Truth to Power

 It's not easy speaking truth to power. There are consequences to this, I guess that is what makes it easier to lie and save face. 

Or not say anything at all.

I have not come up with any easy solution, my plan is to write about what I know.  In my small library universe which was a microcosm of the world - if the world was a like a ghetto in West Auckland, it was easy to see. The little kids feared the big kids would beat them up. They would run into the library and hide and often that fear was real. It was not unknown that there would be death threats, if not from older siblings, even from parents themselves. 'My mum/dad would kill me' was not actually an idle threat. 

Sometimes these parents would be - out of it, preoccupied, on drugs, fighting each other, absent or in jail. Often the children would be whangaied - fostered out or looked after by their grandparents, aunties, uncles...and me. 

I remember a few of these children would always hang out in the library. Not ostensibly to read books, but because being out in the playground they would be teased, bullied, ostracised or shunned. Teachers would leave them alone if they went to the library. They would beg and plead to stay in the library well after lesson time had started. It was always hard saying no. 

This annoyed the teachers though some children claimed their teachers didn't care and let them do what they want. Perhaps they had run out of patience - though they certainly tested mine at times. I had books to process and library things to do, though I let them do little jobs like water the plants and tidy up, it was something they had control over, when they had little control over their lives in the classroom and at home. 

Most of the clingy children came from broken homes. They didn't know where they would end up on any given day. It was not something I inquired about but they would say things like 'my mum hates my dad' or 'my mum IS the dad' or 'when I grow up I'm going to earn a lot of money to look after my mum'

I once flatted with  a 'broken home' family and the ten year old boy would say of his parent's separation 'I got used to it'. They would spend half the time with their mother and half with their dad and he was not allowed within 100 metres of their home thanks to a restraining order. Eventually I had to move out when the mum moved in with her boyfriend, and there was an incident when the boy twisted my arm, (as a joke?!) then laughed when I cried and I couldn't work for a week, but I ended up forgiving him. I never saw the dad, the mother would never mention his name. 

I have since known so many divorcees/separated parents its not funny and wondered if there was an epidemic of couples who don't talk to each other anymore. Some don't even stay together after the minimum two years. There is that book in the library called 'Are you my mother?' but I think a more apt title for this day and age would be 'Where is my dad?' . 

One heartbreaking book I read, which is quite an old story now is Jacqueline Wilsons 'The Story of Tracy Beaker'. Tracy is one of those obnoxious tough kids who is always getting into trouble. She lives in a children's home called 'The Dumping Ground' and longs to be adopted or fostered out, and makes up fabulous stories about her absent mother, who she claims is a movie star and thus is far too busy to be a mother to her. She's a handful for her eventual social worker (lesbian) foster mother who turns out to love her unconditionally. Tracy's dad is never mentioned apart from the fact that he ditched her and then her mother had a succession of scumbag boyfriends who beat her up. 

Yep life is tough in the 'hood. 

This kind of chapter book wildly popular with young readers who devour orphaned childrens novels by the dozen from The BFG, The Secret Garden, Anne of Green Gables, Annie, Harry Potter, Lemony Snicket, The Memory Thief, Because of Winn- Dixie, Baby Sitters-Club (divorced and dead parents), Pippi Longstocking, The Last Kids on Earth,  etc etc.

Not to mention 'The World's Worst Parents' one of the books by David Walliams. Of course there are 'normal' middle class family novels too but these tended to churn out self-centred narcissists like The Diary of a Wimpy Kid, Dork Diaries and Dear Dumb Diary. 

The senior children were often told they had to read chapter books, but most of them didn't enjoy the way children get depicted in them. I often found the dramas in them too complicated, and the parents were often terrible examples. And besides, He who must not be Named trope got old after a while, like Darth Vader in the Star Wars series. 

So I didn't mind that children gravitated towards Where's Wally, or stayed in the realm of safe making friends mode, like the Elephant and Piggie books, where there were no parents or teachers telling them how to behave. 

Ranui Panui

 It all had to come to an end. Even the happy endings needed ending. That is why epilogues were invented.

If you want the full story, you'll need to go to the school library website. Here is what happened afterward.

