We never went on holidays as such when I was a child. Usually, if we went away, it was to see relatives. A firm favourite was an aunt who lived in Tauranga, a warm and sunny place with a huge curving white sand beach pounded with the waves of a deep blue pacific ocean. Summers there were spent at the beach, swimming in the ocean, body surfing on the waves. When the tide went out in the evening we'd dig in the sand for shellfish. Prodding around with our toes in the shallow water, trying to dig the shells out before a wave came in; or trying to hang on to our spot against the pull of the water. My aunt would pickle the pipis in big glass jars, and the drive home to Wellington would be spent with a jar between us, for snacks.

After we'd finished playing around in the pacific we'd head home, shaking sand off our feet and putting towels across the backseat of the car to sit on - the seats were vinyl and blisteringly hot at the end of the day. We'd stop and get chocolate dipped icecreams, then eat them parked by the river while the sun went down. My uncle would throw a stick in the water so that Penny, my aunt's dog, could go for a swim. She loved swimming more than anything, but the salt water was too hard on her.

Back home and my aunt and mother would serve up platefulls of delicious food, and we'd play card games. The only TV in the house was an ancient black and white, which we never really watched as it seemed rude since my aunt couldn't. She'd been blind since her late twenties. It just seemed normal to me. She would visit our school with her seeing eye dog - my favourite was Penny. And walk. We'd walk for miles everyday because she had to walk the dog, and also because she just loved walking. Penny always remembered a route even if she'd only been there once, years before.

Sometimes people didn't understand. The mall manager who tried to insist Penny be taken outside. Or the people that shouted at my aunt when they talked to her (strange, she was blind not deaf).

My aunt passed away last week. She was nearly 90, and she'd had a long and very eventful life. She left behind a daughter, grandchildren, great grandchildren, and more neices, nephews, great-nieces and great-nephews than I can count.

Or rather we weren't. Richard Dean Anderson went to a Stargate convention. It was a big one, in a fully filled stadium with spotlights and huge flashing electric signs. Hate to think what the ticket price was to cover all that. Thing is, the audience was all men. Or more accurately, mostly spotty looking young men/teenagers. Perhaps that's how it is in the Simpson-verse. For anyone who hasn't been to a Stargate con - the folks who go are mostly women, and mostly spot free, and only partly teenagers.

Here's a tenuous link to Stargate. When we were in Los Angeles I met an actress who is on a show called General Hospital, which is where Richard Dean Anderson got his first big breakthrough. I haven't the foggiest idea who she plays - we've only recently got ABC1 on digital in the UK and the show is on early to mid morning. I believe we're about two years behind. Thing was, during the whole conversation (which was about flights to Europe) I was fighting an almost overwhelming urge to announce that Richard Dean Anderson was on General Hospital. I'm sure she would have found that info right riveting.

Until I met this actress, I thought plastic surgery was always easy to spot. I had her pegged for around 32, although she could pass for 28. Was I close? Was I heck! She was 50. However, before folks go rushing for the knife, I have to say that I saw another example in LA that put me off plastic surgery forever. A woman sitting in front of us during the Universal Studios tour had so much done, she no longer looked human. It was like looking at a three dimensional cartoon. Drawn by an alien who'd had a human female described to him, but hadn't ever seen one.

It is now nearly 1am and baby G is finally sleeping. Right now he is next to me on the sofa. We arrived back in the UK on Tuesday. Since then two new teeth have come through, and right now it looks like there is a third. On top of jet lag. Poor baby!

One great thing about having flown back on a weekday was that I got to watch daytime TV. And what SG1 episode was Sky Two showing? Cold Lazarus. Finally, after all these years, I have managed to see it as it aired on TV. Up until now I've only had a VCD kindly donated to me by Feli. Somehow, and I don't know how, I've missed it every time it screened.

It is a superb episode, and it always gets right to me. It ends with me desperately wanting Jack and Sara to be together, to have more children. This time around was harder than any other time I've seen the episode. It was the first time I had seen it since Baby G was born. I cried my eyes out.

There is one thing that bugs me though. For convenience of the storyline they totally disregarded the characters of Sam and Daniel. Neither one of them would have gossiped about Jack. The conversation in which Daniel blithely told Sam all about Jack's tragic past and what happened to his marriage would really have gone like this:

Daniel: well Jack doesn't like to talk about his past until he has known someone for a long time.
Sam: fair enough. Want to come look at the crystals in the lab/
Daniel: Yup.

so instead I have to re-engineer the gate-verse - it must be that Daniel, although he barely knew sam at this stage, could already intrinsically sense how incredible a person she was, and how trustworthy, and also knew without having to be told that Jack would trust her implicitly anyway, without having to have known her for a really long time, and that Sam also felt the same way about Daniel and Jack. Whew. Lucky then that being SG1 you just know they do trust each other.

Our time in New Zealand was wonderful. It was great to catch up with my family. I didn't get to meet up with as many of my friends as I would have liked. However, I did get to meet the grandson of one of my oldest friends. We have known each other since we were six, and she is only a few weeks older than me. He is as bright as a button, and just too cute.

My folks no longer live in the home I grew up in, but they do live in the same suburb. Wainuiomata as a place to live has lots of positives, and plenty of negatives, but it has only one way in and one way out. The Hill Road - twisting, steep, with a fantastic view of Wellington across the harbour and right up the Hutt Valley. At night the lights of Wellington look like a delicate tiara, while the Hutt flows donwards in a V like one of those strings of diamond necklaces. The sheer monotony of always, always, always having to go the same route though, was depressing as a teenager and it still gets me down. Most people can't wait to leave, but many stay and even marry people from Wainui. It has a great community, and I know that is what keeps the folks there.

We spent the first week painting my folks place - dining room, kitchen, bathroom, hall. This was a bit of a surprise for me and my brother, also over from the UK, as we only found out the day before. But the other siblings (there are six of us) had decided that it would make a great birthday present for mum. And they were right, she loved it. Blimin hard work though, and I felt sorry for Mr G. Not quite the holiday he had in mind. We did have fun though.

Then mum got sick. Would she go to the doctors? Would she heck. What is it with that generation? If I had a big event coming up and was feeling a bit under the weather, I'd be straight down the doctors demanding everything to make sure I was on top form for the big day. Instead she put it off until the friday (the birthday lunch was on the Saturday) by which time she could barely talk, and had virtually no breath to even get out of bed. The doctor wanted to send her to hospital - it was a lung infections - but she refused. With the antibiotics and a good night's sleep she made it to the lunch, but spent most of the rest of the week in bed. She is back on form now. Being a heavy smoker for over 50 years doesn't help. On the day before we left, hubs and I had been for a walk down to the mall (you need to have been to the Wainuiomata mall to understand just how truly soul destroying that can be). When we got back dad happily announced that they'd just made lunch and did we want some? On the coffee table in the lounge sat lunch. Ice cream and packets of sweets. All perfectly normal for my folks.

Blogs are the author's personal space and represent solely the views of the author, and not necessary those of GateWorld.net and its owner. Entries are not edited or reviewed by GateWorld before publication.