To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there's the rub (Hamlet)

Photo by Greg Pappas on Unsplash

Wie geht's? Sleeping okay? 

Lately I've been having some lurid dreams. The kind I need to write down in my diary when I wake because they are so vivid.

Sleep is on my mind because the nighttime temperatures have been wildly inconsistent at the start of autumn. We are struggling to manage the duvet situation - we're either too cold, or too hot! It's a dilly of a pickle.

There's a short story in Haruki Murakam's The Elephant Vanishes collection called Sleep, where Haruki makes some intriguing observations.

His protagonist is a young woman who stops sleeping altogether and instead lives her life fully awake*.

Murakami in the story says that, 'Sleep both calms and provides a discharge for thought circuits...Sleeping is an act that has been programmed, with karmic inevitability, into the human system, and no one can diverge from it, the person's very "ground of being" would be threatened'. 

He likens sleep to a motor and a lack of sleep is therefore like a motor that is running constantly. If you keep a motor running constantly it will eventually break down.

Arr yes. To sleep, perchance to dream - ay, there's the rub.

Love and peace - Wozza

* BTW Murakami doesn't resolve anything in his story - the young woman is still leading a sleepless existence, although the implication is that she'll be killed by the men attacking her in her car at 3am.

Summer breeze makes me feel fine, blowin' through the jasmine in my mind (Seals & Crofts)

Wie geht's?

As I type this, I'm listening to the three amigo's latest playlist - songs with weather features in the title.

Riders on the Storm by The Doors has just come on - one of my selections as it happens, and I'm instantly sitting in mum's mini, waiting for her outside an antiques' store in Remuera, Auckland.

I've heard the song countless times, but I'll never forget that first time in the car. Gobsmacked, is the appropriate term, as I drum my fingers on the dash (then and now).

Many, many songs do that to me - instantly take me back to a time and a place. Gypsy by Uriah Heep and Wings' Uncle Albert/ Admiral Halsey instantly transport me back to my bedroom at 18 Korma Ave.

Speaking of which - I wrote a piece about my childhood home in my Year 13 class recently. The task I set them was to use a memory of a place from their past and revisit it as they are today.

Here's my effort:

Would you rather lose all of your old memories, or never be able to make new ones?

My childhood home was in Auckland’s Royal Oak area – 18 Korma Ave. to be precise. Royal Oak is a central area of Auckland.

From the age of two in 1959 until 1973, this was my safe place. The place where my brother and I lived with our mum and dad. The place I returned to each day from Royal Oak Primary School, and Manukau Intermediate (a short walk in the opposite direction to the primary school), and Mount Albert Grammar School. Going to M.A.G.S. as an out of zone student meant I had to get a bus to Mt Albert. That’s as far as I’d had to travel from home to that point.

We moved away from Korma Ave. during my first year doing School Certificate and I kind of knew there was no going back. Our next-door neighbour was doing bizarre, vindictive things like pouring oil into our swimming pool. So my parents decided to move. They would buy a section and build a new house in Mt Roskill South, but that's a different story.

As a child, the area around Royal Oak was my whole world. I’d gone to a kindergarten in Greenwoods Corner run by Mrs. Bridges from our first house in Oak Street. We lived there while our house in Korma Ave. was being built. It was only a few streets away from Royal Oak Primary where I’d eventually go and only a short walk to the Royal Oak shops and to Korma Ave. I grew up in a tight knot of streets – I was even born nearby in Cornwall Park/ One Tree Hill. An American field hospital had been set up there during World War II and was still operating before National Women’s Hospital was opened in 1959 (my younger brother was born there). So, my mountain was quite literally Maungakiekie (the real name for One Tree Hill).

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On a trip back to Auckland a few years ago, I took Jacky on a little tour of the neighbourhood where I grew up in; where I played tennis (a short bike ride from home); where I did school patrol while at Royal Oak Primary; Seymour Park where I played football for Eden F.C. (a one minute jog from home). Finally, we turned down Korma Ave. with the Mormon Church still occupying the right-hand side of the street. I was excited to share this nostalgic trip with her – events like this are always richer when they are shared, I’ve found.

We drove down the street. There was the Brethren Church on the left-hand corner, the familiar block of flats where I used to collect money for paper deliveries (why oh why did they trust this task to small boys? No way would this happen in 2026), then…nothing. A vacant section where the solid brick and tile house stood.

A complex set of emotions overwhelmed me. For a start my brain couldn’t really decode what my eyes were telling me. The place I’d grown up in had been demolished and in its place was newly sown grass.

