I have been lost. So much happened in 2018, and almost none of it was recorded. I have been living life instead of writing about it, but writing about it is part of how I need to live.
So a brief recap …
I began the year in Doha (Qataar), stuck for 24 hours in a 5 star hotel due to flight delays beginning in Nice. So no New Year celebration for Johan and I, but a quick trip to the souk and a lot of time transiting Hamad Airport. Still it was worth it to see what a modern totalitarian state looks like – at least we don’t have pictures of Jacinda Ahern on the outside walls of our multi-story buildings. Then eighteen hours in cattle class and I was home – just like I had never been away.
Of course the story of the year is that Amy was pregnant when I returned and the birth of Nolan in July. But I will get to that. In the meantime life took off in a rush. By the time we got back from France I was, for the first time since Michael died, no longer truly single. And mon dieu, how a man can fill up the empty spaces in a day, a week, a month or a year!
Back in Auckland life took off with a rush, and to be honest, not much had changed. Laura and Jason had re-arranged the furniture in my apartment and the plants were all dead – not their fault, they were called to Canada urgently by the illness of Jason’s father. But The Isaac ‘gang’ were still around, and yoga re-commenced immediately. Everyone was curious about my time in France, but sadly I did not appear to have acquired that French chic veneer I was hoping for. And work was waiting, with a nasty hearing that had been pending since before I went away, and which ultimately proved to be an unmitigated disaster. No changes there, at least not till later in the year.
An ending at the beginning
While I was in France, and even before, I had been increasingly troubled by my brother’s evasion of the normal family events. We normally all do high days and holidays quite enthusiastically, so it was a worry when he kept coming up with dubious excuses not to attend with his wife and my nieces. From the other side of the world I felt the chill and hurt the avoidance of Christmas festivities had on the rest of the family back home, and in my blunt and uncompromising way I decided to get to the bottom of the problem. That did not go well. Not at all.
No resolution, no answers, and now no brother or nieces in my life at all. Not even the birth of the first male on the Kelly side of the family for 60 years drew him out of his shelter. With the unfortunate result that new parents Amy and Eric are unlikely to forgive and forget in a hurry either. My brother and I have never been friends but I could not believe I would become a part of one of those families that did not even talk to each other. So there is a big hole that might just stay that way. Grandma’s children fought and scrapped and bitched and complained about each other – but they never closed the book as my brother has done.
Work / Life balance
Who said work and life have to balance? Of course they don’t. They just add up to a whole, the parts of which ebb and flow through the whole of our lives. At 14 I had my first job in the kitchen of The Professional Club (long defunct) in Avenue Road, Otahuhu. It was secondary to my education at that point, but I have never stopped working since. At 71 Johan is ‘retired’ but runs a small business and co-manages the 72 unit apartment building where I live. Other friends of similar age work even harder. In today’s economic climate it is impossible to imagine not having to work in some manner until I become utterly decrepit and have no need to spend money at all.
Which is by way of saying that I have given up trying to solve the work / life equation. From now on I am just going to make the most of the ‘life’ part, and do the work as and when required. I have discovered that it is possible to have a life so busy that you only think about work when actually doing it. That is the best I can do at this stage. But there is always Lotto …
Grandma
Oh the agony of waiting and anticipating. And worst of all deciding what to be called!
Actually, waiting ok. Who needs to rush into grandparent-hood? And the anticipation not so great with today’s technology. We had the x-rays and knew a boy was coming. But the handle – nan, nana, gran, grandma, Linda? The glamorous sounding “Abuela” was of course the prerogative of the Argentinian grandmother, and I have no claim to any more sonorous foreign title in my own right. It seemed a little graceless to demand to be called Linda, so “Grandma” it has to be.
I fully expected him to arrive late. Both of mine were overstayers in the womb, extracted on threat of induction. And in Amy’s case a hearty meal of hamburger, chips and a thickshake. But Nolan came a week early, and I got to watch. I was not supposed to be there. In fact I had strict instructions to come in, say hello, and leave. But I overheard the midwife say Amy could start pushing in 10 minutes, and there was no way I was leaving then. The parents capitulated on condition I stayed in the corner and did not come anywhere near the business end of operations.
Holy Moly! Have you ever seen a baby born? I did not even see my own two come out, so how could I keep away from such a mind-shattering event? The push part went on FOREVER, and I tensed and un-tensed my downstairs equipment every single time Amy did to the point where I thought I would need a week to recover. Then beautiful Nolan appeared, a fetching shade of light purple and covered in gunk. A tiny little creature with eyes wide open and skin so fine and transparent it seemed too delicate to exist. No lumps, no bumps, no red marks, no blemishes. Just a tiny perfect creature. Then he simply turned to his mother’s breast and started to suckle. I was awestruck. I still am.
