Just Another Manic Monday

I race across town, stopping to empty the dehumidifier which, at 3/4 full, has more water than I expected but the air feels warmer. I open the doors to circulate air round the Tasmanian Blackwood and just make it for the start of Exec's Zoom call. The plenary sessions make final adjustments to papers and I put my video on mute. With a sixth sense I tune in consistently to voting calls and manage to organise house paper work while Exec discussions go on and on. The wind picks up and I wait restlessly for the meeting to close so I can get back and close the house up. The garden draws me in. It's a big, confusing task and today I focus on the south fence line. I want to grow a green screen to create a natural barrier between me and the difficult Seniors. To block the negative vibes. I find natives I plonked in the back garden to keep safey, a year ago. They're easy to replonk, I'm  not worried how they look, there's a fence line to fill up. Green leaves brighten the barren dirt, and promise privacy for the bathrooms and bedrooms. Growth to sufficiently screen these windows will take a time.  Greg collects the newly restored, wired outside lamps to fit glass. Help from mates, invaluable. Mid afternoon I go to the Elms, just down the road, to meet PPTA comrades. We're to have a separate South Island conference while the North Islanders have theirs at the Brentwood in Wellington. I duck in and out so I can get to Radcliffes, drop off boxes Jo has delivered, then come back for dinner at the Elms. It's been a long, busy day and I haven't stopped for lunch. I'm starving, and so tired. End of term, plus, plus, plus.

An Ill Wind

The wind gets up. I go to the airport and psych myself up. The nor wester is buffeting Christchurch but Wellington has a justly earned reputation for gales. And today it's all on. As we fly out the air dips and swirls around the jet, it's a small plane. On the approach to the capital it's so rough I clutch the seat in front and close my eyes. The man in the seat next to me talks about the "white-knuckle brigade." I'm hanging on for dear life and I really couldn't care less. I don't see how close we get to the ground but the pilot pulls up at the last minute. We're going back home. Behind the Covid mask I'm feeling ill. This is too much. I'm worried we may be stuck up here, flying around till we run out of fuel or crash land. But we make it back to the Koru Lounge and I make a beeline for a gin and tonic. Followed by a brand and dry. Settles my nerves but not my stomach. Jacinta and I decide we're not trying the next flight. Timing wise we would miss all the meetings today and there's only half a day tomorrow. We cancel our tickets and I sit with a glass of water and a coffee. After half an hour an Air NZ staff member comes over to tell me that I've stayed half an hour since I've cancelled my flight and I need to leave. I'm not impressed and tell him I've PTSD, which I have. He backs off but I'm pissed off. I tell him they shouldn't put peoples' lives in danger and leave. It's nicer in my garden anyway. I dig and calm myself. Grateful I'm not sitting listening to committee speak and staying in a hotel. Shelley and Dan, my neighbours across the road who moved into their rebuilt house just before Christmas last year, come over for a look. 

 

Freshly Cut Grass

It's an early bird. Mark and Robin toodle off early to beat the storm which is sitting above Antartica and below us, and is three times the size of Aotearoa. According to NIWA, the National Institute of Water and Atmospheric Research, there will be snow down south and high winds. This will be a weather bomb. I bike up the hill then disturb Sharyn's yoga when I pick up the lawn mower petrol can; Sharyn has kindly stored my garden stuff in her garage. It's sunny and warm so I open up the house and put my fingers in the dirt. The garden needs work and a little at a time will keep it under control. Doing errands on the way home, I bump into Morrin at Lighthouse. She's like whanau to me and to Finlay. Te Wai Pounamu, the South Island, or Greenstone Way, is small. My second mantra, never burn your bridges. Morrin and Ruth, my aunt, used to do radio broadcasts on books, and organise book events. I usually bump into her in those settings, today she's sorting lighting for a renovation. I've come in to see Finlay about swopping out the light strip above the kitchen bench. It won't fit, so it's two down lights in the bulkhead. 

Kahu is going to Auckland for a week with his dad and I get him to mow the lawn on the way to the airport. Or most of it. The stones hiding in the grass rule some patches out. I snap Kahu under the blossoms of his birth tree. The stones people brought on his name day, 2nd March 2003, sit round the trunk over the earth which shelters the roots. I dig a bit more once Kahu has gone. The garage, new home of the mower, smells of cut grass. Sweet. The first mow of the year and of the build. I share Chinese kai with Nicky and Kritara. Nicky's having a nightmare fitting the tongues into the grooves of her Australian Black Butt flooring. Ouch.

