Finding Presence: The perfect avocado toast

It was a typical busy morning in the Wanderlust household as I served breakfast, packed lunches, ushered the Wanderlust Juniors out the door, then speed-walked after them as they rode their scooters to school. Later, returning home with a growling stomach, I finally had time to prepare some breakfast. I felt unsettled after a rushed morning routine that left me with no time to sit down to catch my breath. Later, as I stood in our quiet kitchen, my gaze panned over the messy floor of the adjacent family room, then returned to what was before me: two slices of toasted bread and an avocado on a wooden board atop a cluttered counter.

I chose, for the moment, to ignore the clutter. I sliced into the perfectly ripe avocado and exhaled with relief to find it ideal inside, a smooth, creamy green. I enjoyed every bite of the avocado toast in complete silence, save for the sound of the birds’ song outside the window. In this season of my life, juxtapositions abound. A noisy house in the morning gives way to silence that feels luxurious through lunchtime. The same noisy, vibrant energy returns to fill the rooms after the school day ends, then the house envelopes us in its sleepy tranquility.

I delight in those cycles and treasure the small gifts of a full day, making space to observe the transitions and creating opportunities to take breaks, to simply sit, if only for a short minute, and listen, watch, feel, breathe. Some days, the perfect avocado toast is precisely what I need to return to Presence, to feel gratitude for this ordinary day with its ebb and flow.

What steps can you take today to return to Presence? Hint: It’s in the little things.

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More about avocado… A few months ago, shortly after our move to NZ, Mr. Wanderlust saved the pit of an avocado, drilled three small holes into it, and stuck three wooden skewers inside. We immersed it in water inside a jar and kept it on the windowsill. Today, this is the result of our patient care. We have another, larger avocado tree, in our backyard. I purchased it recently from the local garden centre. It will be a while yet before this little seedling will be ready for planting, but we are starting to think of soon moving it into potted soil to allow it to continue to thrive.

Four things that are saving me these days

Photo: View from the Kaimai Ranges, by Mr. Wanderlust

On Wednesday morning, I turned the calendar leaf to reveal the first day of a new month. It dawned on me that, although this new month doesn’t feel remotely like the Novembers I have come to know, with their cold gray rain-drenched streets and trees that shed their cover in preparation for a blanket of snow, it’s nevertheless the second-last month of the year. And oh, how time does fly. That same day, I walked through the local shopping centre, where tall artificial Christmas trees had popped up overnight, to the sound of Christmas songs playing. November has always been my least favourite month in the northern hemisphere, and although it feels different in NZ, where sunny days are interspersed with warm springtime rainfall, I remain vigilant of the state of my thoughts and emotions. The reason I prioritise self-care and consistently work to improve my wellness habits is precisely because it’s much too easy for me to slip.

These days, here are four things that are saving me and helping me to stay well:

1. Walks in nature

On most mornings, after I take the Wanderlust Juniors to school, I walk to the beach or through the reserve. Some days, I drive to the local hills or the Mount for a more challenging walk to the summit, where I stand in awe, gazing from above upon our spectacular city. From time to time, whenever Mr. Wanderlust is able to steal away from his work for an hour, he joins me. Sometimes, we ride our bicycles in lieu of walking. I wrote previously about the resistance I have been feeling, as of late, toward more formal forms of cardio. Of course, yoga is a necessary daily practice, but I also crave fresh air and outdoor movement. Once outside, I often feel I could walk for hours. Some days, I listen to music or a podcast, but I prefer to tune into the sounds of the ocean’s waves or birds around me and take it all in, observing the ornate seashells as I pass them on the sand, the sheep that graze on the hillside. I walk briskly, but my mind remains in a state of meditative flow. If I’m lucky, from time to time I’m able to eavesdrop inconspicuously on an interesting conversation that I file away as possible material for a story.

2. Healthy routines

About two months after our move to NZ, I began to feel particularly homesick. I went through what immigration experts term the ‘fight or flight’ phase, during which I compared everything in NZ to what I had come to love in Canada. Then, I would nitpick at everything that did not appeal to me as much as I had hoped it would. At the same time, I began to drown my emotions in jars of Nutella late in the evening. Believe me, dear reader, that for me to admit to this feels shameful. I have always prided myself on being a careful eater and I have always had a difficult relationship with sugar. I know that it’s best for me to avoid it altogether. These days, I am picking up the pieces of me that I misplaced during that challenging phase. One day at a time, I plan carefully, eating three healthy solid meals, and avoid snacking after dinner. I brush my teeth, slip into my pajamas, and unwind with some Yin or restorative yoga, followed by reading a few pages from a book before turning off the light. I myself have often felt that this routine sounds rigid, but it helps me to feel my best, and for Vata, consistent healthy routines are key.

