We celebrated this most American and most autumnal (and most colonial) (except maybe Columbus Day) of holidays a day (or two depending on your time zone) late. We were only six at table this year, but we did the whole thing. The turkey was flown in from the South Island. It got three days of dry salty herby rub and came out really good.

It’s strawberry season here, so our salad was an easy way to nod at New Zealand’s hemisphere. But everything else was verbatim from the meal we grew up with. Including Stove Top stuffing. Delicious!

The weather cleared up in time for the meal, so we got to show off the view. We had only two couples over this time, old friends and brand new. The conversation was so good that I completely forgot to get pictures during the actual meal!

Another understated Christmas display.

Kangaroos aren’t from here, and in fact there are efforts underway to eradicate the populations of wallabies that were introduced in the 19th century.

But Australia is the closest “big” market. So a lot of chain store stuff is produced for that market and NZ gets some too.

(Of course, maybe this family is actually Australian…)

More than a month after my return from Manila, where Christmas was already in full swing, some little sprouts of decoration are appearing in our neighborhood.

The carols are on in the mall, and today there’s a Christmas parade in the next town over… it’s the season, in a laid-back kind of way.

My Christmas present will hopefully be a fully functional set of cranial nerves. I can now sort of lopsidedly smile, so if I do happen to run into Santa I won’t scare him away.

The 5th of November 2024 is a day many Democrats, and I fear many others, will add to the list that includes December 7th 1941, September 11 2001, and so many others when terrible things happened.

Or maybe not. Who knows.

Here in New Zealand it was Guy Fawkes Day. Nobody has any idea what we celebrate or commemorate with this holiday. But it’s the only time of the year that you’re allowed to buy fireworks.

We happily took full advantage of our new views, even though we are sympathetic to the many people who call for the home fireworks to be banned.

Matariki is the Māori name for the cluster of stars that rises in midwinter and for many Māori heralds the start of the new year. In Japanese, this constellation asterism is known as Subaru, and I learned it as the Seven Sisters or the Pleiades. It was already too light when I took this picture, but the stars in question are over there somewhere.

Matariki is also the newest public holiday in the NZ calendar, and we celebrated it this year on Friday the 28th of June.

I don’t know a lot about the cultural practices associated with Matariki, other than the vague idea that you’re supposed to reflect on the old year, flush out the bad stuff, and then look ahead to the new year refreshed and invigorated. Fair enough, that seems like a good plan!

I did my bit for marking the annual change this year. I finished my job the day before (thanks for nothing, National Party government). And after I had a bracing sunrise swim, we hauled the first carload of stuff over to the new house… one down, quite a few to go!

The big moving truck comes on Monday. The job search starts in earnest on Tuesday.

Happy New Year! Manawatia a Matariki! Bring it on!

Lee’s birthday weekend included dinner with friends Di and Malcolm, who provided this lovely backdrop for a picture.

And multiple cakes.

We had Christmas dinner with Di and Malcolm from pétanque. Our contribution included the steamed Christmas pudding I won at the pétanque club Christmas party raffle.

A traditional steamed Christmas pudding for those who might not have experienced it is a whole lot like a fruitcake, only without the bright colored candied fruit. And maybe even richer and more heavily soaked with brandy. It’s something I adore, but I recognize that most people in America and even in countries that still pledge allegiance to the King find it a bit much.

You serve a pudding with brandy sauce, which is nothing but butter and sugar and brandy. You want the makings of a glycemic crisis? I got you covered.

Back to our story… it’s Christmas Day and we realize that we don’t have enough butter. And we really thought we would have a hard time finding a place open to get some because they take their holidays seriously here. So we set off in the direction of more crowded parts of the city, turning out of our neighborhood and heading toward shops and taller buildings.

We tried two petrol stations… open but no butter. We drove past many shuttered windows and finally found a small market (known as a dairy here) open, just opposite the hospital. Two kinds of butter!! Dinner is saved.

The nice Indian lady behind the counter said it was in fact a busy day at the shop… everybody buys flowers for Christmas hospital visits.

Buoyed by a happy feeling of God bless us, every one, I decided to drive by the much closer dairy which I positively KNEW wouldn’t be open. Oops, they were there, we didn’t even need to leave the area. So our drive was much longer than it needed to be, but we did meet a nice lady.

And the pudding was staggeringly heavy and confrontingly spicy, especially after Di’s melt-in-your-mouth salmon. The brandy sauce melted slowly into the pudding. For me, it was a perfect ending for Christmas gluttony season.

Just a couple of shots from this year’s Christmas lights on Franklin Road. We’ve been there before, and again and actually last year too.

This year the (volunteer) organizers were in the news railing against the influx of vendors selling light-up balloons and twirling ropes and stuff.

It worked, and the atmosphere seemed much more relaxed than last time, less like a state fair midway. There were carolers and even a brass band, and we saw several householders in their yards enjoying the sight of all the people admiring the decorations.

We had a great time dressing up for Glen and Jeneen’s Halloween party.

Just at the end of my mandated isolation period was the ANZAC Day holiday. I walked over to the local parade and commemorative ceremony, staying a bit apart from the crowd just in case.

Very moving, in a wholesome small-town way. The band was followed by active and returned service members, some marching fairly smartly in formation, while a few of the oldest struggled to stay upright in their best suits bedecked with ribbons and medals.

The day’s slogan is “Lest we forget” the senseless horrors of war. That’s important. But I worry that knowing and remembering may not be enough. In the face of so much post-truth thinking in the world, maybe that noble sentiment should be accompanied by “Lest we repeat”.

One of the advantages of moving a lot is still feeling a little like we’re on vacation even doing normal things. So when the Christmas break found us with no plans to fly away, nor really the motivation, no big deal.

We dined with friends, did a few projects around the house, went to the beach a couple of times, did some shopping, saw the new Avatar in IMAX… and of course went out for a boozy brunch. Best of all, we didn’t feel the least bit deprived for the lack of an airport experience.