Don't Panic! Electric Teapot Edition

My mom and I were having a chat on Skype which turned into a commentary on the Brexit and led my mom to ask if I had heard that they were trying to take English people's electric tea pots away.

Mom and I have had several conversations like this through the years.

The source of her bleak information is usually a religious organization or Fox News.

Because I had been through this sort of thing before I was able, without knowing what she was talking about, to make an educated guess as to what had happened.

My take on it was this; the European Union had come up with a climate change initiative that included upgrading certain technologies to be more energy efficient. There would be a gradual phasing out of old appliances while new, more energy efficient models were made available.

Guess who was right?

At no point was a squad of black-clad, shadowy government types going to go door to door, barging in and forcefully removing electric tea kettles.

At no point was the evil government going to deprive its citizens of their daily Earl Grey fix.

But that's just not good enough for some "news" outlets.

Gradual change towards energy efficiency isn't terrifying enough so it needs to be sensationalized.

I find this sort of thing exhausting.

It takes so much energy to maintain a constant state of fight or flight against imaginary foes.

How much doomsday reporting do you sit through before you start to realize none of it is true?

How long do you listen before you realize the people telling you about these things are wrong and have been consistently wrong for years.

I was worn out over this sort of thing long before Fox and Friends reached its nadir.

While I was growing up it seemed that every year someone in my mother's religion would declare that the end of the world was nigh.

The passing of time always showed them to be wrong. Wrong and highly paranoid.

I spent a whole year of my young life worried about the coming of the Antichrist because of a terrible 1970s film my church's youth group made us watch.

I had serious depression and anxiety issues because of this film and wondered if there was really any point to continue living.

Life is too short to to be in a state of constant fear over something that will never happen.

My mother is extremely educated and I wonder sometimes why she continues to take these sorts of reports at face value.

I read to her from a British article on the tea kettle issue saying that a more energy efficient model had been available for some time and would gradually replace older ones.

And by the way, this is what happens with all technology; cars, refrigerators, computers, etc.

When was the last time you heard someone complain about power steering in a car? Or weep for the return of the gaming graphics available with the Commodore 64? Or pine for the days when the refrigerator door didn't give you crushed ice and filtered water?

This is because things have mostly changed for the better.

I also told mom I realized that initiatives like this can have tragicomic side effects.

My mom moved into a new house during the time the U.S. required all new homes to install low flow toilets. The idea was that these toilets would waste less water per flush.

It turned out that the low flows needed four or five flushes to achieve what the original toilets had done in one flush.

There was even a small run to the Canadian border to buy the old school toilets there.

Through the whole situation however, no one was forced to go toilet-less.

I will end this post with a solemn poem in hopes that we may never become complacent about government overreach.

"Fist they came for the Cuisinarts, and I did not speak out-
Because I had a Nutri Ninja

Then they came for the Hoovers, and I did not speak out-
Because I had a Dyson Ball

Then they came for my electric tea kettle, and I had to buy the new eco friendly model."

Issue of the Day

The issue of the day was written by Erin Riley and it resonated with me.

I have been trying to articulate the frustration of gendered expectations in parenthood without touching on what happens before the child is even born.

Thankfully, Erin put together some thoughts that sum up my feelings on the matter:

In the world of debates about caring responsibilities, division of labour and child care subsidies, one part of the work of parenthood is routinely forgotten: pregnancy. While our economic systems are slowly adjusting to the idea of dual-income households with young children, the real challenges of pregnancy are wholeheartedly ignored.

Pregnancy can be a strangely fraught experience. As Marielle Fish eloquently put it recently: "You're never alone, you're annexed. Yet it's a singularly lonely experience. You carry it alone. It's very strange."

You are sharing your body, but that itself is a burden you cannot share with others. Unlike the task of child-rearing, there is no part of pregnancy that you can outsource to a professional (with the exception of commercial surrogacy, which I'll get to).

At its core, pregnancy is bloody hard work. While there is obviously tremendous range in experiences, for many women it is a physical and emotional test. Sleeping, eating, breathing, moving: these most fundamental parts of life become different and often much more difficult during pregnancy.

Add in the pressure of worrying that you are doing the right thing by your child, the limited diet, the weeks on end of nausea and vomiting many women experience and the countless medical appointments, and pregnancy is a consuming time.