In the alternate universe, Principal Heather did not retire after all. She stayed on until she was well into her 80s and her hair turned a glorious shade of silver.  Rosemary the gardener returned and turned the school fields into garden, and planted an amazing maize maze that was a real money maker for the school. There was also a bumper sunflower crop, because Ranui means 'sunshine'. 

Mr O's magic mug which read 'I'm retired, Do it Yourself' sat pride of place on his self-made mantlepiece in the school's awards cabinet. There was also a new prize called the Top Shelf Readers award, which Whaea Selina won every year, as nobody ever read as many books as she did. (Though Victoria came close). 

Since the teachers had downsized their classrooms into little worker bee cells of not more than 12 children each everyone was working much better, and they all had little book cushions they brought to school embroidered with their names on them. So there were no more pillow fights.

Antariksh featured in the latest Children of the Pacific series as the star library monitor, along with his dream team of library helpers, and they all had Roblox avatars. The library was also making money now that their sponsor Hell's Pizza had decided to set up an outlet in the school hall kitchen, to reach hungry Ranuites. 

For those who frequented the Lucky Pig Yum Cha book restaurant, if they borrowed a winning donated book, they could win a $50 Whitcoulls voucher, but the prize kept jackpotting each week as everyone kept borrowing books but not winning the prize. Had Whaea Teressa secretly hidden the winning book in her locker? 

Yes she was still there, but as Principal Heather was not going anywhere she decided to take over the school trips schedule. Might as well have fun on the job right? This time she planned a trip to the Chelsea Sugar Factory, taking only 5 lucky golden ticket winners. Whaea Lou was roped in to keep the sweet tooths in line using her UE boom box. But unfortunately the trip was nearly derailed when temptation became too much. Something to do with the Ooompa Loompas, we never were quite certain what happened after that but Whaea Teressa started to act quite strangely upon return as if she had eaten too much sugar. 

As for the teachers, Whaea Caryn started confusing everyone when she ran up the Canadian flag up the school flagpole and insisting that everyone wear red and white for 'Oh Canada' day. Some of the children believed they were going to turn Canadian and started talking in Canadian accents, adding 'eh' on the end of every sentence. This took a lot of time to phonetically undo afterward. 

Whaea Johlene's new fireproof tiny house was now relocated on the school grounds, but she found it a bit unsettling to be now living at school. 'I feel like I've entered Harry Potter' she lamented, wishing that Dakota would hurry up and read the rest of the series so she could find the secret portal password to the Muggles world.

The Bilingual Unit had entered a new Kapa Haka group, calling themselves the Stamping Feet, who were so noisy and loud that the houses next door to the school had to call Noise patrol. The School Hall had to be refitted with special shaggy carpets like the mats in the library. However the Kiwi block then got refurbished as the disco hall and Whaea Monica became the deejay. She opened it up for everyone to join to kanikani and you didn't even need to be Maori to have a boogie. Then when some visiting students from Japan came she got the idea to incorporate karaoke as well. 

Mr Kell's new Science discovery centre was well received and he became the subject of a number of experiments as a willing guinea pig. The first experiment was to answer the question after he had a bout of covid - Does George's Marvellous Medicine really work? There was also several slime testing labs being run. Nanogirl set up test kitchen in the staffroom. 

The kererus had their share of drama when one day Whaea Darlene accidently crashed her car into the back of the Kereru block, and so THEY had a rebuild as well. Instead of classrooms, puriri trees were planted and classes were held under and up the trees. Then they could truly be called Kereru. The Tui teachers became envious and so they got into planting more flax and kowhai trees, as well as Tawianese Cherry and Loquat, until one student found out that these were noxious weeds, but it was too late as the Tuis had made their homes in them. 

Whaea Tilot wasn't that keen on what was on offer at the Yum Cha book restaurant and set up her rival Butter Chicken Book Chook restaurant on the day that Whaea Selina didn't work. This was a way to use up the leftover chicken feet that the children wouldn't eat. But she could never find a use for all the leftover carrots, until Rosemary suggested she give them to her new 12 story worm tower, behind Mr O's boys shed. The girls had a shed too, called the She shed. It was decorated in girly style like a gazebo and you could read books in there, now that the reading tents had been banned. 

It was all fun and games at Ranui School, and you'd never know the children were actually learning anything. But secretly they were, because they all had homework. They just came to school to play. 

