|Can you spot the hexacone?|
There is a huge glut of cones in New Zealand - a fact that reflects both the Kiwi love of order and their need to defy it. After a couple of drinks, it seems, some anarchic switch flips inside some Kiwis - and cones need to be abused. I have explained where this obsession came from. I can't explain why it persists, but I find myself unable to pass by such tragic sights. Others hardly seem to notice. Oh, how I remember those simpler days.
|The abuse is discone-certing|
I wonder if I will get over this fixation - "I see dead cones" - when I get back to the states. I can't remember seeing a single cone before moving to New Zealand. Here it is as if I have the equivalent of night vision goggles: I can see the orange of cones from miles away. I am a cone empath, but hope that I can grow a thicker skin back home. I have too many cone pictures. I want to stop, I really do.
|A conetractor's garage?|
Only Cantabrians, it seems, know how to treat the cone with any kind of respect. Christchurch was the birthplace of the Christmas and Easter Cone decorations, as well as a phenomenon that had people all over the world placing flowers in traffic cones on the anniversary of the Feb. 22 earthquake. At the recent Ellerslie Flower Show in Hagley Park, these cones were front and center. Probably another reason I I love Christchurch so much. (Thanks for sending the photos, Claudia and Laura.)