The Keeper

When he decides it is time to do something, he gets stuck in. And then he keeps on keeping on until it is done.

My hubster is one of those men who works in an office. His days are spent going from meeting to meeting and in between, plowing through the outstanding tasks at his desk. He’s employed a great team to work with, so at least there is a good measure of hilarity in their office banter. But it is a sedentary kind of occupation. Hard for a busy kind of guy.

Before he got saddled with kids and then, a sick wife (thank goodness I am not anymore!) he was all action stations. When we met, he spent most weekends out sailing, at the gym and in his workshop, building stuff.  Fixing things, tootu-ing (that’s kiwi for messing-about-with-intention).

So when my guy is on holidays, the way he winds down is to get busy. Productive. It’s weird, it is like the opposite to the rest of the world, who holiday on sun loungers, sipping cool drinks in the shade. My fella likes to get physical, out in the water or on a DIY project.  If he doesn’t complete something significant during his holidays, he feels like he’s wasted them (I know, right?!).

So, he decided it was time we updated our living room. We inherited a rather loud ‘feature’ wall of tangerine juxtaposed with maroon. I’ve always hated it! Of course, I had decided it was time we updated our living room a week before we moved into the house, eight years ago. But as with most of the practical tasks in this house, nothing happens until the hubster decides.

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And he did! It seemed like we got interrupted in the task constantly, but finally, last night, we finished. The final coat of paint went on the mantel and we were finished!  I can’t even tell you how happy it makes me. I keep standing in the doorway, just gazing at our lovely room.

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That man of mine installed new coving, skirtings and architraves. Built floating shelves, plastered and painted the ceilings and then all the rest, too. He had some help from me, but I was definitely his sidekick. I marvel at his skills. It’s rare, these days, for guys to know how to do all these things. I feel stupendously lucky! He used muscles he rarely uses anymore, and engaged a part of his brain that brings him satisfaction and respite. Sometimes, he groaned when he stretched his office body out at the end of the day. But most of the time, he grinned. He’s got a great grin, my hubster, among other things.

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As one of my friends said “he’s a keeper”!

Here are some more pictures.
Reckon I might keep him on. 😉

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Deep End Stuff

She was a tough nut sometimes, my Mum.

Brought up in the Bay of Islands, she lived down by the water beside a picturesque bay. I don’t think it was as idyllic as it sounds. Survival in the post war years, off grid with five kids can’t have been a walk in the park for her parents.  She spoke of having to go in the rowing boat around to the mouth of the river once a week so they could wash the clothes in fresh water. Neither she nor her four siblings could swim, and one terrifying day, her baby brother fell over the side. She recalled seeing his blonde curls just above the surface of the water, the rest of him below. Her mum managed to get him back into the boat and on they went to do the washing. I think it haunted my Mum, that memory.  So even though she wasn’t a strong swimmer herself, she was determined that we would learn to survive in the water.

Our introduction was at our neighbours swimming pool. It had a very deep end, and after splashing about in the shallows, one at a time, Mum took us along the outside pool deck to the deep end. “In you go!” she said. In I went, clinging by my fingernails to the shiny squares of the edge.  “Now-” she said, “push off from the side and use your arms and legs to keep your face out of the water” showing me the doggy paddle action with her arms.  I was so afraid.  I wanted to keep my tenuous grip on the tiled lip of the pool. But I trusted her. And in one crazy, better-not-think-about-it-moment, I pushed off. I paddled like she said.  My legs pushing against the water beneath me. Around in a big arc, the deep blue beneath me seemed to stretch down endlessly.  But I was moving! And as long as I was moving I was staying up near the top! I craned my neck and panted with the effort. I was exhilarated! As far I was concerned, I was swimming! I remember that moment because it was one of my biggest. I was afraid. I did it anyway. Some moments just stay with you. Do you remember when you first got into the deep end?

I was afraid, but I trusted her

Tonight I had a wee panicky moment, thinking about what lies ahead of me on Monday. I’m going to what is called a casting. A big retailer is going to check me out and take some test shots to see if I am a good fit for their brand. I’ll be there in front of the cameras, having a go at posing and trying to look natural instead of petrified!  I was initially feeling really excited about it, just kind of zen, you know? Then Kelly, the lovely girl I talk to at the agency, asked me if I had any questions. Um,
“Should I take my suck-it-all-in-pants?” I asked. She giggled. I think I surprised her with that question, I guess she deals with a lot of girls who don’t need suck-it-all-in-pants. But Bridget Jones and I, we are kind of attached to them. They help with the jiggle and give me a better contour. She asked me again what size I am. “18-20”, I said.  When I got my contract from Vivien’s I wrote my sizes down, and I noticed that my contract states that I can’t change my size. And, you know, I’m such a good girl, that for the last few weeks, I’ve been studiously maintaining my booty!  “Hmmm”, she said, “I wouldn’t have picked you for an 18-20, their sample size is 16”.  Ah. “Guess I’d better take the suck-it-all-in pants!” I laughed. “It’s a plan!” she said, and I began to imagine myself squeezing in to pants two sizes too small. This rumptious rear might find that a bit challenging!

So since that little exchange, I’ve been feeling a bit more nervous.  My hubster came home and asked me what was up.  I must have been chewing on my lip. I explained it all and he smiled that Bobby Dazzler grin. “Babe,” he said, like he was talking about an irrefutable fact, “it’s just deep end stuff. We’re good at deep end stuff!  Just get out there…and see what happens!”.  He’s good like that. Reassuring. Believable. And he’s right, we are good at ‘deep-end’ stuff. We’ve had lots of practise! So I am letting go of that safe space I inhabit on the edge of the unknown. I’m pushing off, regardless of how frightening this new world of modelling is to me. I’m just going to think of my mum, showing me that paddle action, I’m going to keep my head up and give it a go.

What’s the scariest deep end moment you’ve had?
How did it work out?
Did you keep your head above water?
Oh please, tell me encouraging stories!

Post Script:  it went well!  I fitted their samples by some miracle of brand-size-variation and the suck-it-all-in pants were not required.  Phew!  Just have to wait now to see if the brand manager thinks I am a fit for their stuff.  It was fun 🙂