I understand the mechanics of the American political process and system very well. My degree from the University of Wisconsin was in Political Science. So I understand the nomination process currently being undertaken by both the Republicans and Democrats involves a very small number of registered party members and that the actual numbers of Trump's support are spread actually very thin across the Republican Party....Still...
What concerns me most is the continuing rise and utter bile of such lowest common denominator tripe that Trump puts forth. No actual policy just repeated utterances that mirror the ugliness of the man, his bigotry, racism, and fear mongering.
Charles Bukowski wrote this poem about America decades ago. It seems to be breathing and heaving more full of life today...
I've had this thought
that this country
has gone backwards
4 or 5 decades
and that all the
the good feeling of
has been washed away
and replaced by
more than ever
the selfish wants of power
the disregard for the
we are replacing want with
we have wasted the
we have become
we have our Bomb
it is our fear
something so sad
has hold of us
and we can't even
Sunday, March 13, 2016
Posted by Ruahines at 7:59 PM
Saturday, February 27, 2016
Had an amazing week here at my new endeavour. A real adult portion. Early in the week had a day out at the prison. Something that is part of what I am doing.
On this day, however, most of my morning was spent in the Te Tirohanga unit, meaning most closely as The Focus, and programme. Which is a total immersion into Te Ao Maori, or Maori world view. To walk slowly into the whare, or house, while 50-60 men are engaged in a full fledged Haka is a pretty humbling and intense experience. A powhiri, or welcome, as a manuhiri, or visitor, is a highly emotional moment. To listen to the Whaikorero, or formal speech, by men who a few months ago never had uttered a word of Te Reo Maori is powerful stuff. To hear those 50-60 men then sing us Manuhiri, visitors, waiata, songs, will make the hair on your arms stands straight. All are required to speak and acknowledge themselves, their whakapapa, genealogy, and place. When I stood I spoke of the Ruahine. The deep breaths and inhaling of my words by people now my whanau moved me deeply. It is not difficult for me to speak of my aroha and hononga, love and connection to the mountains which have gifted so much to me. Yet my eyes were filled with tears as I did so. I am still moved by the experience as I write these words.
I have been learning and exposed to the Maori concept of Te Whare Tapa Wha. Developed by Dr. Mason Durie in 1982 it is a philosophy that incorporates Maoritanga, or values, beliefs, and way of life into a way to assess and monitor physical and mental well being.
Te Whare Tapa Wha essentially translates to the Four Walls of Our House. If one wall is weakened or at risk it threatens the entire structure. So to balance our house is to be mindful and present around the need to nourish and support all four walls.
The four walls are:
Tinana...or our physical well being. Exercise, food, diet, how we nourish our earthly presence and care for it.
Hinengaro....our mental well being. The balance of our thoughts and emotions
Wairua...our Spiritual Well Being....how we nourish whatever connections we feel or seek.
Whanau....our family. And the definition of whanau also includes anyone who supports us and nourishes us.
It seems so simple, and perhaps the cornerstone of all organised religions, philosophies, mantras, courses, and so on and so forth. How many of us can write in any given moment all four of our walls are in line? Certainly not me.
I am moving into new terrain but these encounters are validating. My life has moved and shifted in ways I am still gathering. Ti hei Mauri Ora!
Posted by Ruahines at 7:43 PM
Friday, January 15, 2016
I unzip my cocoon to look
and gaze into the first breath
the hushed silence around me
As if even the mountains quietly watch
The layered spectrum of creations prism
A single star twinkles above
as the prism contracts as a line and expands
Across the horizon
The middle of which glows a brilliant hue
Of fiery red and orange
as if the birth of life and possibility itself
And suddenly there is the glowing orb
The new day is here...
27 December 2015..Camped on the main Ruahine range above Armstrong saddle...This seems a fitting place to be this evening closing out this year. A year of great change and awakenings in so many ways. Visiting my home in Wisconsin with Charlie, seeing Tara embrace a new role which challenged her, and us, in so many ways, the continued struggles of parenthood, and then being told while away I am no longer wanted in a job I have worked in for over 15 years. Sitting here now with a wee dram and knowing I have addressed that situation I can smile with the sunset. In reality, being 55 and jobless was a frightening and somewhat shattering prospect. A reality I know so many men and women face at this age. Feeling unwanted and useless, questioning what we have done and accomplished. Having our identities and self worth tied up so much in "what we do for a living", and "how much stuff we have". For the most part I have been able to not get caught up in that, but in spite of that the self doubt cannot help but creep in. No wonder the highest growing suicide rate is men in their 50's. Again, sitting here now with the warmth of the day and the mountains, not to mention the Glen Morangie flowing within I recognize part of the gift the Ruahine have given me. It seems apt that this part of them I have spent so much time in, have crossed literally fighting to stay upright, or hurried through the rain, snow, and mist to get to Top Maropea, that tonite all is calm and serene. As if the mountains and I reflect, and celebrate together..
