Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Mark's first day in the ED was a big adjustment. Although the patients and the diseases are the same, almost all the medications go by a different name, so it's a lot like learning a new language. He'll be supervising the house officers, most of whom are from the UK, and who know all the medications by yet a third name.
Sherry and Ro dropped Mark off at work so they'd have the car for the day. Near the end of Mark's shift, while reducing a Maori kid's dislocated thumb, he got a frantic call from Maxine, the hospital secretary who had arranged their accommodations, and who had just received a call from our rental car agency. "Your wife has had trouble with the car and she and your son are stranded at the beach!" Unfortunately, we don't yet have active cell phones here, so he had no way to get in touch with Sherry. So, he hoofed it home, and with much relief, saw our green Mitsubishi parked in front of the motel room. Sheepishly, Sherry explained what happened.
{Segue}
Sherry explains
After navigating through town and successfully finding a nice oceanfront parking space, after having survived the darned traffic circles, and after no horrific turns into oncoming traffic with Kiwi faces screaming at me...after all these "accomplishments," in the end it was the automatic transmission that was the enemy. For those of you who don't know, I drive a manual.
I was so proud of myself, you see, arriving safely at my destination, and not hurting either the vehicle or our child in the process. Ro and I skipped to the beach, frolicked in the water, and hunted shells in the tidal pools. We hiked up to the point on the peninsula just next to the Mount (Maunganui) and watched a large ship drift by, while below us Maori teens were cliff diving, as is the local norm. We headed back to the beach, and Ro proceeded to cover me with sand up to my waist, and then I him. We walked up the beach where the local beach authorities were setting up bleachers for an international "surfing ironman" competition taking place this weekend. We lunched on a veggie frittata (me) and pancakes with hair-less bacon (Ro), then walked back down The Strand along the boardwalk, passing a bungee attraction that caters to the under-10 crowd, and operates whenever the bungee "crew" happens to be around and not, well, surfing I think. Today, the attendant was actually there, so after much begging and pleading on Ro's part, I fished out the equivalent of around US$5, and Ro had a blast. The attendant asked Ro where he was from, and his little pale face says "Asheboro," and when asked again, "And where's that, mate", Ro smiles infectiously and says, "New Zealand." The attendant had a good laugh, saying, "Don't you wish it were so, little bro?"
Ro going vertical
Ro catching some serious air
After the bungee, I noticed the time was running away (3:30), so I high-tailed it to the car with Ro in tow whining, "I'm sleepy mommy. Can we go to the park?" Since Mark was due back at 4, I had told him I would be back at the same time, because it is extremely difficult to communicate without cellular phones, and we all know telepathy is so one-sided. I climb into the car, acutely aware for the first time of having spent 6 1/2 hours in the intense NZ sun (my chest is fried), with my cranky and sticky sand-covered toddler (sand, by the way, is a most effective sunscreen).
Once back, sweating profusely from the very hot afternoon sun, holding a sandy, sticky (did I say that already?), 44 lb toddler who is trying to fall asleep on my shoulder; I strap the little guy in, and roll down the windows. "This is so odd," I think, and try the car again, studying more closely now all of the dashboard lights.
Then it hits me.
The car is not in "Park." The car will not start if not in "Park."
CRAP
I check the time, and it is 3:45. I make a split second decision to leave and get home before Mark arrives, then call the rental agency from there. I jet away, zooming through traffic circles, only exiting wrong once, and arrive home easily by 4. I take a deep breath and call the rental office. I decide to be as forthcoming as possible while attempting to save face. I do not want to be the stupid American tourist girl.
"I'm an ass," I say. "The car was in Neutral. I'm so very sorry."
"No worries," they tell me, laughing. We'll phone the mechanic "just now." I'm sure they could be laughing still over dinner tonight.
I wasn't going to mention it to Mark, but when he blazed through the door, saying, "I am so glad to see you guys and the car here," I knew that somehow he knew. And now, all of you do, too.
{End Segue}
One would think that would be enough of Sherry's "blonde ambition" for one day, but alas, you would be wrong. Our range in the kitchen has had a loose knob since we moved in (or was it after Ro messed with it shortly after we moved in? I'm not quite certain.) Kris, the innkeeper, was sending the electrician over to fix it this morning and Sherry was trying to get out of the room before then. She ran a sink full of hot water in order to wash the morning dishes, and was going to let the water cool a little first. There's two temperatures available, scalding and ice cold. She then took a shower, only to discover that when she got out of the shower, she had forgotten to shut off the sink. She found herself frantically mopping up the kitchen and the drawers, with minutes to spare before the electrician arrived...lol. Must be genetic, as Ro did the same thing with the bathroom sink this evening, while attempting to wash the sand off his toy airplane. As we found out, there are no backup drains at the edge of NZ sinks like in the States.
Mark pushing Ro on the motel's tire swing
Ro enjoying a "dirt bath" amongst the fruit trees at the motel
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