An Expatriate Parcel of Nostalgia
Jonathan Owen
Dear Son,
With you away in your remote outpost, Christmas just won’t be the same, so here’s a parcel of goodies to remind you of home.
The AA sign from Cape Reinga, pointing to Bluff; A fly-ridden longdrop; Mother’s compost heap; a bottle of Rotorua air; a sack of Ruapehu ash; a cicada husk; a possum (with tyre marks); a hillside of manuka; a koru unfurling; a Milford Sound sandfly bite; breath-taking scenery – with power lines; lazy Sundays – and neighbourhood lawn-mowers roaring; a back; one jandal (strap broken); pipis over a driftwood fire; a scorching ironsand beach; humming bees in red-blossomed pohutukawas blending with breaking surf; a dusty metal road – and parched throat; pub full of laughter and faces singing ‘Ten Guitars’; black unwashed singlet (from its usual spot from under your old bed); copies of A Good Keen Man and Footrot Flats; a Swandri; a pair of well-worn tramping boots (and ripe socks); a pair of long-johns (crutch optional); an Eden Park haka; a six o’clock swill; a full chilly bin; a bottle of Bakano; cheddar chunk on cotton-wool white bread; slices of ‘original recipe’ Vogel; hokey-pokey ice cream and a Trumpet – minus wrapper thrown out the car window; a Waitangi Day traffic jam; a warrant of fitness (expired); Saturday night drag-races down Main Street; a waft of onion rings sizzling on someone else’s barbecue; mouthfuls of hangi kumara; slice of pav; packet of Girl Guide biscuits (minus edges nibbled off by your sister); Mealmates thick with Vegemite; bag of Minties; Jaffas rolling down the aisles; Gran’s pikelets with home-made jam and cream; Edmonds Cookery Book; a yellow-eyed penguin (potato chips underarm); a recording of native birdcalls introducing the morning news; a wooden Buzzy Bee; a plastic tiki; a can of She’s Right attitude oil; a Red Band Taihape gumboot; a shearing gang (with smoko and scones); barbed wire with wool tufts attatched; gullies of gorse; a weekend’s trailer-load of rubbish; a L&P bottle; Ponsonby cappuchino – with frothy moustache; episodes from Shortland Street (and latest Anchor-family advert); old edition of the Listener, KM’s short stories and James K’s poems; samples of modern writing – on tagged concrete wall; an IR5 tax return; a first-past political post; a winebox enquiry; a smooth Cook Strait crossing; an audio tape of friends singing ‘Now is the Hour’; sound effects of seagulls and foghorns echoing as the ship casts off; a wet handkerchief with Mother’s initials; a 21/2-cent stamp on postcard from our honeymoon; a playcentre white-elephant stall; your childhood photo album; your sports trophies – endlessly polished by Mother; hundreds-and-thousands sandwiches; cheerios; a red mailbox; a red coin-operated telephone box; a one-dollar note; a wharf strike; a freezing worker; a good days fishing; a glass milk bottle; stained cuppa from the Main Trunk Line tearooms; an Anzac parade; old memories.
It’s not such a bad country is it? Take care, son. Show ‘em what real Kiwis are made of, eh!
Dad
Jonathan Owen
Dear Son,
With you away in your remote outpost, Christmas just won’t be the same, so here’s a parcel of goodies to remind you of home.
The AA sign from Cape Reinga, pointing to Bluff; A fly-ridden longdrop; Mother’s compost heap; a bottle of Rotorua air; a sack of Ruapehu ash; a cicada husk; a possum (with tyre marks); a hillside of manuka; a koru unfurling; a Milford Sound sandfly bite; breath-taking scenery – with power lines; lazy Sundays – and neighbourhood lawn-mowers roaring; a back; one jandal (strap broken); pipis over a driftwood fire; a scorching ironsand beach; humming bees in red-blossomed pohutukawas blending with breaking surf; a dusty metal road – and parched throat; pub full of laughter and faces singing ‘Ten Guitars’; black unwashed singlet (from its usual spot from under your old bed); copies of A Good Keen Man and Footrot Flats; a Swandri; a pair of well-worn tramping boots (and ripe socks); a pair of long-johns (crutch optional); an Eden Park haka; a six o’clock swill; a full chilly bin; a bottle of Bakano; cheddar chunk on cotton-wool white bread; slices of ‘original recipe’ Vogel; hokey-pokey ice cream and a Trumpet – minus wrapper thrown out the car window; a Waitangi Day traffic jam; a warrant of fitness (expired); Saturday night drag-races down Main Street; a waft of onion rings sizzling on someone else’s barbecue; mouthfuls of hangi kumara; slice of pav; packet of Girl Guide biscuits (minus edges nibbled off by your sister); Mealmates thick with Vegemite; bag of Minties; Jaffas rolling down the aisles; Gran’s pikelets with home-made jam and cream; Edmonds Cookery Book; a yellow-eyed penguin (potato chips underarm); a recording of native birdcalls introducing the morning news; a wooden Buzzy Bee; a plastic tiki; a can of She’s Right attitude oil; a Red Band Taihape gumboot; a shearing gang (with smoko and scones); barbed wire with wool tufts attatched; gullies of gorse; a weekend’s trailer-load of rubbish; a L&P bottle; Ponsonby cappuchino – with frothy moustache; episodes from Shortland Street (and latest Anchor-family advert); old edition of the Listener, KM’s short stories and James K’s poems; samples of modern writing – on tagged concrete wall; an IR5 tax return; a first-past political post; a winebox enquiry; a smooth Cook Strait crossing; an audio tape of friends singing ‘Now is the Hour’; sound effects of seagulls and foghorns echoing as the ship casts off; a wet handkerchief with Mother’s initials; a 21/2-cent stamp on postcard from our honeymoon; a playcentre white-elephant stall; your childhood photo album; your sports trophies – endlessly polished by Mother; hundreds-and-thousands sandwiches; cheerios; a red mailbox; a red coin-operated telephone box; a one-dollar note; a wharf strike; a freezing worker; a good days fishing; a glass milk bottle; stained cuppa from the Main Trunk Line tearooms; an Anzac parade; old memories.
It’s not such a bad country is it? Take care, son. Show ‘em what real Kiwis are made of, eh!
Dad
posted by Xyphir at 1:37 PM
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