Aunty Rewa was born in October 1906 in the gold mining town of Waihi on the southern end of the Coromandel. Her parents William and Letitia, both Pākehā, had a Māori nanny and asked her to name the new baby. And Rewa entered the family.
When my mother was born she was named after Aunty Rewa and thanks to the original Koha and longevity, 116 years later the name still lives on in our family. I don’t know anything of the Nanny but I do know that being given the opportunity to name a new-born and carrying that through another generation are both special events and show insight that make fascinate me. Gifting a name is indeed special, a true koha.
Of course I’m biased, but Mum is pretty special and moving another year into her tenth decade this month, celebrated yesterday with a small family lunch in Ōtautahi Christchurch, was a lovely family occasion.
“Bottled Peaches!” declared the Airport security woman on the way home – actually apricots – but I didn’t feel like splitting hairs. Mum’s special creation and this jar is from her 69th annual bottling session of Otago apricots, earlier this year, never having missed making them each year since 1952 or 3.
A birthday should be about gifting and I’m pretty fortunate to have come away with this little number.
But the true gift is time – with Mum especially – and Mum still providing for us kids all these years later.
Sadly, my trip down to Christchurch to do a surprise visit for Mum’s 89th birthday got cancelled by Air NZ. Well, I’m sure Air NZ didn’t want to cancel it but they have no choice as we’re not permitted travel until Alert Level 2 is here. So Mum will have to see in her 90th year just with Dad, which will be just fine!
Mum’s been bottling fruit since 1952 – 67 years – as long as her and Dad have been married, and there’s no bigger fan of it than Dad who loves it with his Tip Top Boysenberry ice-cream. On our annual road trip in January, Mum picked up some apricots from the place just on the edge of Cromwell as you head towards Queenstown. I enjoyed a bottle of it tonight, slightly warmed, with some Vanilla Ice-cream. Perfect. I’ve been eating it, not regularly, but all my life. I remember the annual bottling ritual when I was a boy – it’s been apricots, peaches, plums (off the tree), pear and stewed apples. Despite the sugar that I recall going in the big vat, it must be alright for you!
If you’re ever at Mum and Dad’s the bottles are safely stored in the cupboard in the laundry. It always seems full, despite them eating it for breakfast and dessert every night. Just don’t go there at night-time because the cat is locked up in there, heated bed and all, safely for the night.
During the Lockup it’s definitely been a time to enjoy home pleasures and of course home-cooked food. There’s not much else. But growing up I don’t remember much else either. There were occasional visits to friends, rare fish ‘n chip nights and even rarer meals out. Nowadays, they’d never been a week, or in fact hardly a day, when I wouldn’t eat out or at least purchase out. So maybe it’s not so bad for us all to have some, hopefully, home-cooked nutritious meals. Who knows, it might keep the ‘rona away!
I walked twice today – total 16.5km – and there’s little doubt that La Résistance are firmly in control of Cornwall Park. The security guards on duty have gone from stern occupying sympathisers, to silent, but benevolent supporters. Never have there been so many smiles and acknowledgements from passing walkers. Yes, we’re in this together, but we’re also in this– our democratically empowered exercise – together. If we have to choose, it’s the walk, so don’t mess with us!
There’s been some weird stuff in the park. A well groomed small man with immaculately trimmed barista style beard and hi-vis vest hurtling down the road from the peak of One Tree Hill on his tiny cycle, to skid sideways to a halt just before the barrier; a woman who I knew but couldn’t remember her name who claimed to have a gun to ward off runners who came too close; selfies with bulls; a child out of control on her balance bike down the hill in the wet, smiling all the way; people with masks protecting their chins only; golf; one man soccer games; and skate boards that go up hill (I need).
When we get out of our motor vehicles, play, interact and stop being busy and important, real things happen. This isn’t new to me, but like the ‘rona is said to compress the mortality rate of those most at risk from 12 months to 2 weeks, the Lockdown has compressed these great pleasures into a few weeks.
Can I say keep it up! Well the walking yes at least!
By the time you read this it will be Friday. Enjoy your dessert. Only two people will have it as good as mine was tonight.