Peachy Compliments

Near my home there is a road called Peachgrove avenue. Driving along it I was sad to notice the lack of peach trees. There are lots of introduced trees lining the road and they are very pretty, but nary a peach is in sight. And then I heard about a lone surviving peach tree in a garden on Bains or Te Aroha roads. Do I really want to go door knocking and asking "Do you have an ancient peach tree? And can I steal one to propagate?" Nope, maybe not. My search sent me to a plain brass plaque that says "Near here was the site of the peach grove planted by the Maori". More and more curious, I dug a little bit more. The story goes that an escaped prisoner was taken in by Maori in the 1830's and he had on him peaches which he had filched. Those pips were planted and flourished. The convict was named Korehako by the Tainui tribe and spent his life alongside them in the peachgroves he had instigated. By the 1850's the Tainui had barges travelling down the Waikato river delivering produce to the harbour. 39 Schooners plied the route and the tribe got richer by the bushel. Peachgrove road was originally a Maori walking track called Te Ara Rewarewa. And then the British government decided to appropriate this little gem of industry and in 1879 it became a Crown Grant. Mmm. A European policeman, Sergeant Crosby, became famous for backing his horse and cart under a peach tree and shaking the fruit so that it fell into the cart without him having to pick it. I do hope he paid for his treat. Or was it allowed because he was a servant of the crown? But the most delicious fruit was from the old Maori settlement of Mangawara. I might have to take a trip and see if those trees are still producing because my mouth is watering for a delicious golden peach. I am not so keen on the watery white ones, I want a dense golden one, sliced thinly and ready to eat. I am a fruitaholic, but sadly I am unable to indulge. I should really attend FA (Fruitaholics anonymous) but there are no chapters in this city where I live, or really in any city. I have a tin of guavas in my cupboard that I sometimes take out and hold for a moment, just to calm my addiction cravings. I have hidden the can opener so that I will not be tempted beyond reason. No, I am just kidding. But yes, fruit is a real love of mine. Except watermelon of course, to which I am allergic or sensitive or whatever. And I indulge quite a bit in Cherry season. Yummy.

On my wander through the bronze plaques of New Zealand I found a few odds and ends that peaked my interest. Mainly around Wellington/Victoria university. One says "In Memorial. This plaque commemorates an Oak tree that graced this site for 40 years. It was felled by the Bureaucracy in December 1990 to make space for one more car." Another supposedly placed there in the 1960's or 1970's says "This university sucks." Well, I suppose to that particular student it did. Was he being forced to study as part of his filial duty? Was he a hippy that disliked conformity? Maybe. My father loved the idea of putting a funny sign on our home. Something along the lines of "Never Inn" or "Seldom Inn" What would my sign be? As a young woman I would look at my siblings and say things like "Jane has the brains, I have the babies (I had 5), Dennis has the brawn and Jill has the beauty." Nowadays I prefer that I be known as 'Mother of brainy kids" or "Fit, fat and full of aches and pains". But last night a friend said that I should be known as a creative being. That sort of shocked me a little. Well, I did create my children and I do make all sorts of odds and ends. But it's interesting to think that others see me in that light. Leonardo Da Vinci, no, I am not saying I am in the same league as him, but anyway.... Leonardo was allowed to become an artist because he was illegitimate and therefore did not have to live up to any specific expectations. His father was a notary, yes, someone who was literate and worked with documents. He was not expected to follow in his father's footsteps and thank goodness for that. He was known to jump from one project to another without finishing the first one. Would that make him ADHD? But I am so grateful that he did just that. His work is amazing and if I am a fraction as creative as him, then I will happily put a plaque on my gatepost saying "Here lives a creative lady who flits from project to project." My sister once told me that as the oldest, she was expected to conform and be sensible and that I could choose what path I wanted to follow. I didn't agree of course. There is always a sense of trying to please your parents in any child. After all, I worked in a bank for a few years, which was soul destroying and mind numbingly horrible, just because my parents suggested it was what I should do. I am grateful for one thing I learned at the bank, I can now read awful handwriting with ease and transcribe ancient text into legible English with barely a grimace or a frown. A great hobby of mine. You see, I do flit from thing to thing, and love it.

Talking of old friends who tell you things about yourself, I remember a boy at school giving a compliment to a particularly pretty girl. He said something along the lines of "You look very lovely today." and she said "No, I'm not, look I have a zit right there on my chin." He turned around and asked me why girls did that. Turn a compliment into something worthless? He wanted to know why us females didn't just say "Thank you, you made my day." and leave it at that. I don't know. But a young lady said to me the other day, "You are beautiful". I could have replied that she really needed to wear glasses because then she could see all my flaws. But I didn't. I said "Thank you, that's very nice to hear." And her face lit up. She stood a little bit taller and turned with confidence to the person next to me to greet them. My husband was a firm believer in not giving compliments. He said "If the person feels beautiful within themselves, then by giving them a compliment, you don't add to them at all. And if they feel ugly, they won't believe you anyway." Nope, nah, never. I reckon he was suffering from PTCD or Post Traumatic Compliment Disorder. Perhaps in some childhood moment he had given a sincere compliment and been so traumatised that he never wanted to go down that track again. It's not always about looks. What about saying "I admire your commitment to your passions." or "I love how you reassure me when things go wrong." or "I learn how to treat others by how you treat me with kindness." So, with Valentine's day in the offing, give a compliment or two. "Your laugh and sense of humour always make my day." "You have great taste in friends, after all you chose me to be one of them." Obviously I have no romantic person to offer kind words to, and the most romantic thing my husband ever did for me was to bring me a fresh strawberry on a tray for my birthday breakfast in bed. Those cheesy red hearts full of chocolates or bunches of roses, fade with time, but generous words last for a lifetime. For every negative word we hear about ourselves, we need 20 nice ones to boost us up. Be part of that equation. Be the 21st or the 101st. Just imagine how much we could change the world with compliments? If you are suffering from PTCD, and someone belittles your compliment, tell them how that makes you feel. Tell them by turning your words into nothing you are making them feel like your opinions do not matter. And they do.

Happy Valentine's day folks. Eat a peach or a strawberry, smile, laugh and be joyful.