In an era of increasing casualisation, this can also have major economic effects. Missed work means a smaller pay check – or none at all – for many casual and contract employees. Even those fortunate enough to have full time work rarely receive extra sick leave or benefits until late in pregnancy.

In fact, taking extended unpaid leave from traditional work in the months prior to giving birth can exclude pregnant people from being eligible for the government's paid parental leave scheme - unless the pregnancy is considered complicated.

If pregnancy precludes some women from participating in the paid workforce, we need to consider the economic effects of pregnancy, and consider that pregnancy itself constitutes work.

But our social model of understanding pregnancy often ignores this. Pregnancy is often portrayed as passive: something happening to a woman rather than something she is doing. Even more, it's work that she is expected to do purely for the joy of producing a child. We treat children as the payoff for the work of pregnancy, despite those children being legally and genetically no less their father's than their mother's.

Children as a reward for pregnancy are simultaneously infinitely worth the work for the majority of parents emotionally, and economically inadequate for the labour of pregnancy.

Our economic system is dependent on a constantly-renewing group of consumers that come with each new generation, yet we expect those who produce the consumers to do it for no economic benefit, and often for significant economic loss. Much like other forms of caring work, the work of pregnancy is undervalued because the economic contribution is not direct and immediate.

On the other hand, this existing model of pregnancy as being intrinsically personally valuable is fundamentally challenged by the rise of commercial surrogacy.

While commercial surrogacy is certainly fraught and requires strong oversight, it provides a means by which women may exchange the work of pregnancy for financial gain. It's no wonder there is such a strong reaction against it: that concept is revolutionary and its flow-on effects could be significant.

The reason women aren't fairly compensated or recognised for the work of pregnancy, much like other caring work, is there is an assumption we will do it for free. Women are expected simply to absorb the vast majority of the physical and economic costs of pregnancy.

Imagine for a moment a world in which women went on a reproductive strike for a year, and refused to be pregnant. The economic loss from that gap in the population would be enormous. Women control the means of reproduction, yet it is a power we have not wielded collectively. Thus, our labour isn't valued by an economy because it expects the work for free, and convinces us this is a totally acceptable state of affairs.

Of course, the idea of a reproduction strike is an impossible proposition, but perhaps it is an illustrative one. Our society and our economy rely on women doing the work of pregnancy. It's well past time we recognised that work, both socially and economically.

Traveling With Toddlers

In March 2001, a group of my fellow French students and I decided we would go to Paris. 

There was an amazing sale on airfare at the time and you could fly from Atlanta to Paris for $320 round trip. 

With a price like that I thought it would be an excellent idea to take my toddler with me.

The photographs from this trip show that this was, in fact, a terrible idea.

There's the one of her in front of the Seine where she is angrily pushing my friend out of the shot.

There's the one of her perched in a window seat at our hotel, wearing a scowl.

There's the whole series that a friend gleefully recorded which shows her storming off from me as I attempted to pose with her in front of the Eiffel Tower.

There's the one of her giving me the stink eye on the Eiffel Tower.

And finally, there's the one where she's trying to throw herself out of my arms and into one of the pools outside the Louvre. 

In two short days I will be headed down to Stewart Island with my two-year-old son. 

I can only guess that the absence of jet lag and lack of a highly regulated touring schedule will mean I have better results on this trip.

Alex is the only one of my children to get excited about birds. 

We have two little fantails that fly around our front porch catching insects and Alex always gets excited when he sees them. Their Maori name is "piwakawaka" and he always says, "hello waka!"

For me, Stewart Island is a glimpse of what paradise might be like. 

It is an island of birds with a small population of people. 

It is also the launching point to get to Ulva island which is a sanctuary for the extremely rare Tieke or Saddleback bird. 

This should be a relaxing little getaway for me to spend some quality time with my youngest child before he gets too cool to hang out with me (and too big to fly down to the island for free!)

Hopefully we will not have a replay of Paris where nap times were missed and tempers ran high.

Welcome to Rothera

Grand homes in England all have names.

Some estates in New Zealand also have names and I thought our homestead might benefit from one as well.

I have decided to name it Rothera after the British base in Antarctica.