3. Community

Community is another major factor in adjusting to our new life in NZ. It’s easy for me to be a hermit, to stay at home all day and avoid any social interaction. However, when I do start speaking with our neighbours or the members of the fitness club who attend my classes, the conversation often ventures beyond small talk and leaves me feeling fulfilled. Moreover, online interaction via the blog also brings its delights. Yesterday, I received an email from a friend who told me about how much this blog helped her friend when he was going through a challenging time. As a writer, I enjoy putting my work out there, but I often wonder about who actually reads it and whether anyone cares about the content I produce. Similarly, as a yoga teacher, I want to know whether I deliver the type of class that other expect to attend and whether, in my classes, I am able to effectively address issues that others often struggle with. That feedback is invaluable to me and helps to connect me to the greater community, both online and offline.

4. Small celebrations

Earlier this week, our children celebrated their first Hallowe’en in NZ. Hallowe’en is a new holiday here and was not celebrated traditionally the way it’s celebrated in North America and some parts of Europe. With the longer daylight hours, the Wanderlust Juniors trick-or-treated when it was still light out, and stopped at only one spooky house among the non-ornate ones. Nevertheless, they enjoyed every moment of their outing and were particularly delighted that they did not need to wear winter jackets over their costumes the way they used to have to do in Canada. Seeing their excitement reminded me that every day is to be celebrated and that dressing up is fun. When I shared this article on my personal Facebook page, about one of my favourite fictional characters and films, lamenting over the casual dress in NZ, a friend commented to remind me that I should feel free to dress up and express my style any day. She’s right, of course, and I intend to do just that. I feel better when I put more effort into my outfit, even on days when I don’t have anywhere special to go. We should not need to wait for an occasion. Instead, every day can be a special occasion if we make it so.

Your turn: What is saving you right now? If you live in the northern hemisphere where November is the cold month in-between fall and winter, what do you do to turn up the hygge and make this time of year more enjoyable? Please leave a comment below. 

In the spirit of community-building, thank you for sharing this blog with a friend. 

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Thanksgiving, and keeping traditions alive

Mr. Wanderlust and I are wishing all our Canadian family members and friends a very happy Thanksgiving! We hope that you are enjoying a wonderful celebration in the company of your dearest people.

Our own Thanksgiving celebration is belated. For today’s early dinner, prior to my 6:30 p.m. yoga class, on the menu is chicken schnitzel and roasted vegetables. Our little family of four will not have turkey, cranberry sauce, butternut squash, or apple pie, because I realised too late on Saturday morning, after having planned our meals for the coming week and purchased groceries, that this past weekend was, in fact, Thanksgiving weekend in Canada. Thanksgiving is not celebrated in NZ, and likewise there is no widely acknowledged harvest festival. I can blame my memory lapse on seasonal confusion, which often leaves me thinking that since it’s currently springtime, it must be April or May. Then I remind myself that it’s actually October.

And so, we let the weekend go by without a special celebration, but this did not sit well with me. I want to keep our beloved family traditions alive in any way I can, regardless where in the world we might be. To me, Thanksgiving is a grounding reminder to mindfully acknowledge our loved ones and all else for which we are grateful. And so, although belatedly, I made the decision to have an intentional celebratory Thanksgiving dinner today, in-between teaching classes. We might not have the traditional pumpkins or squash, because  they are not currently in season in NZ, and that’s okay. After all, what make a celebration special are the intention behind it and the people with whom we share it. As for the apple pie, I just might bake one in a few days — you know, to extend the celebration. Here’s a photo of a cranberry-apple pie I baked for Thanksgiving two years ago.

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What special Thanksgiving traditions are in your family? If you are currently living far away from family, do you continue to celebrate Thanksgiving?

Let me tell you something about courage

When Mr. Wanderlust and I officially announced to a small number of close friends our intention to relocate from Canada to New Zealand, many expressed admiration at our courage.

“I must say,” one friend told us over brunch last December in Toronto, “many people dream and speak of someday moving to and starting a new life in a different country. You guys are actually going through with it. That takes guts.”

Others told us how nervous they would be about the mere thought of making such a move.

