Lists! Oh, Glorious Lists!

"So," I said to myself one day, "If you were to write a list of your favourite books... what would be on it?"
"Well," I replied, "I would first feel obliged to write two lists - one a list of my favourite authors, and the second a list of my favourite books."
"But why?" I questioned. "Surely the same authors and books would turn up on both lists?"
"Not necessarily," I replied. "Some authors I adore above all others for their great skills and strengths in certain areas; however, sometimes an author I do not very much appreciate writes a stunning and awesome book deserving a place on my Favourite Book List. You understand my problem."
"I do indeed," I replied. "However, I also know you quite well; you rejoice in making lists. Indeed, making lists is one of your favourite activites, along with alphabetizing your bookshelves and DVD collection."
"Ah! Alas! You have hit upon my darkest secret," I cried. "I am indeed just as you claim I am. The sight of a well-ordered list never fails to stir excitement in my soul; and my deepest pleasure is arranging a bookshelf to my satisfaction."
"'Tis true, you are a strange individual," I remarked.
"Hush!" I scolded. "I am making a list, and you are distracting me."


My Top Five All-Time Favourite Authors

1. J.R.R. Tolkien.
The reasons for this are, perhaps, obvious. Ah, Tolkien, Father of Fantasy, Creator of Hobbits, a traditionalist beacon of hope in the stormy seas of modernity -
Why are you being so ridiculously poetical? Hurry up and get to the point.
Shut up. I'm writing.
I'm just saying that perhaps you should try and explain your opinions with a little less digression - you do have a tendency to write far more than you have to -
I said shut UP.
Tolkien is famed for his incredibly detailed and and realistic world-building. As you read his works, his world of Middle-earth seems to spring to life out of the page - indeed, it is almost as though Middle-earth is a character in its own right. People are always astonished about how a fantasy world could seem so real. But what they don't realise is that Middle-earth is indeed real. Tolkien wrote The Silmarillion, the Hobbit, and the Lord of the Rings as a type of pre-history of the world. So when you read his joyous descriptions of Middle-earth, you are not gaining pleasure from some unknown alien fantasy world; you are being filled with love for the real world, our world, as it is, or, perhaps, as it should be. For Tolkien was writing at a time when cities were beginning to spread like an advancing army over the face of the world while cars and artificial stone became the foundations of our society -
No one is interested in your philosophical musings. Move on to the next author.
Fine.

2. Robin Hobb
Robin Hobb's greatest ability seems to be her understanding of human nature. Her characters are intricately detailed, their motivations believable and understandable, and none of them are perfect. Fitz, the main character of her Farseer and Tawny Man trilogies, is one of the most infuriatingly annoying characters in the series - yet, because you understand him, you can't help but love him.
However, sometimes the opposite is true. The Fool has to be one of my favourite characters in all of literature, despite knowing almost nothing about him. Who is he? What is his relationship with Fitz? What is his real name? Is he even a h-
Be silent! You are spoiling the plot.
Sorry.

3. Cecilia Dart-Thornton
Her plots and ideas may not be exactly original (all her books are based on Celtic and European folklore), but she certainly has a unique way of writing about them. Her descriptive powers are beyond anything I have ever come across - people often say Tolkien has a fantastic archaic style of writing, to which I say, Phaw! You have obviously never read CDT. To which they reply, What is CDT? And I explain, CDT are the initials of a female Australian Fantasy writer whose descriptive powers and vocabulary should be described as legendary -
Unnecessary tangent.
Fine, then you write this, if you think you could do better!
I didn't mean -
La la la la la la la la. I'm not listenning to you anymore and I'm not writing this list.
Stop being so pedantic.
Your face is pedantic. La la la la la la la laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar.
Alright then. I can do this.

4. Isaac Asimov
I find his ideas original and inspiring.

5. Vladimir Megre
His books have changed my life.
Wait, is that ALL you are going to say about him? You're not going to explain, for instance, just HOW he's changed my life? My goodness! You have no concept about how to instil interest in the reader!
At least I am sticking to the topic at hand.
Fine, I'll explain, and I'll do it in just one sentence. His books changed me from being Generic Fashion-Obsessed Female to Nature-Loving Wannabe-Self-Sustaining Gardener Living On One Hectare Of Land With Husband And Children Surrounded By Likeminded Families On Their Own One-Hectare Plots, Thereby Creating A Better And More Beautiful World, One Garden At A Time -
If you were writing this in Microsoft Word, there would be a little green line wobbling under that sentence.
That's because Word has even less of a concept of grammar than your average Twilight fanatic. Ha! Score!


