Memorial to a Friend

I go for an early bike ride then get into the garden. Winter is nearly over and I need to move trees while the earth is cold. And before they flower. There's blossom all over Christchurch, the Garden City, now. In my garden the Daphne is perfuming the rubbish pile and daffodils are spreading egg yolk rays of sunshine. I've lost touch with the favourite part of my home. Now I have to roll my sleeves up and get digging. I open the windows and doors to release the paint smell and put saucers of coffee down. My friend, Alan, has told me this works. After the EQC fix, I put out vanilla essence. Someone else has suggested onion. I'll try them all. I listen to Kim Hill on RNZ. She interviews Greg Newbold, retiring  professor of criminology. I went on one date with him. Interesting character. So down to earth and said prison was one of the best things that ever happened to him. It stopped from developing a serious smack habit and allowed him to complete an MA on the social organisation of maximum-security prisons. It's always good to listen to stories while digging in the earth.

Back home I make sure Kahu has enough jobs to keep him busy till he goes out then dress for my mate, Mark's, memorial service. Long story but he died in Vietnam when a gas cylinder exploded in his apartment. I see old friends who've moved on from Papanui, but the connection is strong. Working there is like belonging to a family. I also see one of my ex-boyfriend's best mates after 25 years. Feels like time has stood still. Longevity is the key part of friendship. The longer you've known someone, the stronger the connection. Even if a generation has speed by. The blink of an eye. And so many personal dramas. 

The memorial is a fitting tribute to Mark Jenkins. A gentle soul who battled depression and was ill-fated to boot. He had a good sense of humour and ironic sense of self. Forgiving and generous, flawed and human. Any one of us. And loved to bake cakes for the fringe kids he taught. In and out of hospital and on and off medication, he stayed with me after he left hospital once. Did some gardening. He'd come home from Vietnam to get treatment and missed the garden he used to have at Lyttleton. He told me he'd tried to commit suicide recently but it hadn't worked. Crazy that his life ended so suddenly and randomly. Friends and family, we chat and reminisce then go our separate ways. 

                                                                      Thanks, Alan

                                                                      Mark's memorial

                                                  View from the Top Club, Lyttleton

                                                                    My mate, Sharyn

Light At the End of the Tunnel

 It's Friday. As I get up hellishly early for the fifth morning in a row, I know that tomorrow I can go at my own pace. We have a Zoom staff briefing, a somewhat jovial, casual affair as the English department congregates in a classroom and makes casual remarks amongst ourselves which no-one but us can hear. I suppose that happens in the staff room too. I only have two classes on a Friday and they are my seniors. It's a relaxing end to the week and gives me a chance to catch up on odd jobs, this year it's house jobs. 

At lunchtime Jo drops off some boxes. Back at the house the bathroom floors are tiled and Ian has left the underfloor heating on to speed up the drying. The dehumidifier has half filled with water- less than I was anticipating and shows the house is reasonably dry for all the plaster and paint and concrete. Lance is organising his last few jobs and happy because he's winning. The interior is looking smooth, neat and bright. I can't thank him enough. He's got on with the job, no fuss, and lets me know what I need to organise. I'd be confused without him. He's become my project manager. He hands Kahu a cloth soaked with meths to wipe the Pump House specsoff the front door: 1620 x 2180, $850. It's time- the door is red and ready to go. Just waiting on the handle. We stop in at Lighthouse to look at outdoor lights. Nothing takes my fancy- I'm looking for small and authentic. Those on offer are kitch, modern replicas. Another week gone and closer to home.

The Bromance

I'm free period 2 so drive to see Pete, with a fruit cake. His mate, Murray, who makes Pete's drawers, is there. It's obvious the two are great mates. There's a camaraderie born of years doing joinery together. They're peas in a pod. Pete calls Murray a stubborn old p....A healthy irreverence for the PC world which is day to day life for most of us. Outside Ambrose Heal the streets are still being dug up, filled in and, although there are fewer road cones, there are barriers and signs directing traffic round the holes and clear of road workers. God only knows what the end goal is. And how much longer it's going to take. 

I call in on Lance who has decided to slap another coat of paint on the hallway to get it perfect. I make through a Year 10 double in the afternoon then check out the house. Ian and Rose are flat out tiling the floor. I drive to Designstyle to sort out the mystery of how to match different shades of white. Ian's maintains it's not possible. I'm beginning to agree. Frankie and Rochelle exchange glances when I put the two tiles together. They should have given me better advice. I'm not blaming anyone and luckily I remember a green capping tile. Perfect and green will work for the bath. From this perspective, it feels easy. I wish I could have gone straight here.  But, what wonders of problem solving I would have missed out on. I talk to Frankie about colours for the encaustics which still need to be solved. This is going to take time.

Pierre in the back calls me by name, I've had a few chats with him now. He loads the laundry floor tiles into the Suzuki. And I put them safely in the garage. Job done. Lance is priming skirting boards in the living room but stops to help me place handles on the laundry doors. Another job ticked off. All in all, it's been a big week.

Snow On The Alps

Fresh morning air: the Alps have an overnight dusting of snow. I get through morning classes and with a free afternoon, leave behind the numberless trivial jobs for freedom in the great outdoors. My mission is to get a second dehumidifier. I'm trying to dry out the house before I bring the flooring wood in. Tracey, a former English department mate, has volunteered one so I drop by to have a cuppa and see her newish baby. He's suspicious but warms up after giving me the once over. En route to College Ave I pick up boxes from Jo, slow and steady back from Leithfield. My afternoon highlight is the dentist. I had all my amalgam fillings taken out 18 months ago as my mouth, gums and tongue were tingling in a not good way. It took two one and a half hour sessions, and a concerted effort by Susan, the dentist, to replace them with composite. The difference...silver, tin, copper and mercury.... switched to plastic and ceramic. My mouth settled down and the old dark gaps whitened so when I opened my mouth my teeth looked like teeth. A win win till one cracked. Susan fixes it, X-rays and cleans and I'm feeling great till I pay. $500. No wonder people avoid dental visits.

The tilers, Ian and one of his daughters, are on site. We find the bathroom tiles and lay them out. Another whoops as the white of the wall tile is noticeably duller than the shiny white of the capping tile I've splashed out for. Omg. I'm going to have to change one or the other. Ian suggests Mitre 10 which has a range of capping tiles. I find a very helpful young guy and we go through all the options. We even take one outside to look at in natural light. Not bevelled, but the white is a shade closer. At home we take another look. I'm not convinced. I talk it through with Nicky. Best option: ditch white.