Here is something that I don’t often share when talking about our Big Move. It was relatively smooth from conception. We say our thanks every night for how fortunate we feel to have had everything go as well as it has thus far. However, that does not mean that we did not sometimes have second thoughts related to career changes and the change to a different educational system for our children. Similarly, we considered carefully the implications of leaving behind our family and friends and having to start building a new social circle in a new home. The question of social interactions, in particular, sometimes brings on a fair amount of anxiety.

There are days when I feel vulnerable and homesick. On those days, one obscure harsh word from a stranger — in yesterday’s case a woman at the supermarket who yelled at me for blocking her way — is enough to make me want to lock myself in the walk-in closet with a whole bar of dark chocolate and a giant pot of tea. As a HSP and INFP, I work hard to read others, especially if they are not open with me. I replay conversations in my mind that I had the day before with other school mums, wondering whether I might have said something that was misunderstood or committed another faux pas. The cultures in NZ and Canada don’t clash in a blatant way, but sometimes the differences are apparent.

And then, on other days, I enjoy a pleasant chat with another mum over peppermint tea while our children play in her backyard, leaving me feeling lighthearted and at peace.

Courage is not the absence of fear. It is the choice to pick ourselves up and move forward, regardless of those pangs of fear. We all feel nervous about certain changes. Some of us have also had to learn to be good at hiding that nervousness. However, there are three other lessons that have always kept me moving forward through various challenges that I have faced: Curiosity, Equanimity, and Faith. I give myself permission to sit with the experience, to feel the myriad emotions. I allow the thoughts to swirl. Then, I work to detach myself from them. I am not my thoughts. I am not my emotions. They do not define me. I remind myself that all those experiences and challenges are fleeting and every day brings new surprises. I remind myself of the challenges I have faced in the past and how they have made me stronger. I have been reminding myself, as of late, of the time when, as a teenager, I worked to make friends at a new school, in a new country, while learning a new language. Everything worked out for the best. It always does, especially when we remember to let go of concerns about the outcome.

Yesterday, I spent some time on the floor of the closet, eating 70% chocolate, drinking rooibos tea, and journaling to sort through my jumbled thoughts. This morning, I am ready to be the best version of myself and that, my friends, takes courage. As for change? It takes time, patience, and a fair amount of guts. One day at a time.

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If you are enjoying this blog, please take a moment to share it with a friend who might find its content interesting. 

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Spotted at a Starbucks in Dundas, Ontario two weeks ago, which means there are now fewer than 15 Fridays left to shop before Christmas. That’s great, but let’s focus on the here and now, folks. Wishing you a Mindful Monday.

In praise of the daytime date

Dear readers: I will be on a blog break for the next two weeks. I invite you to read the archives in the meantime. 


On Monday mornings, after taking the Wanderlust Juniors to school, Mr. Wanderlust and I are off on a mini adventure together. On those days, he starts work later, and we have a bit of child-free couple time to enjoy. Now that we are living far away from family, we have to make the most of this opportunity. Monday mornings are for dates, and we love this arrangement.

What we do on Mondays depends on our mood. Sometimes, we go to the movies, enjoying an early matinée in an almost empty theatre, then eat lunch in a restaurant not typically favoured by our children. Sushi is one of our favourite treats, but it’s not the Wanderlust Juniors’ cup of tea. At other times, we choose an active outing with a walk up to the summit of the Mount or Papamoa Hills, or a stroll along the beach. Some Mondays are reserved for errand dates. When we were shopping for furniture for our new house, we spent a couple of Mondays at the furniture and appliance stores, choosing a fridge, washing machine, and a couch for the lounge.

We have come to treasure the daytime date. Although it might not seem romantic in comparison with a cosy dinner-and-movie outing, we enjoy it nevertheless. On a recent busier Monday on which both Mr. Wanderlust and I had to work in the morning, we walked to the local shopping plaza to run an errand after taking the boys to school. We returned home at 9:30 and began the work day, but while out for a walk, we had a chance to reconnect and discuss a few items pertaining to our respective work projects. On the other hand, I typically would not wish to discuss such matters while out for a romantic dinner. Other morning dates are more leisurely and resemble a lovers’ outing, albeit sunlit. Another benefit of this arrangement is that we typically have more energy earlier in the day, and spending time together in the morning gives us a boost for the remainder of the day. I think that’s a fabulous way to start a new week.

