Pounamu

For our fourth anniversary Nick bought me a pounamu necklace.

Pounamu is a beautiful type of nephrite found in New Zealand's south island. It belongs to Ngai Tahu and is sold under iwi approval. It comes in varying shades of green and is usually carved into some meaningful form.

Mine was in a double twist known as a pikorua. It was a gorgeous deep forest green.

Within 24 hours of receiving the necklace it lay on the floor of my room in two pieces. My son had picked it up from the nightstand and dropped it onto the carpet from a height of about two feet.

I was upset and Nick was livid.

He said he had paid $450 for something that was supposed to last a lifetime and instead had broken in a day.

Two days later he took the piece back to the jewelry store and was informed by the manager that the breakage was our fault and that it wasn't the store's policy to do refunds. He was then told that if he wanted to buy another piece they'd be happy to give him a 15% discount.

Nick told the manager he could fuck right off and that they hadn't heard the last of us because his girlfriend was a law student.

When I heard the news first I stewed and then I turned to the law.

The Consumer Guarantees Act 1993 was my weapon of choice. It lays out the responsibilities of vendors and manufacturers in relation to their products. Section 7 had two helpful parts (a) an object must be fit for its intended purpose and (e) durable. Legal remedies consisted of a refund or replacement of the object with another of equal value. If the company refused to follow the law they could be taken to the Disputes Tribunal. Letters could also be written to the Commerce Commissioner. Notices could also be given to the local press and the consumer friendly program "Fair Go" could be contacted.

I called the artist who carved the pieces to let him know what had happened and how the company selling his work had reacted. He said the pounamu had fibers and grains just like wood and while it wasn't common to have them snap, it wasn't unheard of. A few of his pieces had even done so while he was working on them. He said he would call the company and speak with them and I thanked him.

This is the second time I've had to deal with a faulty product and dodge by the company that sold it to me.

Harvey Norman tried to say it was "user error" when the laptop I bought for my daughter had a screen separate from its frame. They wasted no time in saying our actions had gone beyond reasonable wear and tear and that the warranty was voided.

When I insisted that a brand new computer sitting in an open position on a desk for six months couldn't possibly be called "wear and tear" they pouted and said they would contact the manufacturer.

They came back to us a few days later and said the manufacturer was blaming us but that they would "escalate the situation up the chain" to get a solution.

How magnanimous of them.

In the end they replaced the faulty laptop with a new one.

It boils my blood that there are laws in place to protect buyers but most don't know where to look for them.

The default position for the retailer seems to be "it's your fault and we won't fix it but feel free to spend more money with us."

As a dear friend pointed out, this is a really shitty business strategy.

The other thing that gets my goat (to use the old phrase) is that these companies deal in hundreds of thousands if not millions of dollars worth of goods from the manufacturers.

The manufacturer can't afford to piss off the retailer.

What ultimately happens in most of these scenarios is that the faulty product is sent back and a credit is issued.

Neither the retailer nor the manufacturer goes hungry or becomes homeless from the process.

*****

I returned to the jewelry store two days after Nick's visit, armed with copies of the relevant law and moral outrage.

I was fully prepared to become "loud and indignant" if the situation called for it.

I met with the manager who quickly realized he had been foretold of my coming and lo! I was upon him.

He looked at the broken pieces I placed in front of him and the air between us became pregnant with an impending dodge.

"Here," I said, "Let me show you section 7 of the Consumer Guarantees Act."

I went on to explain that he had sold me a piece of jewelry with a weakness in it that would have caused it to break sooner or later. The piece was sold as a necklace which are meant to be worn regularly and the flaw meant that it was never fit for such a purpose (section a). It also certainly didn't meet the definition of "durable" (section e).

The urge to blame the user and deny responsibility played out in his facial expression.

A battle raged within him. He could continue to play the shyster but it was risky. First my partner had cursed him out and then I came at him with legalities.

I proceeded to show him the section of the Act about the remedies of either a refund or replacement. I said I preferred a replacement.

Finally he gave in.

"We don't normally do this sort of thing but since its Christmas..."

"Whatever you need to do to tell yourself to get on the same page as me," I thought.

He took me to the window display of carved pounamu and brought out more selections for my perusal.

We found common ground in our praise for greenstone and those who carved it.

I had won but there was no need to rub it in.

I picked out a beautiful manaia and finally went home a happy customer.

The Blue Cup

Recently I was co-awarded The Blue Cup for "Best First-Time Mooter."

