It's cold and rainy when I go to the airport and so windy in Queenstown the plane turns back to Christchurch. I drive to the beach and swim in the rain. It's good to have more time and I eventually land in Central at 8:30. It's been a busy term and I'm knackered. I spend the day blobbing round Clyde with a trip to Maxine's shop and her walnut tree to pick some of the thousand of nuts that have dropped. Sunday starts with garage sale number 2. We don't get rid of a lot, but it doesn't matter. Stuff is gradually disappearing. The annual food and wine festival is set in a raging nor wester- I'm covered in dust when I return from my daily ride to the airport. Nic and I down some vinos but don't see any locals. They're staying out of the wind. Nic drives me to the lake and I go for a swim. The water is fresh but oh so nice to cool off from the fohn wind. Back at the fest, I come across oil paintings of Fiordland in my price range- alcohol has loosened my purse strings and I choose one which looks like Lake Manapouri. At Max's shop another artist, Denis Kent, is recuperating from the crowds and the wind. I carry a painting to the car, he's in his 80's and his painting is a wind sail. He'd get carried into the ether with it. We chat and he tells me how lonely he is. Age is isolating and I'm thinking of Lionel and Tui. We connect.
My visit continues at a slow pace. I get some of the endless small house moving jobs done but get side tracked by old photos. Tui and Lionel loved taking them and have a huge collection each. I'll be the family keeper of the archives. I'm the one who cares the most. While in Max's shop I bump into an old SGHS teacher, Barbara Clark. We reminisce and have a great laugh about Dorothy Grantham, a prim and proper deputy head mistress who kept her wild side tucked away. Barbara spills the beans.
All too soon, I'm back in the airport and facing tomorrow at school. There's a morning visit from Jamie and Josh to sort out door handles and I get them to mount the shelf brackets. I've been putting off the spacing of them but need the storage. I laugh at a card I get from a boy I taught in Year 10 who is two years down the track. He did as little as he could in my class...his message is in recognition of my work ethic. And there's a parent teacher evening. Lucky the chilling effect of a beach swim calms my nerves. And all goes well.
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