Do you enjoy morning / day dates or are you in favour of the traditional romantic evening rendez-vous? Please leave a comment below to contribute to the conversation.

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FAVOURITES FROM AROUND THE WEB:

I cringe when I see doodles on the pages of books, but this is clever.

A good reminder to get out of our heads and take action.

Until next time!

Sometimes, technology can be beautiful

Thank you for your patience during my two weeks away from the blog. If you are curious about what I have been up to during that time, I will not keep you guessing. Alas, I have been busy parenting. When life speeds up and situations take an unexpected turn, it’s often best to simplify the ‘to do’ list, making room for what matters most.

On Thursday of last week, Mr. Wanderlust sadly announced to me over email that what was to be a week-long business trip overseas had been extended by a few additional days. I broke the news to the Wanderlust Juniors over breakfast on Friday, then felt a tightening in my chest as I watched them silently lower their heads to stare into their bowls of cereal. Here was my opportunity to step up the mum game, to work to put a smile on my children’s faces.

That afternoon after school, instead of helping the boys with their homework, much to their delight and surprise, I drove to a local fast food restaurant. As they smiled in-between bites of their burgers and chips — a treat for our family — I told them that our next destination is the beach. After 4 p.m., the sun was still warm in the sky, and I knew that the sunset was to be spectacular.

When we arrived at the local beach, the Wanderlust Juniors played in the golden sand while I snapped photos (scroll down to see them) and observed the ocean. Then, my phone buzzed in my pocket, with an email from Mr. Wanderlust.

“Can we chat on Skype?”

Within a minute, his face was on the screen before us and the boys competed to show him the sand castles they built. I held the phone before the fire-lit sun as it started to make its descent to the left of Mount Maunganui. I allowed the gentle rolling waves to whisper their secret, inviting Mr. Wanderlust to return home.

A few extra days can feel painfully long.

We returned home with sea salt in our hair and serene expressions on our faces, grateful for an opportunity to share a peaceful sunset with Mr. Wanderlust while he sat in a windowless office in a faraway country. Sometimes, technology can be beautiful.

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FAVOURITES FROM AROUND THE WEB:

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Better than yesterday

Wishing you a peaceful weekend!

About the time when we bought a house in a foreign country… Online

On Valentine’s Day, we purchased a house in New Zealand while still living in Canada. Two days before our 11th wedding anniversary, we moved into our new home.

After we had made a decision about the city in NZ in which to settle, having done some research to determine in which neighbourhood we want to live, we started browsing, on a daily basis, the local NZ real estate site. We had been researching for almost a year before spotting a house that felt perfect from the moment we first clicked on the listing. In fact, I had the same feeling 10 years prior about a charming house north-east of Toronto that quickly became our home and which we were preparing to list in preparation for our move. This particular house near Tauranga was in an ideal location for us, and only a short drive or a slightly longer walk to the beach. After a telephone call and Skype walk-through with the real-estate agent (the internet is a marvellous thing), we knew we had found our next home.

We sold our Toronto-area house on February 9th, and five days later, on a snowy Valentine’s evening, we took part in our first auction, our first real estate auction, and our first real estate auction to buy a house outside of a country where we had been living at the time. Have I mentioned that the internet can be wondrous? We were also grateful for the time difference that allowed us to take part in the auction at home, outside our regular office hours.

Prior to that experience, we were unfamiliar with real estate auctions, as well as other kiwi real estate jargon. Essentially, an auction is a clever tactic to generate a friendlier version of the bidding war and to get the seller the best value for the house. Mr. Wanderlust and I were on a long-distance call with the real estate agent, who sat in the auction room. At the same time, we watched the auction on a live website. Several other houses were sold first, each going within a matter of minutes. Houses? Hot cakes? Potato / potahto?

Our pulse quickened as we watched a now familiar photo of ‘our’ home appear on the screen. Two minutes later, we were the new owners of a house near Tauranga. We immediately phoned our parents. Repeating the phrase “We just bought a house in NZ” made the fact more palpable. My parents were incredulous.

“You bought a house, sight-unseen?”

“Not exactly,” I assured them. “We had a virtual walk-through via Skype.”

Later, when I showed them the photos, they fell almost as much in love with the house as we are. Perhaps it might be considered unusual to purchase property online, but we knew in our hearts that we had made the right decision.

Mr. Wanderlust, the Wanderlust Juniors, and I visited the house in person several days after we landed in NZ. We were pleased to find that we love our home even more after actually walking through it, finding it in excellent move-in condition. We looked forward to making it ours.

