I'm now in my 22nd year of practicing Family Medicine, and feeling its time for a change. So I'm taking my family (wife, youngest daughter) with me to New Zealand for 6 months, where I will be working in a small town medical clinic in the South of South Island.

Sunday, February 29, 2004

It was a very clear night, for once, earlier this week. Lately the unseasonable weather has kept the sky overcast, and its been cool and rainy. Monday it was downright cold, with a noon high in Winton of 3 degrees C. on the clock downtown. But we had at least one "fine" day on Wednesday, and that night I went out to the shed for wood about 11 oclock. The Milky Way was brilliant across the sky, with the Southern Cross and the other constellations I don't know visible. This was the best night for viewing I have seen since we've arrived, and I took a few minutes to look up. The Greater and Lesser Magellanic clouds, satellite galaxies of our own great whirlpool were easilty visible, shining in the South. And this got me thinking about humility. This experience has reminded me daily of my "place in the universe", as Vicki calls it. In the clinic, I'm daily talking with 80 and 90 year old patients. They have been reflecting back on their lives, what it has meant, and sharing how they deal with the surprise of waking up each morning at their advanced ages. And then there is the immensity of this New Zealand landscape: the power and size of the ocean, the force of the winds, the towering hills and mountains, combined with the age and luminosity of the starry dome above to put me in my place. It is hard to express these feelings without seeming trite: "we are only very small, and only here for a short time", etc. But I admit I was thinking (smugly) about how this was good for me, how it was helping me to reduce stress by putting things into perspective, how great this was to be here and know my place in the universe.

Which is why my hard drive crashed the next day. Not the hard drive on my older back-up laptop that I brought. No, the hard drive on my new, 9 months old Dell Latititude. The one with about 300 pictures on it, taken since we arrived in Winton, that WERE NOT BACKED UP YET. The one with all my work and passwords and notes on it. Just dead. The machine wouldn't boot and the drive just clicked and clacked. 3 hours work downloading the Dell diagnostics disk on the other machine and testing the machine confirmed the problem. Dead drive, no way to resurrect it. I even tried freezing the hard disk for awhile. No joy.

This is one of those times when you just have a sick feeling in the pit of the stomach for a day or so. Never being good at facing reality, I have looked at costs of data retreival services. Yes, they do work. They got back 100% of the Columbia's hard drive. But the cost would be about $1000 any way you look at it. So time for some hard facts. The pictures are gone. Thank goodness I have posted a bunch to this site. I've asked people at home to back the site up so I don't lose those too. And I did back up my laptop (5 GB of data) at home before I left, so I haven't lost all my teaching files. But I am going to have to let the pictures go.

And again learn that important life lesson. You can't hold on to anything. The Buddist lesson: everything changes, all is impermanent. So to get attached to things or ideas; like "the idea that I was going to have 1000 great pictures of this trip to cherish forever and ever", is to just invite pain.

So yesterday we drove up to Wanaka, and then up the Matukituki river valley to Raspberry Flats (love that name). This was a great drive, in the rain, through a huge, glacial valley. There were waterfalls pouring down from the heights everywhere, "9 cattleguards in the next 20 km" as the sign told us, and 5 streams to ford with the car. At the carpark, we put on our raingear and set off to visit the Rob Roy Glaciers. This was described as a "gentle tramp". Which means, I gather, that you don't have to use your hands all the time to go up, as in a "steep tramp". It was 4 hours and 7 miles round trip. But definately a walk through the Misty Mountains of Middle Earth: huge tree roots, a roaring stream, and at the top the bright blue hanging glaciers above the cirque. I had hoped to see Keas on the tramp, but they were too smart to come out in the rain. But I enjoyed the walk, and tried hard to stay in the moment. Because the moment is all we ever have.

Now excuse me please, while I log off and call Dell, to send me a new hard drive. It may be awhile before there are any more pictures on this blog.

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