Rambles from World's End

Easter this year was shaping up to be bright and warm and cheerful but true to Easter weekends of memory Sunday it rained. Still Easter Sunday has been warm and cheerful despite the rain. Very different from most Easter weekends I remember. I've never found Easter memorable here it’s always been a bit heavy and dull. While I was charging around the house on Saturday morning, trying to do housework around the family I was reflecting on why Easter holds little meaning to me now. Just to clarify I am not talking from a religious perspective but merely from my own human perspective. I think now that I can look back with no emotion I realise that our first Easter here was rather horrid. Though physically we had moved countries and into our new home and for the Mauritian a new job, emotionally we were still way behind. We were lonely that Easter, it was cold, raining and damp. We were very unprepared for how cold it would be, we were expecting to be cold we just had no idea how cold

Like her mother before her the Butterfly is not the most agile or athletic child. Unlike her mother, however she is enthusiastic and game for almost anything. The Butterfly will give it a go if everyone else is.   The Butterfly loves themed days at school and has happily dressed up as a pirate, a Christmas elf, or a Butterfly Princess and worn a bazaar wig to a disco. Her first month at primary school she took part in the school cross country with boundless enthusiasm. The Mauritian was instructed that she needed new trainers and I was told she needed comfortable clothes to run in. The Mauritian bought her a brand new pair of trainers; I just dressed her in her same clothes. In the days before the event, the children trained daily with their class and we were given a daily report of her progress.   My heart almost burst with pride on the day, she put her head down and just ran. Two circuits of the cricket field at Pukakura Park and not once did she stop to walk or get distract

Those among us who do not have a Kiwi upbringing think the Hakka is just a silly thing the All Blacks do before the start of a rugby match. Now we all know it is of pacific origin and most assume it is some kind of war dance. Living here at world's end I have learnt very little else about the Hakka or its origins, but I have learnt this: There is a lot of power and emotion in a Hakka and with every movement there is a story. I am learning slowly to appreciate its beauty. The uniqueness of the Hakka unites Kiwis worldwide when it matters most. Even during the Rugby world cup it has the power to draw in even those who have no interest in rugby, everyone sits down to watch the All Blacks perform a Hakka!   Last year at Central School’s final assemble boys aged eleven and twelve stood up proud and performed a Hakka loudly and with joy in their faces they had made it through another year of school, they were well and truly ready for their holiday and it showed in every movement

So I’m sitting here at home on a lovely warm autumn afternoon, Carter’s Window is crooning through the Mauritian’s custom   built loud speakers and I’m thinking life just doesn’t get any better than this! We’re home from a busy, tiring, extremely sweaty and sometime stressful six-week tropical holiday. Our Little Lollipop is no longer a baby; she’s a walking talking screaming bundle of character and personality. The Butterfly is a smiling, intelligent if sometimes insolent growing child seemingly unfazed by life. The Mauritian is tearing along at his place of employment alternately loving and hating it but giving it all he’s got regardless. He’s home on the weekends and our time is our own and the girls demand every spare moment he has. Me, I couldn’t be more content, our struggles to settle into life at World’s End and to make a place for us is over. I no longer worry about the Butterfly fitting in or if we’ll be warm enough this winter. In fact things seems so right at the moment