking what they could do to help. Everyone was hugging, helping, giving all that they had, bonding together in this great tragedy. News of disaster response teams coming in from Australia, The UK, The States, Singapore, Taiwan and Japan. Stories of ordinary citizens going extraordinary lengths to help out their neighbors. A man with a well in the suburbs has been pumping 90,000 litres of water a day for thousands. A facebook group formed and received 12,000 volunteers to help clean the streets, shovel liquefaction off the roads and go door-to-door in some areas offering whatever assistance was needed.
All of these stories have been a real inspiration and a real tribute to the people of Christchurch, and of New Zealand. The strength and heart of this small island nation in the face of devastation and pain shows what they are really made of, and what is possible when humanity comes together and gives for the greater good of all. This alone gives me hope for the future.
People of Christchurch: I thank you. My thoughts are continually with you.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
In Piam Memoriam
I'd like to start by saying "Thank you" to everyone that came here today. It's been a really difficult week for Pete and I, and your loving support is much appreciated. The death of a close friend is never easy, and in these trying times I feel it's best to be surrounded by my loved ones. So once again, thank you for being here. I will try my best not to cry.
We are here today to honor the life of Captain Archibald Jack Cooper. He was a most loyal van, and yet I like to think of him more as a friend and family member. Although I didn't know him for very long he was always there for me. There to pick me up at the airport when I came back to New Zealand, there to drive us to our new life in Christchurch, there when I needed a hug or someone to talk to. He was always a good listener.
I wish I could tell you more about his past which I'm sure was as rowdy and adventurous as his last days, but all I know is that we adopted him from Mr. John Cooper, Pete's brother, who is to be commended for all the hard work, time, effort and love he put in with The Captain. John is a mechanic and although it seemed the end for Old Arch he refused to pull the plug on his dear friend. Archie's engine was rebuilt, along with multiple other surgeries, to give the Ole Fella another chance to feel the wind on his face as he trundled, gasped and wheezed his way through the mountains once again.
To me, Capt. Arch was not only a friend but a symbol of freedom. We drove up and down the length of the South Island together. He went with us up to the beaches of Kaiteriteri and Nelson, down through the mountains in the Southern Alps, along the eastern coastlines, and navigated us through the city of Christchurch, knowing that we would be lost without him. And now we are.
I look to the Universe for some answers and some peace. It tells me that everyone has their destined time on this Earth, and well, Archie was no spring chicken. He passed away driving back from Queenstown, and I bettcha he couldn't have been happier. Full tank of gas, new oil and a wide-open road, long as the eye can see. Before we knew there was something wrong he just lost power and came to a stop on the side of the highway with a nice, loud thud: his last hoorah before passing into the Land of the Unknown.
As a parting joke, Archie left us about 20 km. north of a town called Twizel, just past Lake Pukaki. For all who don't know, Twizel is more of a village in the middle of nowhere. Population: 1,200 occupants. Pete and I hitched a ride into town and walked over to the one pub in town, banking on Small Town Kiwi Hospitality to get us out of this mess before the sun set. Not much luck there, but we did find some friendly and helpful people at Shawty's, the one restaurant in town. After hearing our story, Troy the owner left his full restaurant to drive us to his house, switch cars and get a tow rope, drive out to get The Captain and tow him back into town, dropping us off in front of the mechanic's shop. All without taking any money or beer offered.
Saint Troy of Twizel, you are an Angel of Compassion for Poor Travelers. Thank you.
The next morning we got up and found Russel the Mechanic. He takes a look at poor Arch, shows Pete the blown head gasket and where water got into the cylinders, and signs the Death Certificate for 9:15 am, Tuesday, February 8th, 2011. Unless we have $1,300 to fix him. We do not. Russel offers us $50 to take him off our hands, committing his soul to the High Heavens and his parts as an Organ Donor to other sick and dying vehicles.
The next part in this tragedy involves me sweet-talking a bus driver into driving out of the way with a bus filled with people over to our van, loading up half of our life, and taking us to Christchurch. In this includes Pete's BMX bike, my snowboard, a single mattress, our bags from the weekend, an assortment of tools, snow chains, cooking pots, helmets, shoes, a tea kettle, a skateboard, and a box of beer. After seeing out tired and stressed expressions the driver, in true Kiwi Hospitality, doesn't even charge us for all the extra space we're using. Once in Christchurch we re-load into a taxi and head for home, too exhausted to even comprehend our loss.
What now? It hasn't been easy to cope with our grief, and learning to live with our loss has been a challenge this week. Archie's death teaches us to cherish the time we have with our loved ones now. Right now. "In Piam Memoriam" means "In Loving Memory," and that is why we are here today: to remember Captain Archibald Jack Cooper in our heads and in our hearts.
