Yesterday we went to the big (biggest in Auckland??) Sunday market at the old Avondale racetrack. It’s part flea market and part produce / farmers market.
It was super crowded, and as white, English-speaking people we were definitely in the minority. But in ways that are hard to describe it didn’t feel like you’re gonna get your pocket picked or otherwise molested. Nice friendly New Zealand. There was some jostling… there’s a certain type of mostly elderly person who just wants to get their shopping done RIGHT NOW!
We invested in one of those little rolling carts that you use to go to and from the market and bought some veggies and tasty steamed pork buns.
Movie tickets from work and fancy dinner with my honey!
In glass class yesterday the teachers were talking about the exhibition of mosaics they’d been to the night before. So we decided to check it out for our Saturday afternoon outing.
It was held in Orewa, a sleepy-but-growing beach town situated right about at the limit of acceptable commuting distance from Auckland. The broad beach was gorgeous, with just enough waves for kids to have fun and try their hands at tame surfing. We did a little op-shop shopping, had a good meal in a cafe on the strand, and then walked to the exhibit.
We didn’t know “doing mosaics” was even a thing, much less a thing with its own juried National Exhibition… but it is. There were separate categories for 2-D and 3-D art, and a lot of really cool stuff on display.
A lot of the pieces had a strong element of fun, even while showing off a lot of craftsmanship. We could both imagine ourselves enjoying doing some mosaics… or at least imagine ourselves spending hundreds of dollars on glass and tiles and tools and patterns and…
We are both at approximately the same point in our lead light windows. And after yesterday’s class we are only a tiny bit further along. Maybe stained glass is like sex: getting the curvy bits to fit just right takes practice.
Not our white minivan, to be sure, but a sight that makes you think about how differences in the expression of that one little gene for “impulse control” can have a lasting impact on a person’s life.
We went to Eden Park tonight and watched the All Blacks thump the Australians.
On the way out we passed the player entrance. As you can see from the sign, some of them are quite tall.
(The obvious title for this post was “Tall Blacks” but that’s the name of the NZ basketball team.)