Last night we went for dinner to the home of a storied aunt, one who suffered an unspeakable tragedy when she was in her late teens and, according to all her relations, has not been the same since. There was something not quite as usual about her, but after a stilted start to the evening we relaxed a bit and had a decent chat. Another thing that relations prickle at is her fondness for spirituality and woo, very non-NZ, and especially her growing identification with her husband’s Maori roots. Her husband, one gathers, is a relatively recent but extremely enthusiastic champion of his Maori roots and both have changed their names and adopted many customs, which others in the family find hard to deal with. I did rather feel for the pair of them, they didn’t seem equipped, except through an admitted impermeability, to deal with the blunt force of NZ family relations, but I am not too comfortable with woo either.
In Pakistan and India matters keep escalating. It is nice to, for once, feel that the other side is probably more wrong than Pakistan.
This morning, after breakfast, the Doyenne and I went out to Petone, a suburb in the Lower Hutt, where she had to collect some coffee beans for her daughter. We then had a very pleasant lunch in a cavernous warehouse and Italian deli. She is a decided woman and I do like her; she reminds me of the women in my family.