The cup is named after a former University of Canterbury law professor who was never seen without a blue teacup in hand.

I share the award with my colleague Erin who came in second in the junior moot and bravely represented our university at the national mooting competition this year.

We've worked out a shared custody agreement where she will have the cup for Christmas and I'll take it for the New Year.

Me And The Natural World

Last year I bought a t-shirt from my University's tramping club because it had a kea on it. When asked if I wanted to join I said no because I didn't want to hold everyone up.

I'm pretty sure the guy thought I meant it was because I was slow or not up to a long hike but it was actually because I have a habit of dropping down to inspect some unknown plant or standing still to listen for bird calls.

If it's about the destination you don't want someone like me along because, if you do get there, it will be in a delayed fashion and probably after enduring several lectures on avian behavior.

My need to capture an image of a small plant called a bidi bidi led a group of trampers coming up behind me to believe I had fallen and hurt myself. I was laying down on my side and they couldn't see my camera.

Must photograph, identify and catalog!

In the above photo my friend Hill caught of picture of me crouching to photograph one of the two carnivorous plants that inhabit this Alpine trail. Hill is one of those people who takes an interest in flora and fauna wherever she goes so she can tolerate nature walks with me.

I also have a tendency to pull faces and do really dumb stunts which usually put us both in hysterics. For example, I thought it would be neat to get a couple of action shots of me running in terror from the giant moa statue at the Bealey Hotel.

My. God.

Something happened to my face. My mouth made a melting sausage shape and my eyes were reduced to two tiny tadpoles swimming furiously towards each other.

And my chin? Whither my jaw? It was as if the back of my head was swallowing the front bit.

Although we both laughed until the tears came, I was quite discomfited that I could look that awful.

Anytime I get too full of myself all it would take to shut me down is someone whispering, "remember the great moa stunt of 2017?" And that would be me silenced.

Hanging Out With Friends

My friend Hill recently came to visit from America and she has an awesome camera and a great eye for photography.

We visited Arthur's Pass and saw several Kea. I noted their tags so I could report the sightings on the recently launched kea database.

Alex Whispers His First "Trick or Treat"

We have an American living with us at the moment and she's fond of observing American traditions such as Christmas and Halloween.

In order to facilitate the proper observance of Halloween I thought we might escort my son out around the local neighborhoods.

This last minute decision saw me turning one of his printed black t-shirts backward, pinning a pillowcase around his neck, placing a borrowed pointy hat on his head and labeling him "baby Gandalf."

A lot of Kiwis don't like Halloween. They think it's incredibly rude to knock on a stranger's door and demand sweets (or anything else for that matter). The implied threat of a "trick" doesn't go down either.

Alex, being a true kiwi child, didn't take naturally to asking strangers for candy. He silently watched as candy was put into his bucket at the first house. At the second he handed a piece of his candy to the little girl who gave him a goody bag. At another house he whispered "trick or treat" so faintly the man at the door leaned down and said, "what was that now?"

We found that it was almost impossible to tell who was giving out candy and who wasn't. Some people made a slight attempt to decorate with a spiderweb over a light fixture and others just sort of watched for you from a doorway with no decorations at all.

At one house a woman held out a bowl with a skeleton over it and when Alex went for a piece of candy, she pressed a button that made the skeleton come down on his hand and give an evil laugh.

Alex was horrified. I marked that moment as a time my son would later discuss in therapy. "Why am I apprehensive of strangers with bowls? Let me think back..."

We did a lot of walking for very little reward but the other American seemed happy and Alex didn't care so that was okay.

When we got home, Alex was allowed to pick out one piece of candy while his chaperones taste tested the rest of it for "safety reasons."

And that was Alex's first Halloween.

A Song That Brings Hope

We finally have a new government and a new Prime Minister in New Zealand.

Jacinda won and Labour has formed a coalition government with the Greens and New Zealand First.

After keeping us in suspense for several weeks, Winston Peters finally made his choice.

So shines a good deed in a weary world.

With all the mind numbing stupidity brought by the Tangerine Prince of Comb-overs, it's really uplifting to have a woman of my age getting ready to take the reigns of power in this country.

Today I made a discovery that has given me so much happiness.

I know the birds in my garden. I know their Latin, common and Maori names. I know their songs and nesting habits. I know if they're natives or were introduced from Australia or Europe.

Recently I noticed a clear and lovely voice which rang out above all the others.

It was solitary and never answered by another of its kind.