Another One Bites the Dust

Term 3 done and dusted. We're all celebrating this one. It's been a highly unusual marathon year but on we go. Here in New Zealand we have had one of the least disruptive schooling years of any western country. Something we probably take for granted. I've never worn a mask and few students do. Today the US hits the milestone of 200,000 dead. We're up to 1,830 cases with 25 deaths. Lucky, yes, good leadership, yes, team effort, yes.

I go to the chill out room and organise house stuff. I try to do work but am spectacularly unmotivated. It's too sunny and freedom is in the air. My Year 13's are celebrating retro dress up and in holiday mode. My only class for the day and they talk me into going outside. I try Rosanna's wobble blade, skateboard thing holding onto her and Charlotte. I don't need to break a wrist at this point. It's extravaganza week so lots of dress ups, singing from the staff balcony, bouncy castles, food and dancing. We're celebrating life. English department holds our traditional end of term drinks. These spark letting down of the hair, letting go, the odd binge, and loud laughter. I leave to meet 4sister Rob and Mark who have arrived for a South Island holiday. Inter island hols now a feature of Kiwi life. I show them round the build. Mark who is a plumber gives the thumbs up to Gary's work. Good to hear. Corinne delivers my phone and gets her first tour. End of term. We made it.

Floor Finishes

Another blazing nor west day. I open the back doors to let air circulate around the Tasmanian Blackwood. And empty the dehumidifier...very little overnight water. A good sign. I get through day, no blood on the carpet. John, the floor finisher, arrives with four finish options. No tongue twisters allowed. Because the samples of TB were so varied, he puts them on rimu planks. These are more uniform so it's easier the see the difference in colour tones. We chat through the options. The oil brings a rich warmth to the wood. My preference is an English product called Fiddo. John likes a chat. I'm trying to get to a PPTA womench's chatter platter across town but I need to establish a relationship here. It's easier co-ordinating the job when you understand the tradie and they're relaxed with you. There's an extra cost here I hadn't factored in, for filling which John says is uncommon in Europe but expected here, for a more even look. Another overrun. I get to St Thomas's just in time for the wind up. And a glass of wine. One more session with Kahu, more stress because he's not finished the first draft for his two writing pieces. At least he is consistent but this brinkmanship drives me crazy.

Too Hot To Argue

I'm overheated by lunch time. Jo arrives in the school car park for a reverse drop off. She and Laurie have generously stored my stuff all this time in their garage up the coast. Jo prompted me to take it out in stages, now she's bringing it back. Amazing support; it's so much easier doing it this way. I'm surprised at the stuff I haven't seen for ages. Detached from it so getting rid of more should be easy. The skateboard I bought Kahu when he was five arrives in this lot. He never used it and he's got two others  now. I'm sure I can find a school kid who'll take it. Lance arrives to tidy up the paint above the tiles in the bathroom. Likes the tiles and the tiling job. Means it's been done properly cos he's fussy. 

Shutting up I have an argument with Kahu when I ask him to shut a door. The heat doesn't help and I refuse to take him home and tell him to cook his own dinner. Life has been too stressful to argue to get help. I need a break and head to the boys' premier football final. They're playing Cashmere HS and there's huge community support for PHS: parents, students past and present, teachers. I haven't been to  live football in ages and am in awe at the boys' speed and skill. They go down 2-1 but it's a fight to the end. The entrance to the stadium is road coned so I leave early to avoid getting stuck. Time to sort the laundry sink once and for all and I call in on Nicky. We get kitchen handles and knobs done as well. When I get home Kahu apologises.

Another Nor Wester

Pete told me, the best time to lay the timber floor is during a raging nor wester. This week there's one nor wester after another appearing over the Alps. A collective puff of wind storms. At my end, I'm conducting a dehumidifying purge to dry out the house. The machine goes all night and when I get there in the morning it's nearly full. Water from the plaster, water from the paint, and water from the concrete. Ian puts a second coat of water sealer on the concrete. It's grey and sticky but not as smelly as the enamel Lance has been slapping on the architraves. Rene arrives but Ian won't let him on the floor. I'm busy at work. No paint here, just talking, marking and arguing. And I get paid for it. 

When I arrive at Ambrose Heal after school, Pete's hard at work applying smelly oil to his newest creation. Frank Lloyd Wright horizontals on a grand scale. I talk door handles from the safety of the door. I've still got to sort the freakin' kitchen handles and knobs. House building... as one door closes, another opens. When I pull up at the house I see white dashes on the pavement. My driveway, ka rawe! Life is moving on. Last errand, check in at the GBC, Granite Benchtop Company. They are sure which stone I've chosen but Murray Hewitt are not. No surprise. I changed part way through. They're not mind readers.