Speechless

I call in at College Ave on the way to the Elms. The timber reflects gold on the walls and the twists and turns in the grain of the wood are laid bare on the floor. Transforming concrete grey. The Morgan team have brought in weights, bricks and bits of concrete from the garden to flatten and secure boards. Carefully planned and executed, Ian knows his mahi to the millimetre. The tongue and groove joins snugly; our wait to dry the wood has been worth it. Incidental nor westers perfectly timed to warm and leech out moisture.

PPTA start time is early. We're poised to talk to and vote on papers. I prepare a short seconding speech for the Road to Sustainability paper...this is a formal document to make the union more environmentally accountable. In the event, procedures in Wellington are so precipitous I don't get the chance. It would have been the first time I've spoken on Exec. I'm frustrated and disappointed. Adele and Jacinta send a grumpy e-mail but the opportunity is lost. Meanwhile, I sit through lengthy speeches made by men on men's issues. I'm beginning to understand the resistance to the paper requesting that a men's group be constitutionally endorsed. A bit more listening and a lot less speaking, thanks. As it is, the morning drags on and on. I get restless. Another procedural thunderclap when our vote in the south is deemed not worth counting. This occasions howls of protest which they, in Wellington, can't hear. 

The meeting is agonising but finite. When it finishes I shovel food down then stop off at the house where progress is, at least, clearly visible. Half the wood in my room has gone and the hall is half laid. There's discussion on how and what but I can't stay to chat. I'm knackered and have got a six hour drive ahead. 

The hour and a half to Geraldine is a struggle. I know the dangers of driving tired. In 1991 I went to sleep in the Cromwell Gorge, 15 minutes from home. I woke up as I was about to head straight over with enough time to swing the wheel to the left. The car rolled sideways till it reached the old road. At the time the Clyde dam and power station was under construction and a new road above the estimated lake water line was in use. 

When the car came to rest on the old road I clambered out through the jagged edges of the wind screen, severing a tendon in my foot, and staggered over rocks back to the new road. I had a potentially fatal C2 fracture. I didn't know this and was in survival mode. What I did know was that if I stayed where I was no-one would have found me. In the middle of winter on a frosty night I would have got exposure and probably died. On the road I stopped a car which took me to Dunstan Hospital. Even in shock I knew I had more life to live.

So today I stop frequently. From Geraldine I'm more awake and time and distance blur with the passing  open tussock of the Mackenzie Basin. At the top of the Lindis Pass I have a heart attack when I stop the engine and there's a gurgling sound. I check the temperature gauge, normal range. I lift the hood, it smells normal. There's no cell phone coverage and almost no traffic. To my right I see and hear a drain...water rushing down hill. Phew. No incidents or accidents this trip.

It's nearly dark when I reach Clyde and I turn off to visit my mum, Tui, in the cemetary. It's five years today since she died. I talk to her about a few things that have been on my mind since then and let her know what an awesome mum she was.