I had a suspicion it was a bell bird or Korimako but I was doubtful because they've been driven out of this part of the Canterbury by the loss of habitat.

They are nectar eaters who love the blossoms of the flax plant and kowhai.

This afternoon I went outside and tried to pinpoint the source of the beautiful song.

My house has several large, established trees and flax plants.

I crept among the trees and looked up whenever the song was repeated.

And then I spotted it-a solitary bell bird flitting through the branches.

I mimicked it's song and it flew closer and answered mine.

If you ever go into the bush and start whistling all the nearby bell birds will hop over to check you out. This happened the first time I visited my uncle's house. His property is filled with manuka trees which they also love.

It gives me an enormous sense of well being to find this bird in my garden.

I know if we Cantabrians work to restore the native habitat, these birds will return and join the dawn chorus as they did before.

Conversation With A Young Man In A Shop

 My laptop crapped out. They always do. I don't know why it's still such an unpleasant surprise.

Getting a new one means a trip to a shop where some young salesperson will inevitably try to hornswoggle me.

I hate this process slightly less now that I've hit an age where I'm more assertive.

I went to the type of shop where they have huge televisions with gorgeous color saturation featuring images of blown glass and bright flowers.

No one came to help me so I went to the counter to wait for one of the young men to notice me.

The one who did was tall with blond hair, blue eyes and an American accent.

He looked to be in the shallow end of his twenties.

I told him what I was looking for and he asked where I was from.

We then established that I was from Alabama and he was from Utah. He was Mormon and I was raised Southern Baptist. He had been to the Dominican Republic for his mission and spoke excellent Spanish. I had lived in Mexico and loved cheap street tacos.We had both suffered from Salmonella and been hospitalized while living in those countries.

The following discussion happened throughout the negotiations over the computer I wanted.

He mentioned his fiance was studying Criminal Justice at the UC.

I asked if she had any classes with Greg Newbold and what she thought of him.

He said she loved him.

I made some facial expression that caused him to ask what I thought of him. I said I had read his textbook in which he claimed 60-80% of women who reported rape were lying and that he had cited Wikipedia numerous times which is just not done in academic texts. I said I was worried that he was teaching future law enforcement professionals to victim blame.

That's when the fresh faced young man told me that most women were to blame for getting raped because of the way they dressed and acted.

At that point I became a concerned mother type. My hand went to my heart and I said, "No, no, no you don't believe that surely?"

He did though.

I reminded him that women in Saudi Arabia who are covered from head to toe also get raped and he said he had read all about it and it was mostly domestic abuse.

My readings on the subject told me women reliant on taxi drivers because they weren't allowed to drive were often assaulted in those vulnerable situations.

And then he said men couldn't help themselves and if I knew what went through their mind all the time I would understand.

I said he was confusing a normal, healthy sexual desire with committing an act of sexual violence against someone without their consent.

I heard the sincerity in his voice and was reminded of myself when I was younger and fully immersed in my church's version of Christianity. Back then, I spoke with absolute certainty of my world view because I was steeped in it and no one ever came along to contradict or disprove it until I got out of my parent's house.

I had a comforting thought that one day he would think back on our conversation and be embarrassed of himself for saying such things. After all, I had.

But there again, maybe he won't.

There's a difference with how men and women experience most major religions.

His and mine are both set up to put men in positions of power and decision making. That sort of thing can be hard to give up.

I joked that if men were really at the mercy of their sex drive maybe they should all be locked up.

I'm puzzled by the church's portrayal of men as strong leaders meant to rule the world but also weak-willed sex zombies at the first hint of leg or cleavage.

Should they really be in charge if this is the case?

I changed tack and asked if we met and I was wearing a bikini would he lose control of himself and feel the need to sexually attack me.

No, not him. He would never.

"Well you see then, you can control yourself and there's hope." I said.

He declared that he was brought up to respect women.

That respect is highly conditional though.

It requires us to dress and act in a certain male approved way.

We mustn't like sex too much because that's unnatural. That's what men do.

If we are not good, modest girls then we deserve to be raped. We bring it on ourselves.

This is a horrendous way to view women.

It's not doing men any favors either. It assumes they're all sex fiends just trying to get through life without having to rape someone.

I found the exchange so disturbing that I went home and immediately called my mother.

"I don't think anything I said got through," I told her.

She thought it might have.

In a few weeks that young man will be going back to Utah to get married.

I hope his wife gives birth to a series of daughters and that each one is more outspoken than the last.