The boy next door

I think I'm gonna be sad

I think it's today...

The boy next door has gone away

He was big and strong

But so weak and pale 

When they carried him away...

I saw him in the ambulance

I remember

The hugs 

He'd sneak them when nobody was looking

He'd ask for a smile

We held hands

The crush didn't last 

He got married

He had two girls

He didn't look at me anymore

>>>

I'm still here, next door

And he's somewhere in the celestial kingdom

Where Mormons live

With his cat, Sparky

The garden grows wild

I'm still next door, waiting

Back to the future

Dear Selina

So you've come back to your Good News Blog and wondering where the good news was in 2020?
Well congratulations, memory tells me you survived the Great Coronavirus Pandemic and are still living with your parents, who are now technically retired but still trying to run your life for you. However, one keeps you fed with rice and soup and the other always gives you potato chips and hot cups of tea, so life isn't as bad as all that.

You have two jobs which you've managed to keep and at good news is that in neither of them is your boss a bully. You don't take any medication and are certified sane, but if you do have a nervous breakdown it's more likely now you can afford a holiday every year instead as a preventative measure. Great stress management, well done you!

You have managed to avoid joining a cult, and haven't lost too much of your life's savings or had friends betray you and use you as their drug mule, but remember, you are a prize to be won! So be glad you haven't settled for anything less.

I hear you have a radio show called Garden Planet, who knew you were so famous that the entire planet wants to hear you talk about this revolutionary idea of making it into a garden. The only thing is, I think you giggle too much on your show and that precludes most people from taking you seriously, but who cares, you have 42 members on Facebook, and that's all that counts.

I have had it on good authority that some of the children at your school call you 'the funnest teacher'. What is that? Please do not spoil it by letting the other teachers know about this, or the library will be shut down and turned into a classroom what with the teacher shortage and all.

Upon perusing your photos, it seems to me you have grown your hair longer, but otherwise you are still as skinny as a rake and ought to eat more. 

But you don't need me to tell you that.

Lots of love from your bossy big sis...

On Writing

Writing is a strange thing. It seems to me that it's something everyone can do, but not all do it well, as people just don't have the time to do it. It doesn't require a lot of effort to write down what has happened each day and what's on one's mind and heart, just the setting it down. 

The problem sometimes stems when other people read it, and judge you on what you've written. It shouldn't matter if it's full of typos and bad grammar, the important thing is that you do it. There are editors and proofreaders for that task...for those pernickety perfectionists amongst us, those people who make a living spotting other people's mistakes. 

I used to write everyday from when I could first construct sentences from about age 6. I had a good imagination, I just wrote down what I would imagine, as often it would run away with me anyway and this was normal, it was all part of child's play world, make-believe. I was places in a writers group at school and left to be free with words. The problem soon came when real life got in the way and things would grow dark. Teachers did not like dark stories. 

They liked outlandish plots and things to be kept light and airy. Soon it became a struggle to write anything because what I did in my school holidays was not all that interesting. I would face my ten lines in my school book and struggle to write anything, that I hadn't written before. If I was too honest about stuff, nobody wanted to read it. By third form, it had got too much, I had a teacher write that I wrote things that were too PERSONAL.  In a way, they were encouraging students to lie about things as they didn't want to read about such embarassing or uncomfortable issues as puberty, domestic violence and racism. 

I soon abandoned writing and even cartooning as child's play and didn't write much for ten years. If nobody wanted to read it then what was the point of writing it? Anne Frank wrote her diary but then she didn't survive Auschwitz, or anyone else, it was not as if writing could save me. 

For years I did not write and then the urge came. After a while I slowly got back into it with a smattering of poetry at first. Poetry is all about feelings, and I had an abundance of those. Then a full saga, and short pieces. I joined a writers group, where there were some creative minds, but some of the exercises we did were like the workshoppy 'create a story' mould that was anathema to me. Why even make stuff up when it's all happening in the real world? Couldn't I just write what was on my heart? Well no, one must fictionalise it, and write what will sell. 