My Top Five All-Time Favourite Books

1. The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien. Please see my detailed description above about Tolkien to understand why I love this book so much.
See? I can be succinct.
Well done.

2. Co-Creation by Vladimir Megre. In this arguably non-fiction book, the Siberian hermit Anastasia describes the concept of "Kin Domains" and the benefits these homes and gardens can bring to the people living in them. There is also a description of a flying, burping brontosaurus, and why such creatures are extinct. It turns out it's because no one could figure out why God should make a flying, burping brontosaurus in the first place, and so the poor creatures died of grief. I want a flying, burping brontosaurus. I would call it Deathbreath and it would fly around and fetch me strawberries.
You realise that the brontosaurus is not the most important thing about this book, don't you.
I do realise that, you idiot. Kin Domains are the most important things in the book. And, oh, look, what does it say in the first sentence of my description? "KIN DOMAINS."
Don't forget about the concept of "co-creation". It is the title of the book, after all.
Now look who's going on "unnecessary tangents".
I just think that if you intend to describe something, you ought to do it properly.
Oh, I'm not complaining. I'm just sniggering at your self-contradiction.
"Co-creation" is the philosophical concept of Man and God working together to create something that brings joy to everyone. (It's the catchphrase of the series: "Conjoint-creation and joy for all from its contemplation!" Apparently this is what God wants more than anything.) When someone designs a garden, they are essentially using nature - God's creations - as their artistic medium. So, in a way, Man, God, and Nature all come together to "co-create" a garden. It's a fantastic idea that has nothing whatsoever to do with shampoo. It's what made me want to take up landscape design. And, oh, by the way, do you know what these co-created gardens are called? KIN DOMAINS.

3. The Silmarillion by J.R.R. Tolkien. It's the prequel to The Lord of the Rings! It's long and difficult to read and I've read it nine times!
Stop bragging. No one is impressed.
O contrare. I am SO impressed with myself.
Well... I admit, it is a great achievement. Very few people manage to read it through even once.
I cannot say I understand why. There are some awesome stories in there. Like the Tale of Beren and Luthien. Imagine what that would be like in a movie.
Terrible.
Yes, most likely.

4. Life of Pi by Yann Martel. I LOVE IT. It's one of those books that really make you think and question everything, and I'm sure no two people come away from that book with the same interpretation. It's also hilariously funny.
It's an attempt to answer the question increasingly relevant in our society about which is better - science or God. The answer is God, obviously.
Yes, well, that's your interpretation. What about the "meercats"? That was obviously made up, making the science argument much more likely -
But bananas can float -
Oh please, he had a flipping tiger in his boat and he didn't get mauled to death! That does not happen in real life! He obviously made it up to comfort his traumatised soul! Just like people do when it comes to God and religion.
Yes, well, the tiger is much better than cannibalism. Therefore, God wins.
Yeah, you're probably right.
Moving on.

5. Beauty by Sherri S. Tepper. Eco-feminist sci-fi at its best. You never know what's going to happen, though obviously the antagonists are always male and the trees usually triumph.
At least she's not anti-God in this book.
Yes, that makes a nice change.


"My goodness. I've come to the end of my lists," I said. "I feel a strange pang of loss echoing in my empty heart. Do you think I should expand them to my 'Top Ten All-Time Favourites'?"
"No. You've already expanded the lists far longer than they needed to be," I replied.
"Pshaw! You are merely jealous of my brilliance and you seek to hinder me wherever possible!"
"I would never do such a thing," I said indignantly.
"Ha!" I cried. "Don't forget, I know you as well as you know me."
"Yes, this is true. And I know how irrational you can become."
"Your face is irrational," I grumbled.
"My point exactly."

Coopers Beach - Days 5 and 6

Day 5 - Sunday

I awoke on the final full day of camp feeling tired but still strangely happy. The leader's meeting that day consisted mainly of discussing the previous night's banquet, with my main complaint being that it should have gone on longer. People promised to improve it for next year, and I subsided, appeased.

It was the final chapel time that day, though because it was a Sunday and the chapel was in use by members of the Coopers Beach community we had to have it in the hall instead. It was my final dance session. I was sorry it was over, but I was cheered up by watching people "skateboard for Christ". This was just one of many awesome illustrations used by the preacher at this camp. I shall forever shed a tear for the ill-spent lives of Zack, Mack, Slack and Jack whenever I read the parable of the wheat seeds. And who can forget the stirring allegory about how humanity seeking God is like Australians trying to swim to New Zealand?