On mutual agreement with the vendors, we set our moving date to late July, and moved in two days before our 11th wedding anniversary. A house is a somewhat unconventional present, but we have always been pragmatic. We jokingly refer to it as the romantic gift to ourselves that keeps on giving. After spending three months in a sweet but very small beach house in which we sometimes – particularly on rainy days – felt all too clearly a shortage of personal space, we are enjoying every moment in our new nest.

A leap of faith feels right sometimes, particularly with a supportive partner.

In the next post, I will share with you several lessons that our family learned while living out of suitcases for three months in a small two-bedroom cottage.

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To the Hills – Part II, in which we meet an unlikely tour guide

The first time I visited Papamoa Hills, with the Wanderlust Juniors, we walked along the main track to the summit. A week later, when I returned to the hills with Mr. Wanderlust, we climbed over a fence, beckoned by an irresistible view, and chose to take the path less travelled. The choice was easy. We walked toward the sun and the dew-glistened grassy peaks that reminded us of a scene from The Hobbit. The main path provides a great cardio and lower body toning workout, but that’s not what we were after on this day. I have been working to move away from my old tendency to rush through life, to choose to work harder, to move faster, to get more done in a short amount of time. These days, I give myself permission to slow down and enjoy the journey. I’m tired of trying too hard to make something happen. I have been making conscious decisions to keep moving ahead with an attitude of ease and softness.

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These days, I also allow myself, from time to time, to be guided by someone — or something — else. I settle into the backseat and let someone else drive and navigate. Like Alice, I lean into the adventure and allow curiosity to write the story. We wandered along the grassy, gently sloping path, welcoming the warmth of the sun on an otherwise cool morning. As we rounded a corner, we found ourselves almost face-to-face with an unlikely tour guide: a brown cow. She stood still before us, her gaze wandering between us, the visitors, and her fellow grazers on the hillside, behind the low electric fence. Somehow, she had become separated from them.

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The cow sauntered before us and we followed at the same unhurried pace, not daring to attempt to pass behind her every time she slowed and then came to stand still. She positioned her body to block our path entirely, then reluctantly turned her head to glare at us, unimpressed. We had intruded upon her as she tried to make sense of her predicament and now waited for her to continue to move forth. We followed her lead, accompanied by the curious surveillance of the other cows whose breakfast we had interrupted. They ogled us while continuing to chew mouthfuls of grass, their scent transporting me to my childhood summers on the farm in Siberia where my mother grew up and where, much to my repugnance, my grandmother had once attempted to teach me to milk a cow.

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After a short meditative walk, our reluctant tour guide reached a fence and a locked gate, and without so much as a quick glance at us, stepped off the path with surprising grace, giving us passage over the fence, and proceeded with her own snacking on a particularly lush mound of long grass. We turned to thank our gentle guide for leading us along the path and saw that, although she remained separate from her herd, she resigned herself to this situation and continued to do what came to her with ease.

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We continued our journey, climbing over fences to sit on a bench overlooking peaceful farmlands, our new neighbourhood, and the vast ocean beyond. I twirled and danced, singing a few lines from The Sound of Music, much to the amusement of my husband, who was thankful for our solitude on that quiet hill. Then, we proceeded with our walk to the summit, relying on the maps upon which we stumbled along the way. As for our tour guide, I suspect she quietly awaited the return of the farmer at the end of the day, then gratefully followed his lead. How’s that for a lesson in acquiescence?

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If you were not able to join my live Facebook video earlier this week, you may watch it at your leisure. In it, I share with you my insights to help you reconnect to mindfulness and joy on a daily basis.


Interested in reading more? Here are a couple of posts from the archives:

A year ago on the blog: A story of commitment, dedication, and love

Two years ago on the blog, and something with which I continue to grapple today: A Story to Tell

To the Hills – Part I

On Tuesday, June 13th at 8 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time / Wednesday, June 14th at 12 p.m. NZ time, I will be LIVE on Facebook, talking about how we can practise mindfulness and rediscover joy every day. I look forward to chatting with you.


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The sun’s rays broke briefly through the low moody clouds as we sat on a bench that was missing its third plank. The Wanderlust Juniors ate mandarins and granola bars, then the eldest boy fine-tuned his binoculars, a family antique gifted to him by my dad, to better observe the sheep grazing on the hillside. The gloomy clouds reflected our thoughts and emotions, having said goodbye to Mr. Wanderlust the night before at the airport. On Day 1 of his week-long business trip, we felt his absence.

