I just listened to a voicemail from my Aunty Em, and that was her wish for us.
We had a low-key New Years Eve; Mum and Dad have visitors from out of town, and we were all going to have a barbecue together up there, but Dad came down with some kind of gastro bug that knocked him for six. He is actually in hospital at the moment, in an isolation room with a view of the Sky Tower. The isolation room door is open now, but we are staying away until we know what’s what. We also decided not to go to the planned BBQ (the visitors stayed on, despite the absence of their host) and instead invited my brother Joe and his wife Kay around for an even smaller BBQ at our place.
We ate an imperfect but kind of glorious banana cake, drank cranberry juice, played Cranium (Pakehas know how to party!) and turned off the TV when the One News review of the decade featured heavily an over-long 9/11 montage. We have not forgotten, TV One. A still shot would have been sufficient. I still feel like I’ve been kicked in the guts when I see that plane fly in.
*Sigh* What a year. What a decade.
This year: I want to get outside more. Grow some stuff. Write some stuff. Make some stuff. Cook glorious things and eat them. And I want to do all this with the three Littles, because they won’t be Little for long.
This is twenty-ten – this is now – and the Internet is not my shield…. I’m going to get out there and live it.