Flashes of memories replaced the fogginess: the willow tree; the swimming pool in the back yard; the air vent I’d called a toadstool and painted as a two year old; Christmas mornings spent waiting by the glass sliding doors to the lounge for mum and dad to wake up; my bedroom where my love of music hatched and developed; the kitchen which was my mother’s territory (all those meals, all those cakes and tins of biscuits; all those birthday parties)…

The memories overwhelmed me as I sat in the car, next to Jacky.

Then I realised - the only solace was that all those old memories were still inside me, and always would be. Plus, now, as I sped away from 18 Korma Ave., I knew I could continue to make new memories with Jacky.

Yes, I thought - I could have my cake and eat it too.

Love and peace - Wozza 

One nil to the Arsenal

Wie geht's?

The continual sour grapes criticism of how Arsenal are winning games is getting on my wick. It seems that if we score a goal from a set play, like a corner or a free kick, it is not worth as much as a screamer hit from 30 yards out.

Bunkum!

Sure the screamer gives the viewer a vicarious thrill but a goal is a goal is a goal.

Every other team scores goals from set pieces and celebrates as if they've won the World Cup - why not Arsenal? On the same day that we scored from two corners, Man City scored their second goal versus Nottingham Forest from a corner. Good on them. But no one was crying about that fact - that only happens if it's Arsenal F.C and only if we're leading the English Premiership.

Generally, winning a corner means you are on the attack; during which the ball comes off a defender. Allow me to repeat: You. Are. Attacking. 

You don't get a corner, generally, if you are playing tiki-taka in your own half. By the way tiki-taka was popularised by Barcelona under Pep Guardiola, who manages Man City these days.

I liken a corner kick to a cross in open play where the attacking team's heading technique and desire to score are the two key ingredients to success (measured by a goal).

The other aspect I've heard some whining about is time wasting when in the lead. 

Bunkum!

Name me one team who doesn't do this....Crickets and tumbleweeds. It's only annoying when it's your team who is chasing the game and desperately needs a goal. Usually, the other team are being seen as professionals who are 'seeing the game out'. Unless it's Arsenal F.C and only if we're leading the English Premiership.

As an Arsenal supporter of long standing (Charlie George's heroics during 1971 sealed the deal), I've heard these accusations and moans plenty of times over the years. Chants like Boring Boring Arsenal and One-Nil To The Arsenal are part of our shared Arsenal culture. Now a bizarre badge of honour.

In the meantime, I'm doing my best to follow Tay Tay's advice:

'Cause the players gonna play, play, play, play, play
And the haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate
Baby, I'm just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake
I shake it off, I shake it off.

Love and peace - Wozza

Until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of His hand.

Wie geht's?

This week has been difficult. It was a week in which Irene Purdy passed away at the age of 104 at her home in greater Manchester.

Irene Gaunt, born in 1921, married Tom Purdy in 1942 and together they had two children, David (1945) and Christine (1954). Tragically, Tom passed away at an early age and Irene never remarried. 

She lived a full life, however, and was able to see her children flourish and then see her children's children and her children's children's children.

I will cling to my memories of Irene forever. When I met her for the first time, it felt like I'd known her all my life. In some ways she felt like a mother substitute for me in the early 2000s. Each visit since that first face to face was a delight and a special occasion. 

Jacky and I were lucky enough to be at her 90th birthday celebration at Christine's home. Although covid prevented us from being there for her 100th, we made it back for a post-covid visit as soon as we could.

Irene was such an easy person to talk to. She had a bright, keen wit, a sharp intelligence and such a strong life force. Every time I met her, her face lit up with such joy of being in the moment. Her rich Lancashire accent will stay with me. She was a strong link back to my grandfather, and great grandfather.

Of course, no one survives life and even though she was at such an advanced age, her passing still came as a bit of a shock, if not a surprise. 

She had always been there and had lived through such momentous times. The sheer volume of things she had experienced and the events she'd observed boggles my mind. 

I am so fortunate to her met her, and shared times with her since 2003. I will never forget her.

Until we meet again, Irene, may God hold you in the palm of His hand.

Love and peace - Warren

Baby love, my baby love (The Supremes)

Wie geht's?

Us? Exciting news!

Our fourth grandchild, third granddaughter, arrived safely on the 20th of February in Denver, Colorado. Billie Jade Kalicki! A huge blogosphere welcome to the world and to the whanau, little lady! 

She joins our amazing three g-kids already pressing their brilliantly vibrant personalities upon the world. Take a bow Asher, Ivy and Poppy!! 

