My two weeks in New Zealand - by H.E.A.F

My two weeks in New Zealand

                                                                                by H.E.A.F

It has been two weeks now since I arrived in New Zealand. And it was a wonderful experience. I remember first setting out to the airport and then here I was, standing on the New Zealand floor.

It is different where I come from: the weather, the people, the food. Everything about New Zealand is brand new.

I really like it here. The people are all very nice and it’s like everyone is your friend. Whenever I meet someone at the street I greet them and they smile back and greet me as well. This place is almost as close to heaven. I don’t know if heaven really exists but I know that in New Zealand I am very close to it.

It’s still a short time for me to know a lot about New Zealand but I am very impressed with everything it can offer. I’m open to new experiences and I’m looking forward to more.

There are still some places here that I want to visit, food that I want to eat and people whom I’m about to meet.

Little by little as days go by I can experience it all.

I just wish my family from the Philippines can see what I am seeing now. I love this country but still my home is where my family is.

Although I’m a bit sad I know that I’m in the best place to be.

True or false? - by A.

True or false?

                               by A.

This statement is incorrect!

True or false?

It is neither, though it can be either - or maybe the other way round is the position to take if it’s not already.

Though I say I am close I am as far away as it is possible to be.

We say we live by truth (or at least, we aspire to) – but what is truth? An ideal? Something lacking falsehood or deception, perhaps?

Exercises in logic show that truth for all its depth is shallow and behind the concepts of truth and lies, lies a yet truer world of what someone has termed ‘paralogic’: a place where things of apparent contradiction not only co-exist but co-habit in a more than civil union.

Opposites attract in so many ways and are in fact reliant on each other in order to make an appearance.

Can evil exist without good, or lies without truth, or love  . . .

But wait a minute, in a limbo that cannot exist without substance, love just might be an exception. It has no opposite. It doesn’t feel right to give it one.

The truth of the words ‘this statement is incorrect’ is not superficial – no court room could ask you to swear in a Bible as to its veracity.

If one statement can do so much, what IS truth?

'Toastmasters' & 'No chemistry there' - by P.S.

Toastmasters

                           by P.S.

One of the most rewarding clubs I have joined has been Toastmasters International.

When I was in my fifties I enrolled as an extra-mural student through Massey University.

I enjoyed the units for English Literature but when I reached Level 3 I realised I would have to deliver my paper to the class. How I hated standing up in front of a group. I always dodged being a president of any club – secretary, yes; treasurer, yes; but definitely not president. My knees would wobble, my palms sweat and words disappeared.

Larcina, my friend, was president of a local Toastmasters Club and, knowing my terror of public speaking, persuaded me to join her club.

The one-minute impromptu speech known as Table Topics was a baptism by fire. I held the floor for the whole 60 seconds! What a triumph!

Since then I have stepped up as president of another Toastmasters Club.

One of my greatest pleasures and rewards has been to watch other people overcome their fear of public speaking, move forward in their careers and make new friends.

No chemistry there

                                        by P. S.

Sarah moved on to the next chair. Mmm . . . not her type but she animated and fluttered for the required time.

“Move on!”

Ah: he looks promising: number 3 haircut, clean-cut features and a well-pumped body.

“Do yous like league?”

No chemistry there.

She saw Cheryl across the table. Their locked eyes and shook their heads.

After the time was up they had a drink at the pub.

“I think I’ll stick with my horse.”

“Yes,” replied Cheryl. “I’ll stay with my moggie.”

What do you bet, though, that they’ll go back next week?

There to enjoy - by W.K

There to enjoy

                              by W.K.

Nobody knew where they came from. They just appeared there one day, sitting innocently, staring back at you, willing you to come closer, closer . . . just a little closer. That’s it.

But it felt like someone was watching, judging those that came close – and so, contact was never made.

They continued to sit there, staring; just wanting to be chosen. But no one would go so far, because no one knew where they had come from.

So they started gathering dust, just sitting there. And the cleaners who came in at night had to put it in their rotation to dust them off once a week, lest it looked like they were neglecting the duties they were hired for.

And the cleaners looked on with pity. What a shame that they just sat there, collecting dust. Why should it matter where they came from? Why should it matter who brought them and left them there?

But the cleaners had another three buildings to clean so they too left. And the dusted things sat, staring. What more could they do?

Maybe their makers hadn’t dressed them up fine enough. Were they not enticing enough for this crowd?

Then, after a month of this, they were joined by others of exact same look and make and they could have been twins, save for the bit of dust on the first group.

And then the light went on.

“Has no one touched these?” said a voice, deep and booming, but amused.

“We didn’t know where they came from. Nobody did,” responded a thin tinny and frail voice.

“I put them there. For everyone,” the deep voice said, “to enjoy.”

The dusty ones were scooped up in a hand and placed in a dark comforting and warm place. The new ones sat. The tinny voice picked one up. She knew where they came from now.

Stinky - by S.T.

Stinky

                by S.T.

Stinky stretched out along the floor and yawned for all he was worth. He leapt to his left then to his right, scratching with crazy abandon, like a madman possessed, his little feet thumping the ground like a rotor blade as it hits its mark.

Diving for the corner of the room he backed up on the newspaper to complete his early morning business. Another stretch, then, dragging his rear across the floor, he headed for the kitchen and breakfast.

Just as he reached for the ice water bowl - *Bamm*! He was ambushed from the side.

Skinket leaped on him; knocking him down and over. Diving around in a wild weasel war dance he attacked back in a frenzied movement of pouncing and biting. Retreating from his power, Stinket returned to the bowl and they drank together.