I gently encouraged the Wanderlust Juniors to continue walking up the track to the summit of Papamoa Hills. Reluctantly, they agreed to my idea with the promise that they would later relax at home with a movie. Given a choice, in a manner not at all resembling their usual enthusiasm for adventure outings, they would have spent that entire day indoors, coming up with ideas that would inevitably lead to some kind of trouble. In the interest of self-care, and in trying to keep a copacetic state in my household, I could not have agreed to such a proposition. We needed to leave our small beach bungalow, with its stuffy misplaced emotions. I needed to clear my head of concern about Mr. Wanderlust as I waited to learn of his safe arrival at his destination after a 16-hour flight. I also needed space to breathe after having stopped too many mischievous incidents within the first hour after the boys’ too-early rising. Shortly after 8 o’clock, having packed a small picnic and my camera, we took a short drive to the hills.

The crystal-clear air beckoned forth as we walked the inclining path. The low silver pillows of clouds hovered menacingly overhead, yet we solemnly continued our trek. One boy would stop after every few steps to play dreamily with stones that he picked up along the way, or to collect a couple of sticks. The other would race ahead, then halt and wait for us to catch up. It would be dishonest of me to say that I did not at times feel a pang of frustration at the snail’s pace of our walk. That feeling would arise every time I noticed that another person who had passed by us not long ago on the way up was already returning down the path toward us. I reminded myself to enjoy the flow, however slow it may feel at times, to stop when they stop, to move when they move, to forget my agenda and give up control. Besides, I shrugged, anything is better than trying to entertain two bored boys inside a small home. Before long, we had reached the summit but did not linger. The triumphant ascend reminded my two excitable boys of their adventurous enthusiasm and they raced each other along the winding track to the parking lot.

Later, at home, following a comforting Skype chat with Mr. Wanderlust, the atmosphere felt significantly lighter. The sky released its own heavy weight as the rain came after lunch, making our afternoon at home with a movie and banana-chocolate chip cake all the more cosy.

A week later, Mr. Wanderlust and I returned to the hills for a morning date. Come back on Friday to read part II of the story, in which I tell you of our outing with an unlikely tour guide.

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Thank you for sharing this blog with a friend.

Foreshadowing. Could a favourite children’s book have predicted the future?

Slinky Malinki was blacker than black

A stalking and lurking adventurous cat.

He had bright yellow eyes, a warbling wail

And a kink at the end of his very long tail.

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After Mr. Wanderlust and I started to announce that we were expecting our first baby, a couple of our friends very thoughtfully surprised us with three children’s books. One of those, Slinky Malinki by Lynley Dodd, would quickly become a favourite for the eldest Wanderlust Junior, later for the youngest, and also for us, the parents. We admired the quirky illustrations of adorable Slinky Malinki the cat, and the Wanderlust Juniors used to comment that he looked very much like our own late cat, Meeshu. It wasn’t long before our boys, learning to speak, started to complete the words at the end of each stanza. Without needing to try, we had memorized the funny rhyming story.

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Hello there, Slinky!

Shortly after arriving in NZ, we started to notice illustrations of a dog called Hairy Maclary in bookshops, the local library, and at the school, and we quickly deduced that the same illustrator also worked on Slinky Malinki. It turns out we were correct.

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I wasn’t able to capture Slinky lurking off to the right-hand side of the kerfuffle scene.

When we first visited the Tauranga waterfront playground, we delighted at a garden of sculptures of a group of dogs that chased a hissing, distressed cat up a pole. A second cat lurks nearby, obscured by a low wooden barrier just steps from the unsuspecting, distracted dogs. Yes, you would be correct to guess that the stalking and lurking kitty was our old friend Slinky. Our investigation concluded a minute later, after we read a nearby sign about Lynley Dodd, who is originally from Rotorua and is a resident of Tauranga. As has happened several times within the past seven weeks since our arrival in NZ, Mr. Wanderlust and I looked at each other with eyes wide in marvel, then laughed.

“The signs were there all along.”

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Leader of the pack and a new favourite literary character, Hairy Maclary
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Wonderful detail

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For over seven years, we read from a beloved book that, somehow, unbeknownst to us, would lead us to its place of origin in what has become our new home.

Do you believe in signs?

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Stalking and lurking, indeed.