Top Maropea evening...29 December
The sun has finally passed over the valley to the west and quickly the air chills. The mountains waste no time in their extremes. I return to the hut and dig out a bit of warmer gear. Steam rolls off my breath. I want to be here with the final moments of this day and sunset. It may be awhile till I return. A lot of new challenges lie ahead. So I share this gentle time with the Ruahine. How many times have I watched the sun move over the valley below and far off peaks? The play of light on the distant peaks. The rounded fullness of Orupu, the sharpness of Waikamaka, and shadowy Remutupo. And to the west the bald peak of Puketaramea..the least imposing of all, yet for many reasons my favourite of all. I have learned to relish these moments as if they may my last. The mountains teach well.
I have gathered much wood though I will leave it for another. I do not feel the need for a fire as I normally would. I feel part of this, connected to it. The fire burns within.
5 Jan...mid morning Whanahuia tops of the Ruahine. "We are enjoying a lunch of bagels, salami, cheese and tomato just below the tupare (leatherwood) zone with the forest and steep drop to the river still below us. We are in no hurry and it feels good to sit in the sun and look across to the main range. We arrived on the tops late yesterday intending to camp but the high winds, intermittent rain, and cold made the empty Rangiwahia hut look very attractive. Who would have thought that on a January summer evening we would fire up the wood stove? As the temperature was 1 degree Celsius this we did. A southerly system has blown in and though the morning was still very cold the wind had died and the sky a cloudless deep blue. I left early and made my way up the Whanahuia, the richness and allure of the early morning sunlight on the tussock is always a treat. I waited for John near the high point of Mangahuia and then we ambled along together to here. We fall easily into our patterns and rhythms accrued over two plus decades roaming these hills. To break bread right here in this spot, in this moment, with such a friend has almost a spiritual and cleansing quality to it. I smile at the thought of the 4 days ahead."...
7 Jan....Whanahuia tops. "I left the river late this morning on my own. Took my time and stopped frequently on the relentless climb to both rest and simply enjoy the quiet ambiance and essence of the living breathing forest. I can judge my gains not just through my steady steps and sweat but by leaving the stately tall Tawhairauriki below and moving up into the Kaikawaka and gnarled hearty Tawhairaunui and finally into the Tupare and tussock. The story of the forest. I made way up and along the tops to a sheltered basin by a tarn and boiled up the billy and waited for John. Though the wind was up my protected spot allowed me to enjoy the Suns warmth and in time a little white speck appeared in the distance making its way along the tops. It was an enjoyable moment to just watch my friend on his way to join me...
8 Jan. 2016. "Our final night up on the Whanahuia. I have been fortunate enough to have spent 9 nights in these mountains over the last few weeks. Roaming last week on my own was fine, but this week with John felt very special, very satisfying. Like the culmination of our 20 years in these hills. We have practiced Whakawhanaungatanga, or the Maori concept of coming together and working to a common cause, (as I understand it in this moment), and not even consciously have practiced it but rather emerged into it through our experiences and friendship here in the mountains. Another Gift from the Ruahine. And so we watch the final sunset on the Whanahuia, perhaps the finest of all the Ruahine ranges to do so as we gaze to the west...
The final morning arrives
the last mountain
only to be climbed down
to the car
to the shingle then concrete highway
where we become
something perhaps a bit less
than what I feel here
But for these days up here
we have lived
amongst the the tupare and golden tussock
with the cloud, wind, and sun
We have lived in the forest
high up with the gnarled and fantastic
and their more stately cousins far below
We have listened to the difference
the Ruahine breeze plays through them
And we have lived by the mountain river
sparkling in the sunlight like jewels
followed her twisting turning bends
heard her songs and been embraced fully within
her deep clear cold pools
And we have lived with whio
and their unerring grace
united if briefly
Posted by Ruahines at 5:18 PM
Tuesday, November 24, 2015
One of the highlights of our return to Wisconsin was to be able to attend a Green Bay Packers game at Lambeau Field. The day was flawless, perfect blue skies and a beautiful fall day. By the time the game finished in the early evening the sun had gone down and the night autumn air had become decidedly chilly. But the warmth of sharing this day and experience with Charlie, family, and so many friends made our smiles broad and our hearts warmed through...and a Packer victory at Lambeau of course helped a bit too!
