Politics, Landy, Hole by the Pole, Empowerment!

Yes. I need a haircut.

5^th July 2012 

Politics (Oh Paula!), Happy Landy, Fog in the trees!

It’s spooky fog day! It’s like being in a cloud here in Titirangi. Lately I can hear kiwi screaming in the bush at night. Cool.

I tried to make chocolate raisins today … but I ended up pouring the melted chocolate straight onto a pile of raisins and so it just looks like a mess. Later, when it’s dry, I’ll just break it up and it’ll be organic raisin choccie.

NZ Politics!

I’m not really one for politics, but I hear that Paula Bennett (National) is suggesting single mothers receiving a benefit should be drug tested. If you’re going to do that, then you may as well go the whole fucking hog Paula. 

The charming Paula Bennett. Go the whole hog. Don't eat it.

If this drug testing idea was being introduced to help, encourage or offer hope to single mums who might be taking drugs, then there are surely positive ways to go about it? The cost of drug testing might be better used elsewhere. Focusing on what you want always seems to work better than dwelling on what you don’t want.  I want to be content, so I focus on what I’m grateful for every day. I don’t know what the answer is regarding drugs, beneficiaries or working people. Corporate people are more than welcome to their addictions it seems, as long as the nose doesn’t bleed at the board meeting? I suppose there are lots of corporations that also do drug testing.  It all just gets a bit freaky when you have to give your blood to your employer or your government.

Test them for alcohol too, perhaps you could send cops to their homes at about 10pm  on benefit day with a breathalyzer.  Oh, and what about a junk food ban? Junk food is addictive, overpriced, full of salt and sugar. It’s a drug. To be honest, Paula Bennett looks like she might want to deal with her own weight issue that possibly stems from a possible compulsive eating disorder.  When Paula is in the healthy BMI range, will she then start targeting overweight single mothers? Let me be clear: I don't actually care that Paula is slightly chubby, I am simply using this to make a point. If you're going to say it's fair to drug test people 'for their good', then it's also logical to demand receipts for everything they buy with their benefit money, to make sure they're not buying ciggies, alcohol, junk food ...


What the hell is her beef with single mums? She used to be one, yet strangely, instead of being compassionate she seems to have gone all ex-smoker or newborn Christian in her attitude. If I can do it, you can do it, and if you can’t, go to hell. Obesity is a growing (sorry for the pun) problem weighing (eek) heavily (oh!) on the healthcare system.  Perhaps people should be 'fat tested' for the benefit? To stop them buying big macs? For fuck's sake Paula. Think about it, for the good of the economy.

Anyway, my main thought on the topic was that it does seem a little odd that Paula is targeting solo mums. Unless a single mum can find a way to up-skill, she is going to probably end up in a low paying job, and if she has any kind of addiction issue it will persist unless she gets help for it, working or otherwise.

If I had to give Paula a solution off the top of my dome, it would be to create some kind of support network for single mothers with the aim of empowering them.

My simple Solution (it might even be cheaper and longer lasting than a drug test!)

·        Raising self esteem

·        Learning new skills

·        Having a vision for the future

·        Feeling useful

  

 Empowerment

This week I finished working with the amazing ‘ethnic’ women who have gone through domestic abuse. I taught English, but honestly, it was more than that. I have to write a short report on it and quote some students, so I got a few of them to write down what they honestly felt about it.

One of my young students wrote that before attending my classes she was ‘extremely sad and uncertain’ in her life and thought she’d lost herself. She said my classes empowered her. Another beautiful young woman said the class was healing and amazing, and that she feels stronger because of it.  One woman said she was so grateful to me last week that she hugged me and cried. Her English had improved to the point that she did not need an interpreter when she went to Work and Income, so they are putting her on a course. She said once she starts working she will then study (to get the qualification she’s already qualified for in Fiji) in the day and work at night. Wow.

What’s clear to me is how much I’ve increased in strength too. At first I was a bit freaked out when I realized that the pain was still so fresh. Seeing an older lady with her face so battered that it took close to a month before the bruising and swelling completely vanished. I’d assumed it was her husband, but it was her son in law. From what I could decipher, she’d tried to intercede when he was beating her daughter. The day this student told me, I couldn’t’ help it. I cried. Then she cried. I said sorry that I cried, but by this time all my students had learned from me

  “that’s okay” they said “crying’s healthy!”

We all hugged, sang a song and ended up laughing.

I am much lighter than I was three months ago. I know being diagnosed with ADHD and taking Ritalin has been hugely helpful, but I’d also credit the ‘Angels’ of my English Class. Thank you.