To end this, I'd like to quote Kahlil Gibran in his poem "Death":
"For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?
And what is to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?
Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance."
Dance, Archie, dance. And know that you will be missed.
We are here today to honor the life of Captain Archibald Jack Cooper. He was a most loyal van, and yet I like to think of him more as a friend and family member. Although I didn't know him for very long he was always there for me. There to pick me up at the airport when I came back to New Zealand, there to drive us to our new life in Christchurch, there when I needed a hug or someone to talk to. He was always a good listener.
I wish I could tell you more about his past which I'm sure was as rowdy and adventurous as his last days, but all I know is that we adopted him from Mr. John Cooper, Pete's brother, who is to be commended for all the hard work, time, effort and love he put in with The Captain. John is a mechanic and although it seemed the end for Old Arch he refused to pull the plug on his dear friend. Archie's engine was rebuilt, along with multiple other surgeries, to give the Ole Fella another chance to feel the wind on his face as he trundled, gasped and wheezed his way through the mountains once again.
To me, Capt. Arch was not only a friend but a symbol of freedom. We drove up and down the length of the South Island together. He went with us up to the beaches of Kaiteriteri and Nelson, down through the mountains in the Southern Alps, along the eastern coastlines, and navigated us through the city of Christchurch, knowing that we would be lost without him. And now we are.
I look to the Universe for some answers and some peace. It tells me that everyone has their destined time on this Earth, and well, Archie was no spring chicken. He passed away driving back from Queenstown, and I bettcha he couldn't have been happier. Full tank of gas, new oil and a wide-open road, long as the eye can see. Before we knew there was something wrong he just lost power and came to a stop on the side of the highway with a nice, loud thud: his last hoorah before passing into the Land of the Unknown.
As a parting joke, Archie left us about 20 km. north of a town called Twizel, just past Lake Pukaki. For all who don't know, Twizel is more of a village in the middle of nowhere. Population: 1,200 occupants. Pete and I hitched a ride into town and walked over to the one pub in town, banking on Small Town Kiwi Hospitality to get us out of this mess before the sun set. Not much luck there, but we did find some friendly and helpful people at Shawty's, the one restaurant in town. After hearing our story, Troy the owner left his full restaurant to drive us to his house, switch cars and get a tow rope, drive out to get The Captain and tow him back into town, dropping us off in front of the mechanic's shop. All without taking any money or beer offered.
Saint Troy of Twizel, you are an Angel of Compassion for Poor Travelers. Thank you.
The next morning we got up and found Russel the Mechanic. He takes a look at poor Arch, shows Pete the blown head gasket and where water got into the cylinders, and signs the Death Certificate for 9:15 am, Tuesday, February 8th, 2011. Unless we have $1,300 to fix him. We do not. Russel offers us $50 to take him off our hands, committing his soul to the High Heavens and his parts as an Organ Donor to other sick and dying vehicles.
The next part in this tragedy involves me sweet-talking a bus driver into driving out of the way with a bus filled with people over to our van, loading up half of our life, and taking us to Christchurch. In this includes Pete's BMX bike, my snowboard, a single mattress, our bags from the weekend, an assortment of tools, snow chains, cooking pots, helmets, shoes, a tea kettle, a skateboard, and a box of beer. After seeing out tired and stressed expressions the driver, in true Kiwi Hospitality, doesn't even charge us for all the extra space we're using. Once in Christchurch we re-load into a taxi and head for home, too exhausted to even comprehend our loss.
What now? It hasn't been easy to cope with our grief, and learning to live with our loss has been a challenge this week. Archie's death teaches us to cherish the time we have with our loved ones now. Right now. "In Piam Memoriam" means "In Loving Memory," and that is why we are here today: to remember Captain Archibald Jack Cooper in our heads and in our hearts.
To end this, I'd like to quote Kahlil Gibran in his poem "Death":
"For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?
And what is to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?
Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance."
Dance, Archie, dance. And know that you will be missed.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Bring on the Love
Yesterday I found out that the government housing projects across the street from our apartment are specifically allocated for people who just got out of prison and are being integrated back into society. At least living in the ghetto keeps life interesting.
Oh New Zealand, Land of the Open Front Door: I missed you. How could I not miss a country where it's fashionable for men to wear short shorts and rubber boots (stubbies and gum boots)? How could I not miss the mountains and lakes, the sheep shearing contests and the traditional family meal of an energy drink and a greasy meat pie? Whilst flying into Auckland International Airport a huge weight suddenly lifted off my shoulders and before I could stop myself a river of tears gushed forth and I was sobbing. No person has ever been that happy to be in Auckland, the only part of New Zealand forsaken by the Gods. In typical fashion, the large man sitting next to me did what any self-respecting, staunch, stiff-upper-lip Kiwi male would do when faced with emotion: He pretended it wasn't happening. One more flight to Queenstown and I was back in the arms of my boyfriend Pete after a very, very long five months away. After celebrating the New Year and spending a week with our friends, we packed up Pete's van and headed up to Christchurch for work.