I looked into commercial writing - writing for pay. It just seemed like a sell out to me. Besides, nobody would BUY what I was writing, it was too raw.  Copy writers wrote nonsense for advertisers. What sold really was gossip. I even had a job in a company that  captioned photos that people would publish in women's magazines, as what people wore was way more important than the people themselves. It was keywording and I would describe stock photos mostly, so if it was a pretty landscape I would type in 'sky' 'tranquil scene' 'horizon' 'pastoral' . I was paid by the hour (not by word) so I was writing but I don't think you could call it real writing in any sense. A monkey could have done it. 

After extricating from that job of 8 hours 9-5 sitting in front of a computer with a supervisor breathing down my neck in case I made a mistake, I returned to gardening because at least that was semi-creative and didn't involve a lot of grammar, syntax, or idioms. But then I find I had to write things down in that job too because I have what lots of people have, a limited memory and I would forget things. 

So that is why I started my garden blog because I was so bad at taking photos and remembering everything I had done. And that is mainly why I write...because if I don't, I will forget things and that's the plain truth. I don't make things up or try to give things a happy ending...because life goes on regardless, but at least I would have captured a moment in time when something glorious has happened, like a flower appearing or a delightful discovery or just the plain hard work gardening can be. And it also helps if a plant has suddenly died and I'm trying to rack my brains on what plant exactly was that and where did I plant it...? 

Writing, as reporting or journalism is often a lost art, as newspapers fold, and people don't have time to read anymore. A picture can say a 1000 words true but often it can be deceptive and won't necessarily tell you really felt at the time. For that, words are gold. So sorry instagram I'm not about to sign up and be your loyal customer. 

As I type this I am not sure who (if anyone) will read this but if it's you, you can either write back or write your own blog and share the joys of writing. Secretly...it's actually a lot of fun to write stuff but don't take my word for it... just do it. 

The day the oil ran out (17)

As I idly flipped on Facebook to watch a youtube video I saw a trailer go past advertising a movie called 40 Days.
How much longer would this go on for I had no idea, so I started counting. It didn't look too promising. The movie trailer looked very depressing and overly dramatic. I wasn't sure I was ready for Rangitoto to erupt just yet.
Back to the problems at hand. Are we in May?
Is it my birthday soon?
What will I do for a living?

I watched Slowy outside, still nibbling. It seemed she had gathered a lot of ...feijoas. Although they looked too small to be feijoas. On closer inspection the little fruits were shiny. They were olives!

Olives! I could make olive oil! And we had plenty, because someone had planted them all along the berms/verges of our street so there were at least 100 of them. And each tree had at least 50 ripe olives and they were all falling all over the ground.

OMG.

The oil had not run out after all.

Hallelujah!

Honest Trailer

Goodbook vision 

In association with Fishy Writers

Presents

40 days

Based on a true story

40 days till the volcanoes blow. Will Auckland repent?

The hellhole of the Pacific – Auckland City, is on the verge of collapse. One man, Jonah is called to preach God’s Word to a city that harbours gamblers, drunks and prostitutes. Will anyone listen?

Jonah is a man on a reluctant mission. He is sent to Auckland when he would rather have spent a relaxing cruise holiday in Rarotonga. But on his way there, divine things happen that make it clear God really wants him to go to Auckland. 

The people of Auckland are not where God wants them to be.  Aucklanders are caught in the grip of consumerism  through buying and selling property, having just built the biggest gambling complex in the nation and a new motorway means more cars clog an increasingly congested and polluted city. There are  pride parades, constant drunken parties, and the red light district is doing a roaring trade. 

False churches prey on the poor for more money, we meet youth who cannot get jobs and solo mothers whose partners have abandoned them and become addicted to gambling. Other children never see their parents who are working overtime to pay the rising rates on their houses. Retirees sell up and run off with the cash, to spend on expensive overseas holidays.

The Mayor has an affair with his secretary and then does not quit his job but continues to get rich from council perks. 

Jonah wants no part of Auckland City. He doesn’t want to preach there. If the volcanoes blow in 40 days as God says unless people repent, he wants to watch from a safe vantage point.

However by miracle something happens as the Word gets round….Aucklanders don’t want their city destroyed like Christchurch! And they don’t want to leave in a mass exodus. Jonah can’t believe his eyes when he sees Aucklanders repenting and starting to love one another as Jesus commands. 

Rated BG

Some content may offend. Biblical guidance recommended.