The British Rothera has been in the news lately because two twin otter aircraft flew there from Canada and then one flew on to the South Pole to medevac two ill scientists.

Conisdering that it is deep winter down there right now this was a pretty impressive feat.

My house is named Rothera because it allows the winter cold to seep in a be retained within the walls even when the outdoor ambient temperature is much warmer.

There is no insulation in the walls.

There are wide gaps around the doors and the concept of double glazing windows wasn't around when ours were installed (around 1914).

The wood floors have thin carpets and all the chimneys have been removed leaving mere decorative hearths and mantelpieces.

Because my Rothera served as a place of business for 14 years, most rooms have a heat pump in them although running them all day is hideously expensive and three of them don't work properly and only expel cold air.

In New Zealand the concept of central heating never caught on.

Instead, many kiwis just heat whatever room they are in with a fire or heat pump while the rest of the home is left to freeze.

It is one of the most frustrating parts of living in this progressive first world nation.

Many state houses that are rented to low income families have poor insulation, single room heating, and single glazed windows. This causes condensation buildup in the homes and difficulty in keeping things dry and mold free.

The higher cost of heating this sort of home means that families struggle to pay their power bills in the winter.

It is a shameful reality that needs the government's immediate attention.

"Habitat for Humanity" operates out of Christchurch and has a program where they help families do house repairs. I think they need to go one step further and do "Insulation for Humanity."

Insulated walls and floors along with double glazed windows and thermal curtains can make a huge difference in keeping families warm and keeping their heating bills affordable.

I'm going to look into this and see if I can do some volunteering.

In the meantime, if any scientists want to come and stay with us before going to Antarctica they are welcome.

If staying in my Rothera doesn't help you acclimate to inhospitable cold, I don't know what will.

It could also be used for storing giant vats of ice cream or a menopausal women's convention.

I visited the International Antarctic Centre once and had the opportunity to slip on a heavy duty coat and step into a snow and ice filled room where they re-create Antarctic storm conditions by turning up an industrial fan and dimming the lights.

There's a little ice igloo and some protected corners where you can hide if you don't want the full experience.

After living through a winter in Rothera this room will never again effect me. Next time you'll find me perched on its snowmobile wearing a tank top and a scowl. I'll be muttering, "Psh. This ain't nothin'," while the fan-induced winds try to do their worst.

Live From the Antarctic Section!

I have two hours to go before my Law of Contracts midterm and instead of studying I am skylarking* in the Antarctic collection.

My usual table is occupied so I wedged myself in a corner of the room between Cabinets 3 and 4 of the Antarctic Map Collection.

I am sitting on the floor and using a chair as my desk.

I am also noticing a repetitive theme in Antarctic photography which seems to be a whole lot of great white expanse with a man-made structure in the background and a loosely assembled group of penguins in the foreground.

If I could shake up that photo composition I could probably set the world of Antarctic photography on fire. Maybe the National Science Foundation would give me a grant to go down there and put the man-made structures in the foreground with a barely-noticeable cabal of Chinstrap penguins in the background.

But is the world ready for that sort of thing?

More importantly, do I actually want to pass my midterm or keep sabotaging myself by not reviewing my study materials?

*I recognize that not everyone served in the military and knows what "skylarking" is. It's when you are looking all around you instead of paying attention to the job at hand.

Let It Pass

The NPR On The Verge Of Adulthood

In a few short days the NPR will be 18.

I have tried to get some hints as to what sort of fiesta she would like for her birthday but she just shrugs and acts disinterested. At that point I usually get worked up and shout, "Don't ruin this for me!"

Yesterday we took some time to look at a few design programs offered at universities here in New Zealand and in California.

The NPR has decided she wants to do animation and I am determined that she will look beyond college towards employment before she ever sets foot onto a campus.

When I started school I had a breezy, laid back attitude that turned to blind panic right before I graduated because I hadn't really thought of my career.

We read about Pixar and Weta Workshop.

I like Pixar but at the same time I resent them for making me cry during "Up," "Inside Out" and "Wall-e." I really hated crying during that last one. It was a flippin' robot for heck's sake.

I thought it would be good for the NPR to write a letter of interest to the recruiting team at Weta just to get some good information on what they might have to offer as far as internships or job opportunities.

We sent the email and got a wonderful response a few hours later.