Billie is again the perfect name (being a derivative of William - my great-grandfather was a William). Billie can be interpreted as 'resolute protector' or 'strong-willed guardian', capturing qualities of strength and determination. Resilience and determination are key qualities in life! 

Jade is, of course, named after our youngest Purdette. We're biased because we chose her name, so the combo is awesome.

Significance of February 20:

• It's recognised globally as the world day of social justice.

Three famous others born on that date:

• Rihanna
• Ivana Trump
• Kurt Cobain

Key events:

• 1872 New York's Metropolitan Museum of Art opens
• 1895 Congress authorises a U.S. mint at Denver, Colorado
• 1949 First International Pancake Race is held in Liberal, Kansas
• 1959 Jimi Hendrix (16), rock and roll guitarist, plays his first gig in the Temple De Hirsch synagogue basement, Seattle.

Some current hits:

• Bad Bunny's DtMF
• Ella Langely's Choosin' Texas
• Olivia Dean's Man I Need
• Taylor Swift's The Fate of Ophelia

Big movies right now:

• The True Myth 
• Mavka 
• Wuthering Heights* 

Billie, her mum and dad are setting into parenthood and babyhood nicely. At this age, it's all about feeds and sleep and recovering from the birth. Having said that, Samantha has revealed that Billie's college fund has already clicked into gear!

This is Billie's first appearance on the blog. Like Poppy, Ivy and Asher, she's set to become a regular feature as we watch her grow and develop. She's mos def going to have hiking boots before very long, be climbing out of her crib and up walls, and become a general badass, if Andrew and Fanfa have anything to do with it, which they do!

Love and peace - Papa 

* Fun fact for Billie - Mema and Papa had bought tickets for a special screening of Wuthering Heights for the 20th but then your mum was taking a while to deliver you, so we donated our tickets. We went and saw the movie a week later - knowing that you were safe and sound.

I dreamed of two blue orchids (Glenn Miller)

Photo by Kseniia Ilinykh on Unsplash

Wie geht's?

Joan Didion in her essay, Quiet Days in Malibu, profiles a Californian orchid breeder called Amando Vazquez. Along the way she describes his beautiful greenhouses as having, "the most aqueous filtered light, the softest tropical air, the most silent clouds of flowers".

Reading that reminded me of growing up in Auckland.

My mother had a more modest greenhouse/ shade house that housed her orchid collection. Built for her by my dad, it had three sides of benches above the ground. On them were rows of orchids in large terracotta pots with maiden hair ferns underneath. 

It was always slightly damp and fragrant in the greenhouse.

It was always a peaceful place to go, to look at the orchids, to talk to mum.  

Love and peace - Woz.

I call your name but you're not there. Was I to blame? (The Beatles)

Wie geht's?

Names are interesting things, right? A name quickly becomes synonymous with the person, and quickly fits the personality, or is it, the personality fits the name?

Choosing names for our children is a key moment in our lives, because that name becomes the person and the person becomes the name. For life. Unless the person dislikes it and changes it in some way officially, or otherwise.

Some people change the emphasis to their middle name (never an option for me).

As far as our children go:

• Keegan came from a book of names. Jacky liked it and I thought it was unusual, so - cool. Keegan it was.
• Adam was a name both of us liked.
• We had no girl names sorted before Samantha came along. We were convinced the baby was going to be another boy, so Ethan was on the list. It took a while to settle on Samantha - I wanted a three-syllable name or a one-syllable name.  
• Jade was a one-syllable name that was inspired by our friend Liz. Her stepson was Jade. We loved the name. 

I can't envisage any alternative names for our children.

Jacky suits Jacky (even though her name is Jacqueline), and I guess I suit Warren, but I don't have any distance on it. Whatever, I do like my name.

I'm thinking about names because I'm trying to remember about 120 names that my new female students have in my classes at Iona College, plus about 30 staff. That's not easy.

Some of the girls walk up to me and say, with a mischievous glint in their eye, "What's my name?" 

I'm getting there. It takes constant repetition for the name to match their personalities and lodge in my brain. Certainly, if they are in my classroom, it's easier, but if I come across them away from that context, I tend to make noises like a blocked drain.

Which they obviously think is hilarious.

There are also many girls with the same name, or a close relative like the Ellas, Ellies, Evas. Girls that look similar are also problematic. I always get them switched around for a while.

Then there are the tricky ones to pronounce. I got Farah wrong on Friday which brought hoots of laughter from the class. It's Far - rah, not Fair - rah, she pointed out. 

As I said, names are important, so I need to lock in and get it right.

Love and peace - Wozza