|Charlie and I before the game at my sisters house.|
Charlie had watched many a Packer game with me in New Zealand. I took him out of school when he was 7 in 2010. The Packers were playing in the Super Bowl. Far more important than a day of school in New Zealand. It was his heritage and history. He has seen me rant and rave at the television as I despair at times and delightedly roar at others. He has become familiar with his own favourite players, and tracking the results on his own. But for every story I can tell, and I can tell a few, for every game we can watch from over here, nothing speaks more than a trip to Lambeau itself on a game day. A world class sporting experience. The pageantry, the place, the people, the sights and sounds of 75,000 people in such a place. To be able to share that with my son from halfway around the world is a whole series of dots I needed to connect for him. For me.
|Our tickets. 40 yard line behind the Packer bench. I sat in these seats on a snowy Christmas Eve with Charlie's momma in 1995. One those dots I wrote about above.|
|My sister, Trish, Charlie, Robb, and brother in law Steve in the Lambeau parking lot. What a day to tailgate!|
1975 Bishops Charity Game Packers vs. Giants:
It was summer 1975, I was 15 about to be a junior in high school and though school had not yet started two a day football practices had. My friend Kevin, who was born and lived across Tommark street from me his whole life, was out for football but was injured and had stopped attending practice. kevin and I had been best friends from day 1, but in the past year or more we had grown apart. Well more like he was just in a different orbit than me, a faster crowd, a better athlete, better looking, he had just moved beyond me in the stratified teenage world. SoI was surprised and delighted when he rang me that hot summer evening and said he had gotten to tickets to the Packer game that night and would I go with him. We walked from Tommark street to Lambeau Field , 15-20 minutes, one of the beauties of a small town having an NFL team. I recall now being almost overwhelmed at how happy Kevin seemed to be in my company, laughing and talking about old times, things we had gotten up to in the neighborhood with our mates, and how much fun we were having at Lambeau Field watching a meaningless exhibition game sitting high up in the stands. It is a beautiful place to watch a football game, and that night it was spectacular, warm, a gentle breeze, and in the company of my best friend. After the game we walked back to our street, and as I had practice at 7:00am bid Kevin goodnight. But he insisted I come into his house and we sat around his kitchen table, as we had so often done, and continued talking. I finally insisted I had to go, and it was almost reluctantly Kevin walked me to the screen door leading to the garage and street. As I walked out the door he suddenly grabbed his very cool brown denim jacket and handed it to me, telling me he didn't need it anymore and wanted me to have it. I remember walking across the street to my house, the street lights casting those golden shadows and thinking what a great night.
A couple days later the phone rang around 5:00 am. As my bedroom was downstairs and had an extension I picked up the phone at the same time as my mom did upstairs. All I heard was Kevin's mom screaming to my mom that Kevin had shot himself and was dead. I hung up the phone and went to sleep, as if refusing to believe what I had just heard. I went to football practice as if nothing had happened, and it was not until Coach Miller gathered us around as a team an announced what had happened ad he broke down, that the truth of it, the enormity of it hit me like a sledgehammer blow and I lost it. It is still hard for me to write this. I still miss my friend. The last time I shared with him was at a Packer game. My life unfolds and the Packers weave in an out as a constant presence, marking good times and bad. That is how it is when you grow up in such a place. It doesn't matter if you like football or not. The Packers mark time and events in our lives and that is one of the reasons I hold them so dear. I will think of my friend as I watch this game, and I will remember him.
|the next generation|
Or this memory...................
I was 27 when my dad died. Like all fathers and sons we had our ups and downs, he had his demons, I have mine. Sport was the one thing that always connected us, the Packers were always a big part of that.
He died a few months before Christmas on a holiday with my mother in South Carolina. I had to fly from Minnesota where I was then living to SC to pick up my mom, make some arrangements, and drive mom back to Wisconsin, a near 20 plus hours drive, then go through the funeral. Before I knew it, I was back in Minnesota at work, and wandering around in a sort of a daze wondering what all that had been about. Christmas came, and it was a not a happy time as I recall, I was still not really together, it was our first Christmas without our dad, my mom's without her husband. For those whom have lost parents or loved ones you understand the difficulty of those first holidays - a representation of life ahead, of change, of moving on, of acceptance.