(*Note on the van: Pete's brother John gave it to us when he went back to England and there has been a wee disagreement as to the name of the van. Pete named him Archie, and I named him Captain Jack. I'll keep you posted on any compromise made.)
Coming to Christchurch has been an interesting challenge in getting to know the "Big City" of 400,000 people, none of whom we know. We took the first furnished apartment we found near the city center (centre), looked around and then wondered why we had taken it in the first place. To top off all the magic ChCh has to offer, we experienced our first earthquake last week. Well, three of them.
(*Note on earthquakes: To answer some of your recent questions, yes, earthquakes are very scary. The earth and everything attached to it moves and vibrates and you know that the time has come for you to die. Instantly you wish that you had been to Paris just one more time. And then it stops. You laugh manically because you have just cheated death somehow and you look up nervously, hoping the building in stable. Earthquakes: Not fun.)
Besides that whole cheating-death feeling, Christchurch continues to grow on me. Pete goes to work everyday, scaffolding on building sites from the Big Poppa Earthquake back in August, which are everywhere; the entire city is under construction. I have been looking about for some cash work but I don't have a work visa so I'm finding it a bit tricky. I'm having fun filling the time though.
Today I...
-talked to a lady about volunteering with refugees and helping them adjust to their new surroundings, so I hope that goes through.
-broke my jandal (flip flop) and walked home barefoot. I'm down to one pair of shoes (crocs). Again.
-bought a bike. He's blue and gold, blue from the paint, gold from the rust. When the sun hits it the rusty metal sparkles. It's a total piece of crap, I love it. Name: unknown.
-enrolled in Muay Thai Boxing classes again now that my wrist has healed.
Bring on the love.
Oh New Zealand, Land of the Open Front Door: I missed you. How could I not miss a country where it's fashionable for men to wear short shorts and rubber boots (stubbies and gum boots)? How could I not miss the mountains and lakes, the sheep shearing contests and the traditional family meal of an energy drink and a greasy meat pie? Whilst flying into Auckland International Airport a huge weight suddenly lifted off my shoulders and before I could stop myself a river of tears gushed forth and I was sobbing. No person has ever been that happy to be in Auckland, the only part of New Zealand forsaken by the Gods. In typical fashion, the large man sitting next to me did what any self-respecting, staunch, stiff-upper-lip Kiwi male would do when faced with emotion: He pretended it wasn't happening. One more flight to Queenstown and I was back in the arms of my boyfriend Pete after a very, very long five months away. After celebrating the New Year and spending a week with our friends, we packed up Pete's van and headed up to Christchurch for work.
(*Note on the van: Pete's brother John gave it to us when he went back to England and there has been a wee disagreement as to the name of the van. Pete named him Archie, and I named him Captain Jack. I'll keep you posted on any compromise made.)
Coming to Christchurch has been an interesting challenge in getting to know the "Big City" of 400,000 people, none of whom we know. We took the first furnished apartment we found near the city center (centre), looked around and then wondered why we had taken it in the first place. To top off all the magic ChCh has to offer, we experienced our first earthquake last week. Well, three of them.
(*Note on earthquakes: To answer some of your recent questions, yes, earthquakes are very scary. The earth and everything attached to it moves and vibrates and you know that the time has come for you to die. Instantly you wish that you had been to Paris just one more time. And then it stops. You laugh manically because you have just cheated death somehow and you look up nervously, hoping the building in stable. Earthquakes: Not fun.)
Besides that whole cheating-death feeling, Christchurch continues to grow on me. Pete goes to work everyday, scaffolding on building sites from the Big Poppa Earthquake back in August, which are everywhere; the entire city is under construction. I have been looking about for some cash work but I don't have a work visa so I'm finding it a bit tricky. I'm having fun filling the time though.
Today I...
-talked to a lady about volunteering with refugees and helping them adjust to their new surroundings, so I hope that goes through.
-broke my jandal (flip flop) and walked home barefoot. I'm down to one pair of shoes (crocs). Again.
-bought a bike. He's blue and gold, blue from the paint, gold from the rust. When the sun hits it the rusty metal sparkles. It's a total piece of crap, I love it. Name: unknown.
-enrolled in Muay Thai Boxing classes again now that my wrist has healed.
Bring on the love.
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