My daughter lives in one of those named flats down in the student area of North Dunedin, but I was at a bit of a loss when it came to addressing a care package earlier this week. Was it “The Scumbucket” or just “Scumbucket”?
I never used to get care packages when I was a student, but my boyfriend did, and they were always amazing. His mum did all that stuff a proper mum does, like home baking. It was the first time I’d ever eaten that fabulous delicacy known as a tan square. She also had a signature fruit cake that I never tired of. Yummy.
My mum was too busy working long hours as a prison psychiatrist to do any of that stuff (although note, she did know how to knit and crochet, which is two more domestic skills than I have), but my dad used to draw little faces on the back of redirected envelopes that he forwarded on to me, as well as the odd $10 note. No Zoom, FaceTime, texts or even emails in those days. You could phone on a landline but that was expensive and a big deal.
Needless to say, the care package I sent my daughter was not full of home baking, but ordered from an online store. But it was appreciated nonetheless.