Christmas day came, and early in the morning there was knock upon the front door. I answered it sleepily, and probably a bit hungover, and there stood my old wood working teacher from West high where I attended school and my dad taught. I could see he was a bit nervous and uneasy. In his hands he held a great big package. He said, "Robb, I don't know how to tell you this, but this is a Christmas present for you from your father. He gave it to me shortly before he died to be made into this". He handed it to me with his eyes tearing as I stood there stunned, said "Merry Christmas" turned and left. I sat on the couch alone and opened it. Inside was a beautiful wooden plaque upon which was mounted half a genuine real Packer helmet, and below which was mounted two pieces of the original goal post from the very first Superbowl the Packers won in 1967 and that my dad had procured and saved all these years. It was if he reached out and hugged me, and I could finally let my tears go and miss my dad. I still miss him. It was the best present he ever gave me. Go Packers Go!
|On the way into the stadium we ran into many old friends. This is James, and high school friend and former team mate at Green Bay West high school. He is now a teacher himself.|
My beautiful sister Trish surprised Charlie, myself and Rick by getting us passes to actually go onto the field prior to the game. A pretty stunning development. I have been at many many games at Lambeau, seen some of the all time great players and games over the years. There has never been a time when I have walked from the stadium atrium to the actual field that I have literally not gasped at how incredible it really is in person. The fabulous green of the grass, the colours and sight of the chalked lines and uniforms of the players. The massive lit up scoreboard. It always feels like the first time. To share that moment with Charlie, and then be able to actually go onto the field was spectacular. A moment we will always have together. Lambeau Field!
|Charlie with a couple of the Packer Cheerleaders. Look at that smile!|
|nephew Max and Steve in their seats|
|In our seats with my other nephew Benjamin. Family and friends. What a spectacular day!|
Posted by Ruahines at 4:31 PM
Thursday, November 19, 2015
The one part of this trip that impacted most significantly, and certainly more so than any of my past trips home over the last near 24 years was my sense of place. My Turangawaewae, my place to stand. As much as I love and feel connected to the Ruahine ranges here in Aotearoa, I am still manuhiri, or visitor, there. That does nothing to diminish the connection I feel when amongst them roaming, indeed, one of the gifts the Ruahine have given me is the Powerful sense of connection I felt to Wisconsin on this trip back. The Ruahine have bestowed within me far more awareness of my own place than I ever had when I was actually there. Wisconsin! I love just saying the word...
One of the questions I am most frequently asked in Wisconsin is what do I miss most about America, about the states, about home. I think most people might expect me to say a kind of beer, or food, or the Packers, and so on. It is far deeper than that. It is the place itself, and unequivocally at a certain time of year. The Fall. The dramatic and stunning change to the seasons, the exchange between the lush greens and heat of summer to the subliminal softening of the landscape building into the booming crescendo of the full bloom of autumn. The heart is light and not yet grasping the reality of the long cold months ahead but rather delighted in the beauty and change. We caught it perfect and I spent a lot of time walking in the woods and forests with Charlie, other friends, and mostly on my own.
Above is a moment at Devil's Lake State Park, or Manitou (Spirit Lake), as originally named by the Indian tribes which lived around it. This is a glacial lake formed 12,000 years ago when both ends of an ancient river that flowed through were blocked off by glaciers depositing terminal moraine boulder fields on either end. The hills around the lake are thought to be over 1.6 million years old and though now called the Porcupine Hills were once mountains towering higher than the current Rockies. The lake is surrounded by quartzite bluffs up to 500 feet high. In the company of two fine and treasured friends we spent the whole day tramping, climbing, and taking in the splendour of such a place. These ancient hills seemed to be nudging me and reminding of the Ruahine, that how in comparison how youthful and full of vigour and restlessness they are in comparison to these eroded giants now melting back into the earth. Yet no less significant.
Indian Summer! Helped an old friend check out some new ground for the upcoming deer hunting season. Over 35 years ago I took my friend to land I was allowed to hunt on owned by family friends. 500 acres. Some a Christmas tree farm I worked at during summer trimming season, and then a beautiful hardwood forest and ridges running into a lowland bog. A lot of deer were taken there. Karl got to know the owners and hunted there for decades after I left. Eventually the owner died, and the land was sold. No more hunting. We are mere caretakers of the land. In any case we scoured this new public land for deer sign and trails. On such an amazing day it was easy and fun. The company even better. It reminded me how I discovered on that Christmas tree farmland that I never really cared that much about the deer. I just liked to be in the woods. Rave On!