I remain firmly convinced of New Zealand's awesomeness after this email.

It contained information on the software she would need to learn, a way to get a free student copy, info on an internship as well as some stellar advice about working in the industry and what Weta looks for.

We were both really impressed.

That afternoon I stopped by one of my favorite second hand shops and found a gorgeous dress that I thought would be perfect for the NPR.

It fit her as if it had been made just for her and she liked it so much she wore it to school the next day.

I'm really proud of her. I think she will do great things.

The Potato Harvest

Potato harvesting time has come. How do I know? Because a team potato gatherers somehow affiliated with Landcare Research have appeared in the surrounding fields.

I see them in the mornings staring meaningfully into their big potato bags.

It is comforting to be surrounded by people "doing a science" although I do wonder what sort of study they are carrying out.

I like to imagine it's some sort of weird human/vegetable experiment where teen hormones are injected into developing spuds, leaving them to feel deep down in their darkest starches that no one will ever understand them.

Far fetched you say? Maybe. But I know for a fact that there is a breed of mouse out there that has human and jellyfish DNA and can glow in the dark so there!

Is an angst potato really that remote a possibility?

The Prince of Pancakes

I did not know what to think of him growing up.

There he was, this short, sassy man.

He was not afraid to rock the hell out of a pirate shirt and a pencil thin mustache.

His voice went from high to low and he was a smack in the face of traditional masculinity.

When the 90s came around, MTV played the video for Cream and I felt deliciously scandalized.

There was something there that was amazing but I didn't quite know what to call it.

He could play so many instruments and write songs as easily as someone taking a deep breath.

He united white and black musical talent and featured women in his band.

The women in his songs were powerful.

He was generous and charitable.

And then there was this:

And this:

 R.I.P. Prince.

My Office

I finally got to rip out most of the old desks in my office and open up the space. I now have a place to study and lounge.

Never to young to learn about due process.

The fireplace

A place for play and study.

The plants soak up the winter sunlight.

Blood Letting

Yesterday I gave blood.

The last time I gave blood I was in high school and it didn't go too well.

An arm spasm caused the needle to jerk in my arm and I said "ow" and the nurse pulled the needle out and threw the half filled bag in the trash.

There is a backstory here. I had been snickering about the nurse's prominent mustache and I think she heard me and took her revenge.

Team no one.

I was a little nervous this time but I was determined to try.

I had tried before whenever the Coast Guard had a blood drive but my iron count was always too low.

The idea of donating blood came from my grandmother. I remember all the certificates my she had from the Red Cross for blood donations and I always admired her for that.

I also have type 0- blood which is the universal donor type and, according to the nurse I spoke with, "in critical shortage at the moment."

The process was okay. The nurse who put in the needle was very nice and the only thing that made me feel mildly queasy was the fact that the tube carrying the blood to the bag was put over my arm and I could feel the heat from my own blood on the outside of my arm. Ew.

Afterwards I had a few cookies and some lemonade and felt pretty darned good about myself.

I met up with Nick for an afternoon snack at the mall.

There was a Russian lady handing out soap samples and when I went to take one, Nick rolled his eyes.

"The mens are like that," the lady said.

I agree with her. The mens are totally like that.

While Nick went to order dumplings I went into the soap store and picked out  Freesia and Lavender scented soaps.

When I went to pay I was greeted by a tall, dark haired man who seemed to be from somewhere in the Middle East.

"Why you don't get three? Third one free! C'mon now!" he said.

So I got a third soap and when I returned he said, "I have to say, your skin is beautiful. What do you use?"

The store also sold cosmetics so I thought he might be trying to sneak in a skin cream at that point although, "your skin looks great here put something you don't need on it," isn't the most logical sales method.

Still, I was wary so I took the sarcastic approach.

"It's just old age." I said.

"You use something though?" he asked.

"Um, My own skin oil?" I said.

He looked confused.

"We'll keep on doing it." he said.

And I will.

I will keep on getting up every morning with an oily face and not doing a damned thing about it.

The more I thought about why my skin might look nice the more I began to wonder if losing a pint of blood might not have something to do with it.

Maybe the "pasty and faint" look is about to hit big time.

In that case it should be a win-win for both my skin and the NZ Blood Bank.

Hurrah for us all.