New Zealand is home to wave-filled coastlines, meandering trout streams, and the intense Maori culture. For Ryan, an elementary teacher, it’s also a world where animals are loved and lost a brother is gone but never forgotten.
Ryan arrives in New Zealand a shattered and broken man. For years he’s aspired to teach overseas but would never break the bond with his first dog, Toughy. With Toughy’s premature death, though, Ryan finds himself mourning his best friend while booking a flight to his childhood dream destination.
In a new country with no friends and no prearranged job, he finally confronts his brother’s passing, bonds with a class of Maori children in a beautiful and sometimes dangerous land, and slowly learns to love new pets. All the while, he longs for the seemingly unattainable woman he left behind. Mr. Chin, as his students call him, learns what it means to live life “full on.”
Those five words followed by a flying kitten made me a Cat Man. The kitten, a tabby with ginger accents, was born in a box. That box sat in the corner of a room I rented in New Zealand.
Before the flying tabby, allergies made me shy away from cats. I’d spent too many restless nights with itchy eyes, and a runny nose while visiting friends. So when I moved into my room in New Zealand, I requested to have the kittens relocated to a shed out back. Nowhere in my plans did it call for bonding with a kitten. At the time, I was mourning from the loss of my dog and searching for a teaching job. As a transient in a new country I couldn’t possibly care for a cat. But alas, I had no choice in the matter.
“Here, you need a cat,” said my New Zealand friend as I pulled away in my van.
With her feet spread wide, my first cat glided through the open window and landed on the worn passenger seat. She straightened her hind legs and cleaned herself as though she were home. There was nothing to do but cure my allergies by rubbing her on my face. We spent our first week together road tripping through the countryside; I sneezed, wheezed and smiled at my little fur ball on the dashboard.
I named her Baetis, after a family of insects important to us fly-fisher folks. I remember thinking if I had taken in a new dog, I’d have felt like a traitor. I thought, “It’s fine because Baetis is just a cat.”
Eight years later, I know she’s not just a cat. She’s the cat from Down Under, the cool cat that follows her yellow Lab brother and I for walks. As she weaves in and out of parked cars, and manicured gardens here in Portland, Oregon, I wonder if she remembers our garden and the tunnels I dug for her in New Zealand. I wonder if she remembers the special kitten she birthed–the kitten that taught me an important lesson. Does she know that she’s on her sixth life after being hit by a truck? And what about the cozy fires and head rubs in our white house in the Middle of Nowhere, New Zealand? Does she remember?
If someone told me at age twenty-five that I would teach in New Zealand and that I’d chase wild goats and roast lamb tails with barefooted Maori children, I’d say, “No way.”
If someone told me at age thirty that I would write a book about the experience and edit dozens of videos to go along with it, I’d say, “Really? No way…”
Now, at age thirty-eight, and four and a half years since I started the project, I open my computer to put final touches on the videos and exclaim, “No way!”
Even though I spent thousands of hours at my computer writing the manuscript and editing video, it still doesn’t feel real that I am almost finished. I am on pace to launch the print book and the e-book in June. A multimedia e-book made for iPad will follow later in the summer.
After being fine tuned by three different editors and revised for two years, the manuscript is in the hands of Vinnie, a book designer. We added some nice touches such as using Maori borders in the chapter headings and utilizing a picture of a Maori bone carving for section breaks. The hook-shaped carving was the only material gift that I had received for my thirtieth birthday. Rangi, the man who gave it to me was one of my neighbors in New Zealand. He is a loving father and husband, a member of the local school board of trustees, and a staunch gang member. A unique combination for sure. You’ll learn more about Rangi if you read the book.
A custom website is in the works along with shorter video trailers. The multimedia e-book’s release is being delayed a little because I want it to be something that utilizes the technology to its maximum storytelling potential without overdoing it. Finding a balance and flow for that delivery will take a bit more time. For now, I’ve posted a few pictures and one of my favorite videos.
Cheers to everyone who have left heart felt comments and given me feedback. Tu Meke mates! That’s Maori for ‘Too Much mates!’
The first page and a page with the fish hook section break
(Click on a page to view larger image)
Sheep Video
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Trivia Fact: Fifty percent of the world’s sheep product exports come from New Zealand.
A pile of mulch has sat in front of my house for four months now. A long sinuous line of the stuff stretches down the street starting with the largest pieces and tapering down to the finest particles. If my son was older, I’d use it as an example of erosion and how fluvial deposits form, but he’s not. He’s only a couple pounds and still inside Lori’s womb. I feel a little bad neglecting that pile of mulch but I’ve other work to do.
As I load my twenty dollar bike into the van and hang my grandpa’s old suit off a bungee cord, the ‘I shoulds’ shoot at me from all directions. I should shovel that pile of mulch. I should work on the baby’s room. I should work on that kitchen remodel bid. I should work on a business newsletter. My remodeling business after all is “real work” that pays. I chuckle and check my gear: Video camera-check, tripod-check, notes and storyboard-check, guitar-check, beer, food and firewood-check.
“Where are you going again?” asks Lori.
“Brett and I are going to the shack. I saw this old shack when I was out fly fishing and thought it’d be a cool place to shoot video, “ I reply.
“Oh…a shack,” she says with her eyes rolling towards the mulch pile.