That morning all the older kids would be heading offsite to spend the night at some other, much more interesting location (boys and girls separately, for various, hum, health and safety reasons). But first we were to go collectively to a river with awesome cliffs and a waterfall.

We piled into the cars, and an hour later, due to an interesting case of bad organization, we finally set off to the waterfall.

It was a very beautiful place. Twenty-metre high cliffs soared over a deep waterhole, and some of the more adventuresome people ended up jumping in off the cliffs. Izak did not. Head Leader Peter did. As Izak said to him much later, "You had more balls than I did." To which Head Leader Peter replied, "I don't have three."

Those unwilling to risk life and limb to enter the pool had to scramble down steep, pale rocks that reflected the sunlight and burnt into your feet. It was a most uncomfortable journey. And then when you reached the bottom the riverbed was filled with sharp, angular rocks that made wading through the water difficult. Nevertheless, it was a beautiful spot, and I found myself an interesting little spot where I contemplated life and discovered a hitherto unknown (to me) species of freshwater snail. (Also known as Potamopyrgus antipodarum.)

Strange fact you may not know about me - I love being surrounded by the beauty of the natural world. Well, that's not the strange fact - I'm sure everyone knows that - but what you may not know is that being in nature also makes me incredibly angry. Because whenever I should go someplace that oozes natural beauty, inevitably I think, well, this certainly is very beautiful - by why the hell am I expected to travel vast distances to see it? Why do I wake up each morning to a view of artificial grey rock slathered across the ground? Why did previous generations seem to think that ugliness was tolerable and nature unimportant? Why could they not instead create a beautiful place for me to live in and that I could add beauty to in my turn? And then follows a feeling of intense anger and displacement which a psychologist would probably say was deeply rooted in my childhood but which makes me say, "GRRR!" So it was with a decidedly angst-ridden heart that we left the waterfall and travelled to what I consider to be one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen - a privately-owned beach known as Paradise Bay.

When I first saw this place I decided I wanted to write a story about it. (And I am. It's just taking awhile.) I find its beauty inspirational. So you might think that being here would cheer me up - but no. I was still in a really bad mood, no matter my attempts to claim otherwise.

"You look really sad," Junior Leader Sophie remarked as we lounged around the tent set up for our use.

"I am not sad," I replied with dignity and a freakishly optimistic smile. "I'm melancholic. It's a completely different thing."

The other girls, under the authority of Head Leader Sandi, we intending to take a walk along the beach to the rock pools down the far end of the beach. I'd been down that end of the beach the previous, and though I found it beautiful, I really needed some time to myself. So after the girls wandered off, I walked down to the water and spent a good half hour standing in the waves raving like a madwoman as my shorts grew steadily wetter.

I grew calmer. When everyone returned from their walk I was sufficiently sane to carry on an ordinary conversation during dinner, assemble driftwood into a bonfire, and drag our sleeping bags around it in preparation for sleeping under the stars.

I settled down near to Fellow Leaders Sara and Shannon and listenned with the all fascination of an explorer encountering a strange culture as they sang songs by people like Justine Baber and Tailor Swish. Or something. Feeling a need to express my own cultural identity, I recited Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll with my usual panache and, when the stars and full moon arose in all their glory, pulled out Izak's classic romantic joke.

"That's no moon," I said, in a dreamy voice with love filling my eyes.

"What is it?" they asked.

"It's a DEATH STAR!" I shrieked, all pretensions to romance abandoned.

"What?" asked Shannon, sounding slightly bewildered. Sara looked equally confused.

"Have - have you never seen Star Wars?" I asked in shock.

"Not in years," said Shannon, and "Nope," said Sara.

I clutched a hand to my chest. "This hurts me. This physically hurts me," I cried.

They looked at me incredulously, but mercifully were unable to comment further as Sandi started up the devotional time.

Mindful of my status of leader (though I had long since stopped feeling like a leader - it's one of the nice parts of going on the overnighter, it's like a holiday from responsibility) I contributed to the discussion of the Bible verse and made several deep insights which I have now forgotten. This was followed by the customary prayer to finish. I put my head down on my pillow as I listenned to Sandi pray and... I fell asleep.

An unspecified time later I awoke to someone shaking me.

"Whazzappening?" I muttered groggily. It was still dark, though the campfire had burned down almost to cinders.

"It's raining. We're heading up to the tent," someone said.

"Argh," was my eloquent response. I sat up unwillingly. I was surprisingly comfortable and warm lying in my sleeping bag on the lumpy sand. The shining stars had been clouded over with, well, clouds, and light rain was indeed beginning to fall.