The fog has cleared and the sun has come out. How fitting.

 Landy and Plumbing update with invented idea of past sabotage.

Well paint me red and call me a stop sign, wonders shall never cease. As you know, I’ve had probbies with the plumbing in my charming abode. I had the foresight to plan ahead in case the shower decided to spew again. Just as well. There are big posts in my flat, ones that obviously hold the house in place. One of them goes through the bathroom and into the floor. I’d shown my Landy how you could lift up a bit of the lino near the post and the wood underneath was wet and unable to dry out.  Her response at the time was to shake her head slowly and wave her hand a little bit saying “that no matter, that okay”. This was in the midst of the coffee spew shower flood and I guess she was overwhelmed.

I took another look at this on Sunday and was able to lift up a section of lino, remove a small piece of wood (that is going to rot, as will the rest of the floor) and took a wee look. Underneath is dirt, so it goes straight to ground. The ground is so close that I can poke it. Strangely, a prior tenant had stuck plastic tampon wrappers in this hole, and there was also a plastic bag stuck down there. After removing the plastic rubbish,

I curved the lino into a little spout so that if the bathroom flooded again, it would (thanks to the slanting floor) drain into this hole. Now, I don’t remember my father that well, but he was a builder, and on every site I ever went to (which were legion) I remember the foundation being fucking concrete!  I’d be at my father’s for the weekend, and he’d be working, so he’d take me with him and tell me to go and amuse myself while he got on with building. He’d usually forget to bring anything for me to play with. I have a clear memory of wandering around on a massive pale concrete surface picking up pieces of really sharp metal and wishing I had my paper and pens. I think I was six. There were those big bits of metal sticking up from the concrete, the sort you see going rusty.

The Tampon Wrapper Bandit

I pondered the tampon wrapper bandit. It made me wonder what kind of people they were. What I know to be true is that a guy and his girlfriend lived here. He left ciggie butts in the garden and a really filthy stove, she probably flushed her tampons down the loo and stuffed the wrappers into hole by the pole because she couldn’t be bothered putting them in the bin.

I am told that he moved out as he found work up North. The following is purely my invention …

Cain and Lucy get really stoned, drink some Woodstock 8% and slip into the ravine with a spade, hand drill and a can of expanding foam polyfilla. They’ve been planning this; the Landy is away this weekend. She will never know what’s hit her until they’re long gone.

Lucy has dyed black hair that she parts in the middle, and even in gumboots and an old hoodie she looks cute. Cain isn’t very tall, but he’s muscular. He used to do a lot of P, but he’s been changing his life in the last year. One thing he can’t deal with is someone ripping him off, and he’s angry because the Landy said she won’t give him the bond back because there was damage done in the flat. Damage? He’ll show her damage. It takes a bit of time, and they keep giggling, but eventually they’ve drilled a few holes in the drain and squeezed in massive dollops of expanding foam polyfilla. They make sure the holes are near the underside, where the dirt is, so that you can’t see. Further up, they make some smaller holes and push the dirt back over them so that water and dirt will seep into the drain and try to push its way back up when it can’t get past the polyfilla traps. The great thing, says Cain with a smile, is that even if a plumber was really careful, it would be nearly impossible to find or remove their handiwork. They repeat the polyfilla trap a few more times, it’s going to be one of those things that won’t be noticeable until the small gaps left inside the drain are clogged with toilet paper. The plumber might find a section of the drain with craploads of toilet paper and think it was the problem. Lucy giggles too. She’s 23 and she thinks Cain is the funniest and sexiest guy she’s ever met. They’re leaving for the far North in three days. It’s warmer there.

Anyhoo, when I returned home on Tuesday I was a little nervous. There had been a truly torrential downpour; Albany on the North Shore seemed to get the worst of it with cars half submerged. Sewage systems were overflowing, and I couldn’t go to the Titirangi library as it was flooded. I pondered my bathroom and was relieved to find that my plan had worked. Yes, water and dirt (no coffee grounds, just dirt) had come up the shower drain, spilled over and poured onto the floor and down the hole by the pole. The towel I’d rolled up and placed on the inside of the bathroom door was completely wet.

Later, the Landy popped down to organize my rent payment. It was all very nice, kind and social too. She then asked if the plumbing was okay. Eek. I explained that it did flood up again, but wasn’t as bad this time. She took a look and I was surprised when she didn’t blame me. She said she would have to call a different plumber. She behaved like a normal land lady!  I just hope for her sake that there isn't polyfilla in the drains.

New Zealand native Kawa kawa leaves: good for if you have insomnia