I kiss her goodbye and rub her belly, “The shack!”
She gives me the look. The look can go both ways: I married this guy? Or I love this guy! Today, it’s a little of both. I take pride in soliciting the look; it’s a sign of a healthy marriage. Actually if it weren’t for Brett, an old buddy whom she loves, I’m positive this mission would be vetoed. Brett is visiting from Chicago and she knows how little we get to hang out. We zoom off before more mulch piles can erode our resolve. Two hours later we pull the van off the road. Forty mile an hour wind gusts rock the van and speeding trucks and cars add to the maelstrom. We start gathering our gear for the steep walk in.
“You see it!” I scream.
Brett zips up his coat and pulls on his hat, “The shack man!”
“Definitely private range land!“ I shout, “All good though. It’s too shitty out. No one will know we’re down there!”
Having been exposed to Chin-antics for almost twenty years now, Brett simply shrugs and grabs the camera and tripod; everyone needs a friend like Brett. He’s been putting the ‘I shoulds’ aside for much longer than I, transforming silly-little ideas into reality for decades. He’s a black belt creative warrior who taught me to think decrepit shacks in the middle of nowhere are the best things in the world. I change into my grandpa’s old suit and we’re ready.
We stumble into a high desert valley in Eastern Oregon with dust biting our faces. Sage bushes bend and sway almost as if they are yawning: High winds, dust and cold. What’s new? We stop occasionally to marvel at the power and landscape. I stare at the leaning structure in the distance and joke about the rifle shots we’d feel but never hear.
Brett thrusts the tripod towards the gray sky and marches on.
The question of when always weighs on the minds of us pet lovers. My motto has always been when they can longer have fun then it’s time. Toughy, my first dog, was diagnosed with liver disease in 2003 and I watched his condition deteriorate over the course of two months. He gave me good-morning licks and killed sticks up to his last day. There was no question about timing when he began to stagger and his eyes glassed over. A kitten of mine in New Zealand born with a birth defect lived only two months before I decided it was time. She chased her tail, chased her brother’s tail, and swatted at her mom’s tail until it was time. I called her life, Short but Fun(Click to read adapted short story and view a video) and dedicated a chapter in my upcoming memoir to her. Those decisions were definitive, but what if a cat never really has a lot of fun to begin with? What if a cat is seventy percent grumpiness, twenty-nine percent sleep, and one percent purr? Our dear old Miss Abbie was this cat. Continue reading ‘Here Comes the Sun (A tribute to our cat, Miss Abbie)’
This project came about from a short fiction writing contest sponsored by NPR. Writers were given a picture to inspire a story. The picture inspired me to write a story about a sad man looking through personal ads. I made it a multimedia project and decided to continue the story. As I thought about where to take Episode Two, a rush of usable images shot through my head. So finally, I have a use for some of my pictures! Sometimes the images drove the story and other times I searched my archives for a suitable image or video clip, or went out and shot what I needed. The man will be sad and bitter for quite some time, but eventually he will heal—maybe. Stories such as this one remind me how everything is about balance including emotions. Read the stories or sit back and enjoy the video readings.
The Sad Man–Episode One
Sad Man Episode 1
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Some Comments on Episode One:
You carved that story out of a pic? ….Amazing! It is well formed and the composition of place and oddities of time, is in a sense brilliant. Loved the story. More of such please…..Roberto
Wow. Knocks my socks off. You are quite the writer. And then you wrap it up into the package and bring the whole thing home. Yes!…..Tim
This contest found me just at the right time. It provided a nice sidetrack to the agent hunt. Writing fiction instead of memoir/personal essay was a huge relief and loads of fun. The contest required you to write a piece that was inspired by the picture above. As soon as I saw the picture, I felt this old and lonely man looking through the personal ads. After writing this piece, I felt like I left this man hanging in a state of eternal sadness. One day I’ll have to unite him with a lovely lady.
You can read the piece or sit back and let me read it to you. I added music and a couple extra images to go along with the picture.
Accepted for publication in the forthcoming anthology, Ink Filled Page.
Launch Party and Reading October 27th, 2010 at the Blackbird Wine Shop!
I still own the rights to this piece. Please contact me if you would like to
publish this essay.
It's ok boy. Being man's SECOND best friend isn't so bad
Despite what you may have heard, man’s best friend is not a dog. Man’s best friend is laughter. Laughter doesn’t need to go for walks, it doesn’t need expensive vaccinations and it won’t get you in trouble for choking a neighbor’s sheep (I speak from experience here). Think about it: how many times has a laugh-free first date gotten you a goodnight kiss? Giggling, chuckling, bellowing, cackling–they all come from the same place. And they’re all really useful, too. I’ve used laughter all my life, in different situations all around the world.
I’ve enriched my life in many ways by remembering things, but forgetting has its benefits, too. It’s a known fact that forgetting is a necessary part of human function. As a National Geographic article on memory put it, “If everything we looked at, smelled, heard, or thought was immediately filed away in our long term memory, we’d be drowning in irrelevant information.” While it’s good to know that forgetfulness keeps our heads from exploding, there’s more to it than that: forgetting can lead to more surprises–and thus a more joy-filled life; two “forgets equals a remember” (I’ll explain later); and forgetful mistakes can actually create some wonderful memories. Continue reading ‘Forget It’