There followed the interesting experience of walking barefoot through a cow paddock in the dark towards the tent. This was surpassed only by visiting the long-drop surrounded by pitch blackness and unusual scents.

It was an almost insane task trying to fit fifteen people into the tent. I felt obliged due to my status of Chief Female Leader to take the least desirable space by the entrance which was most susceptible to rain. I should add that there was no floor to the tent; I was sleeping directly on the ground, lying in who knew what. Still, I do not complain; my position came in handy when one of the girls began to snore loudly. I discovered that if I stuck my head outside of the tent the sound of the wind and waves sufficiently drowned out the snorer. Of course, this meant I would be getting horribly wet; yet, after much shifting and shuffling positions, I discovered this was infinitely more bearable.

Sleeping outside in the rain on cow-infested ground. Not something someone of my famed delicacy and sensibility would appreciate, you think? Not so.

I loved it. When I have my own home and garden I am going to sleep outisde. My house shall become a place merely to store my books and sleep in winter.

When I woke up the following morning there was what I hoped was dirt smeared across my face, I was thoroughly soaked, and I was happy. As we drove back to camp, I felt gratitute that I could experience such events.

We arrived back at camp. I won't bore you with the details of what we did next, but essentially it was a mad cleanup before all the parents arrived to pick up their ickle darlings from camp.

The kids left, seemingly forgetting half their luggage to judge by the amount of stuff in the lost property.

It is a source of pride and irritation to me that I am now Chief Female Kids' Leader as I had to go to the famed Leaders Meeting. Ostensibly supposed to run for a mere twenty minutes, the meeting easily stretches into the hour-and-a-half range. Last year it went for over two. This year, only a select few of the leaders were to go. I was supposed to represent the Female Kids' Leaders due to my overwhelming years of experience (five).

During the course of the meeting, someone brought up the idea of a quiz night for next year.

"Oooh!" I said excitedly, bouncing in my seat. I love quizzes. And I'd be able to partake in a non-physical activity.

"Zara's excited," said Head Leader Tony.

"She can organize it next year," said his (much more pragmatic) wife.

"Oh! Really? Yay!" I said.

"That's if she's coming next year," said Ancient Head Leader Dez.

"Of course I'm coming next year!"

"Well, you say that now," said Dez. "But I am old. I have seen much of life. You could be married and pregnant next year."

"Dez," I said, speaking over the strangled yelps of laughter that filled the room, "There's a good chance I won't be pregnant this time next year. Don't worry."
His earpiece must not have been working, for he did not appear to hear me.

The meeting ended (at last); and then, oh, then, the worst part of camp happened, the part I dread ever year: leaving.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I love everyone at this camp. They are my other extended family. Leaving is always sad because you know you won't see them for another year. Most years some of the Lincoln Roaders (Izak and I, mainly) hang around for an extra day with the others; but this year, for various reasons, we were heading down on schedule. I felt like crying. Seriously.

The drive home was fun. Head Leader Peter was feeling sleep deprived and had to stop every hour or so for caffeine breaks. George fell asleep with his head hanging forwards; a slow, steady stream of saliva poured from his mouth as he slept, and Izak and I amused ourselves for awhile getting as much of it as we could on camera. Elliot picked up a copy of the Auckland Property Press from a service station and we surveyed the houses and properties listed, spawning long conversations related to architecture and landscaping. I have decided to make Elliot become an architect. He has no choice in this. He WILL become an architect.

We hit traffic coming over the Brynderwyn hills and Peter and I had an argument about whether a certain tree outside our stationary window was a kauri or a rimu. Obviously, it was a kauri, and I said as much to Peter, who did not seem to think my qualification as a landscape designer was sufficient to comment on the species of a tree. Apparently a pastor knows more about these things.

Throughout the trip I also wrote a story and annoyed everyone by refusing to let them read it. For those who love me enough to read this blog, I shall say give this as an explanation: The previous night, during our prayer session (before I fell asleep) I was reminded of a dream I'd had the night before I came to camp. It was an awesome dream. But I'm not going to tell you what it was about - not until a certain event I have code-named "Secret Project Airport" has occured. Until then? HA! You are NEVER going to know. But I think I will mention it from time to time... merely to tease your mind.

At last we reached Auckland and... home. I threw my luggage into a disused corner of my room and joyfully rushed off to take a much-needed shower (I hadn't had one since the previous day!!!). As the hot water flowed over me, massaging away the ingrained dirt and sand from my scalp, I thought...

Boy, that was an awesome and action-packed camp. It's gonna make one long and interesting blog.