Judging from the confusion I’m seeing at Inland Revenue right now they don’t get too many calls from dads wanting to increase their child support payments.

Films watched in autumn:

What’s Eating Gilbert Grape
Rosemary’s Baby
Fish Tank
Leaving Neverland
The Witch
Jiro Dreams of Sushi
The Big Short
Apollo 13
Straw Dogs

Thursday’s done and I have four days off woot

“Dad, why is it New Zealand? Shouldn’t it be Old Zealand?”

Earlier this month I biked the Waihaha, Waihora and K2K trails on the western side of Lake Taupo… 10/10 would ride again.

Just applied beard oil for the first time and now I smell of rich mahogany and am kind of a big deal.

I wanted to try to write something profound today but all I have is this: I am now 50 years old, and I am grateful for this one life of mine.

Every Kiwi kid learns about Anzac Day. Schoolroom lessons are made of the beaches and cliffs at Gallipoli. We know about the trenches and mud and machine guns, and we know about the killed and wounded soldiers. We know about the poppies.

For me Anzac Day is tied to the year more, and means more, than any other holiday. Christmas and Easter are hijacked seasonal rituals, entirely out of sync with our southern winters and springs. Halloween, that candy-coated newcomer, ostensibly celebrates the dead exactly at the time our days are warming and lengthening and we should be celebrating life and the coming summer.

Anzac Day alone feels right, coming as it does in the last week of April when the days cool and shorten and the trees turn red and lose their leaves. We gather together in the pre-dawn to remember our fallen, even as the sun rises once more to remind us of all that is good in the day.

And when we know about the poppies, there is plenty of good in the day.

This, from Ella Francis Saunders:

You see, you are not so soft after all; you are rock and wave and the peeling bark of trees… When you put your best foot forward, you are taking the north side of a mountain with you.

I said, “I feel like I’ve finally got my shit together.” I said it and I didn’t believe it. I don’t think any of us really get our shit together, ever. We try, and that’s all we can do. The rest is not our business.

I turn 50 in one month, and I keep trying.