Posts by Russell Brown
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Southerly: My Life As a Palm Tree, in reply to Bart Janssen,
But she and Bob are growing up with a father who makes things. Real things, things they can touch and break and then watch him repair. It’s a kind of magic.
I feel the lack of being able to provide that for my boys. I think we faced some special challenges pretty well, but our younger one in particular would have benefited from a dad with a workshop, tools, soldering iron, etc. I'm just a bit rubbish at that stuff.
On the other hand, I knew how to do things with a computer and they had running-around and various ball (and puck and frisbee) games until they were old enough to credibly demur. I could do that part.
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Southerly: My Life As a Palm Tree, in reply to Bart Janssen,
Our home in Titirangi backed onto reserve. I could and did literally walk out the back door into the bush to randomly play.
I mostly grew up in the northwestern suburbs of Christchurch, where there were plenty of undeveloped sections on which to get up to mischief (such as hurling clods of dirt, or, in season, powerful fireworks at each other) -- but it was the three years we lived in Greymouth I regard as absolutely formative.
We were right up against the bush and my friends and I would disappear for hours on end up the slippery trails. The greatest thing that ever happened was a big slip -- it took us a while to get up, and not long to get down. We built rough sleds and hurtled down bumpy tracks on them, occasionally being thrown off and crashing into trees. We trapped possums: my first taxable income was from the sales of furs, age 11. We rode our bikes to Shantytown, on the open road, or around the sewage pond, as if it were a velodrome. We climbed tall pines to cut down bits for Christmas trees. A lot of what we did was dangerous. It was marvellous.
I was back in Christchurch for my adolescence, which I think was a good thing.
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Southerly: My Life As a Palm Tree, in reply to Emma Hart,
The tribe of kids I grew up with in my street used to play in the abandoned quarry across the back paddocks. Twenty foot high cliffs, and a big shed full of… quarry stuff. As long as we were home for dinner, nobody really cared what we were doing.
I, too, was lucky enough to have tribes and wild spaces in my childhood. I'm not sure whether that served or actually generated an appetite for risky behaviour.
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Elder son returning from low earth orbit, many years ago.
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Southerly: My Life As a Palm Tree, in reply to David Haywood,
Glad to be of service, Mr Norkington!
I think the two of you are close enough for you to call him "Norks".
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Few things are more relaxing than listening to someone else deal with your protesting child.
A similar principle operates when your children have become somewhat older and you are within public earshot of a parent trying to manage a difficult young child or children.
You could be annoyed. But, really, why not simply luxuriate in the knowledge that the child is not your problem and let its cries fall upon your ears like birdsong? You will a find that a beatific smile comes easily.
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Hard News: Friday Music: I'm Over The Edge, in reply to Alan Perrott,
as far as Unrestful Movements were concerned, the singer was a bloody giant in megaheeled boots – only served to make their scrawny, if loose of limb, drummer look even more emaciated. good night if a little heavy on anti-flying nun banter. we kind of got after the first six or seven put downs.
They were serious folk.
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Continuing the recent Lorde-a-palooza, she's just done an in-studio for KCRW's Morning Becomes Eclectic::
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Hard News: Friday Music: I'm Over The Edge, in reply to Ian Dalziel,
Some more Lesley Maclean / Flying Nun gems, heading out to find their place in world:
Aren't they gorgeous? We actually have that Builders poster, but I never knew it was Lesley's work.
