On turning sixty years...

In some ways it is familiar. Today is little different from yesterday. The memory of a year back has dimmed a little but regular visitors will know that there is a far greater glow to today than then. The memory of twenty years back is focussed on great events, the milestones and achievements of a close and loving family. Even more so are the memories of fifty years ago those that had the greatest impacts.

I can recall -

At the age of eight being ticked off for hitting a tennis ball - quite accurately too - with both hands on the racquet, and for playing what was effectively forehand on both sides. I would never become a keen tennis player, but not for that reason.

At the age of four, standing with my brother and the old man, peering into the cold and damp of an Auckland fog searching for Rangitoto light. Then we went downstairs for breakfast. We were on the Tofua, on one of her first voyages coming back from Tonga.

and so it goes on...

Trying to play tennis at the age of 35, and getting extremely upset at my inability to hit the ball before it went past me rather than after...

Going down to the wharves in Auckland on my own, to see Tofua leave for the last time bound sadly for the scrap yards...

We celebrated this non-earth-shattering event on Saturday evening. We had friends, rellies; from ancient cousins to five month old granddaughter; from Whangamata to next door they came.

That, more than anything else, was the most enjoyable part. The people with whom I was able to share this little commemoration.