A long walk in the fall woods today along a trail I used to cross country ski upon back in the day. 6 miles through the birch, pine, and maple forest. A real adult portion of Wisconsin woods. The leaves which a few weeks ago were brilliant oranges, yellow, and the colour of spice, cumin, cinnamon, and turmeric, now fallen. The trees now mostly bare except for the occasional splash of remaining fall hue. A stark and bare scene, different than the full bloom of fall, yet still beautiful and stunning in ways equally smile inducing. The trees themselves seemed to be sunning themselves on such a day. As if knowing the approach of the long cold months ahead. The leaves on the forest floor have accrued the crunch and papery sound of completeness. A fall walk in the Wisconsin woods.
That's the best thing about walking, the journey itself. It doesn't matter much whether you get where you're going or not. You'll get there anyway. Every good hike brings you eventually back home."
- Edward Abbey
At Manitou Lake with my friends. A moment with Jeff, one of my oldest friends and one in particular with my relationship was built and continues to be through nature. We have walked, tramped, skied, paddled, wet lines, listened to music, and played an awful lot of basketball together. He, like Mike who observed this moment with his camera, have both come to New Zealand and tramped in the Ruahine. Days like this, even though overcast, still shine very bright. It felt like somehow the circle was now complete.
I enjoyed most just lingering behind Jeff and Mike and watching them walk and interact ahead of me. Gesturing, laughing, and earnestly discussing one subject or another. Even in my lingering I felt part of it, connected, knowing, and understanding it all. The smiles and hugs from that day still warm me. Kia ora!
Posted by Ruahines at 3:13 PM
Thursday, August 13, 2015
We have certain days in our lives that take on significance. They stand out from the others in either great joy, or like today, great sadness. The memories of them take on a certain hue, be it a brilliant lightness when we fall in love, or see the smiles and hear the laughter of our children. Or the dull grey and black stillness after a storm has passed with more dark clouds on the way. My cousin died today, and though the sun shines brightly outside and the skies are a flawless blue, all I see, all I feel is the grey. A shadow that has its hand upon my shoulder touching me with unrelenting grief and guilt at my distance from the unfolding of these events.
I had an older brother whom passed away over 20 years ago now, when I first arrived here in New Zealand. I never felt for him what I am feeling now inside for my cousin. The reality is I was far closer to Roger, far more of a brother to him than I ever was to my own brother and so the shadows of grief are far more consuming and mist filled in direct proportion to the love I felt for him. And although our paths physically only crossed a few times in the years since I moved here, he was always in my heart. We never missed a beat. We never judged, we never lectured, we never shook our heads at our flaws and our mistakes. We just loved each other and took the moments when we could. I think we both carried the same sort of melancholic sadness and searching that truly made us kindred souls. We understood each other completely and without need to explain. Today has left a deep hole in many hearts....
My dad, me, my grandfather and Roger, my Uncle Roger and older brother Steve. The men of my youth. I am the only one left from this moment, those men in their prime and we boys. A high water mark.
Through the years we developed different interests and activities. Roger acquired a beautiful '57' Chevy and a biker jacket. I wore my letterman jacket. Yet it did not matter if we were on his turf or mine. Amongst his friends and their world I was included and accepted, just as he was in mine. I like to think of that as a quality in ourselves and the friends we chose. We had some interesting times as teens, and in our 20's. I will leave it at that.
The last time I saw Roger was in Chicago a few years ago on my last visit home. I was so pleased that he finally got to meet my youngest son Charlie. It was stifling hot and most of the last evening there at my Aunt Jean's house he and I sat outside on the porch. Me drinking whiskey, Roger smoking cigarette after cigarette. He no longer drank. We talked long into the night about our lives, about our families. Roger had finally found a real passion with photography but we didn't much get into the future. We never did much of that in our 50 plus years of each others company. We were always just in the moment. A blessing and a curse. I think we both always knew that as well. When I hugged him goodbye in the early hours of that hot summer morning I did as if at may be the last hug ever. You learn to do that with people when you live on the far side of the world away. As it turns out it was our last hug. But not my last tears. Those tears for that goodbye, for all the embraces, hugs, laughter, honest tears, sadness, Old Style beer, Elvis Presley, basketball camps, 57 Chevy's, Packers and Bears, up all night talking in smoky hotel rooms, getting me out of fights, for him loving my brother, for being tender when my friend Kevin killed himself, for picking me up at airports, and most of all, for that long beautiful hug when my father died....I love you cuz. I love you my brother. Keep the fire warm...
Posted by Ruahines at 6:58 PM