What do I do when my love is away?
Does it worry you to be alone?
How do I feel by the end of the day?
Are you sad because you’re on your own?
No, I get by with a little help from my friends.
- Lennon/McCartney With a Little Help from My Friends
Hey, baby ... what’s your name?
Kari arrives to New Zealand in just a few days, and while I have really enjoyed the past three weeks of me and Little H against the world, I am eager for her to get here. Be it a spouse, a lover, a boyfriend or girlfriend, opposite gender or same gender, in New Zealand that person is referred to as your “partner”. During our last tour of duty here, I initially thought “partner” was a very odd word for this person in your life, but I came to embrace it. In the US and Canada, we give so much weight to the title “husband” or “wife” and anything else is somehow seen as ... well, less. The deep commitment and importance of other arrangements are inherently excluded when we hold the terms husband, wife, and spouse to a different standard. A partner can be any of these, but they are also so much more. Kari is not just a person to whom I am married; in every sense of the word, she is my partner ... and sometimes my partner in crime.
I must admit, though, that it can make for some interesting cross-cultural miscommunication when a Kiwi is referring to their domestic partner and a North American thinks they are talking about a business partner (and vice versa)!
I have gone out and done something without my partner in crime, though. Sadly, the Highsteads have parted ways with our dear companion Chumba-wamba. I bought Chumba for a little over $2000, put another $1300 into new tyres, and got exactly what I paid for. Like an old and faithful dog, Chumba was a little beat up on the outside, smelled really bad on the inside, but was always there ready for the next adventure. In the year that we were away, Chumba lived a solitary life in a good friend’s barn, occasionally let out to drive around the paddock, then put away again. On my return, Chumba surprisingly started right back up and even passed a Warrant Of Fitness evaluation (miracles never cease). But with our now permanent residency in New Zealand, we needed a more reliable ride. Kari and I have always driven big pickups and SUVs. When we moved to Myrtle Beach, though, Kari’s Forerunner had passed it’s useful life. We got her a (slightly) used BMW 528i and proceeded to drive it into the ground. She was never really happy with that car, but I rejoiced in driving it. In the mean time, I got a Ram 1500 that I absolutely loved. When we were deciding what we wanted to drive in NZ, Kari announced that she wanted another SUV ... and that opened the door for me to get a completely impractical sports car.
The Ultimate Driving Experience
Enter the Highstead’s new whip (I am accepting suggestions for a name). It’s a stripped down 2011 BMW 335i ... whoever ordered it chucked all the options except the performance M package. No heated or electric seats, no iDrive, no tilting mirrors, no Bluetooth, no valet lock-out features, and no frills. There are only two pretty much useless cup holders, no USB ports, and none of the comforts we were used to in the 528i. What it does have is a sport-tuned engine and suspension, snug seats with side bolsters, a thicker/tighter steering wheel, and an automatic transmission. What? Who the hell strips a car down, goes for the straight hard-core driving experience, and gets an automatic transmission?
Driving it home from Welly the other day put the fear of God in me ... this car is fast, powerful, and way fun to drive. The Ultimate Driving Experience? Yep, I think so. It has a 3.0L turbocharged inline 6 cylinder engine that generates 300 hp and 300 lb-ft of torque. It’s been lowered and sits on 20in tyres. I am most impressed by how it leaps from 100 to 135 with just a twitch on the gas pedal. It is way more car than I have ever owned and I see a lot of driving fines in my future ... all with a shit-eating grin on my face.
Lasagna
Teriyaki Chicken ... & ... Scotch Filet
Slow-cooked Texas-style Brisket
Growing up, I came to appreciate finer foods. My grandmother used to say that I had champagne tastes and a beer pocketbook. Once I moved out on my own, a beer pocket book was barely an aspiration. I quickly learned that if I wanted to eat well on my budget, I would need to learn to cook. By the time Kari and I met, I was an accomplished and creative presence in the kitchen and I would argue that my skills rivaled Kari’s (she might not agree, but this is my blog, so ...); however, Kari definitely had a broader repertoire than I did. At first, we combined to make quite a team, but Kari enjoys cooking more than I do, and she gradually took over kitchen duties. I was slowly demoted from my role as Executive Chef, to Sous Chef, and eventually demoted further to Chef de Partie. Now, I am barely even a Kitchen Porter. At this point, Little H and I have been on our own for nearly a month, and wanting to make sure she is well-fed and properly nourished, I have had to revise my role. I think we have done pretty well, and when asked, Little H agrees.
Since arriving in New Zealand, I have had to arrange utilities for our home, set up television and internet service, and get our cell phones sorted out. I got Little H registered and started at school, went to the college (high school) open house, and registered her for next year. I have organized a wood delivery to keep us warm at night and tried to fill in what was missing from our “fully furnished” rental. Little H joined a local football (soccer) club and was invited to play for the regional team. My partner has been stuck in the U.S. organizing our move, while I have been navigating our new country and new culture as a single dad ... a role made especially difficult by a schedule in which I sometimes work late into the night. We have been fortunate that many of our friends in New Zealand have taken pity on us, fed us, and taken care of Little H on short notice. I have had to rely on friends to take in Little H ... feed her, challenge her, entertain her, and shuttle her off to football practice and games. It truly takes a village to raise a child, and I am incredibly grateful to the village around me. The past three weeks would not have been possible without a little help from our friends.
Thanks to all of you collectively and to each of you individually.
Zoom, zoom ...
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