The first is true, the second isn't. I've got a lot to finish off and stuff I own is persistently returning. Plus Tui and Lionel's possessions I know I'll be glad I saved. We may not value them so highly, nor our kids, but the generation after will appreciate them. Some things take time.
I had imagined that unpacking would be the easy part. It's not. I need the walk in wardrobe before I can organise my things. I've put hang ups in the spare wardrobe but I'm still dressing out of boxes for everything else. And I can never find what I need. Pete comes round on Monday, Waitangi Day, and we transport the drawers into the space. Pete tells me where they must go but it doesn't look right so when he leaves, with Fiona's help, I move them round. When I ring Pete he's on the golf course and quite amenable to change. Not how I read him. But I need to move a switch.
I also need to hang art. It's lying around everywhere, part of the general clutter. I drop in at Leithfield on the way to and from Trudy and Pete's mini music gathering and pick up a couple of pictures. And more stuff. There's not much more. I decide to take myself to Scargill Domain to check out the music, pack my tent, throw in some food, check Google maps, and drive. It's easy to find. So are lots of people I know. I organise then find a chair, a glass and my novel, Strangers and Journeys by Maurice Shadbolt, one of the quintessential Kiwi authors. He writes sagas, this one about two World War One vets and their sons as they navigate the ups and downs of the twentieth century. Another story about homes and men raising their boys on the shifting sands of societal change. At the festival I become known as the woman with the book. Armana's van is next door and we party together. I throw caution to the wind and let my party hair down. Next morning Margot returns my fur coat which I'd left on the grass. Greg was afraid a possum would eat it...what was his brain up to? Margot says she enjoyed wearing it.
I've left my phone at home so no pics but it's nice to be out of touch. Freeing. Kahu's on his way out when I return. I go to Taylor's for a swim. Then drop in on Nicky who is having to change her medication and finding it tough. Brain chemistry and pharmaceutical drugs.
It's Waitangi weekend and we have Monday off. The radio carries stories of colonisation from a Te Ao Maori perspective. How things have changed in my lifetime. Aotearoa, ngā motu, for a hybrid people, displacing an indigenous population. We can't turn back the clock, we have to do the best we can and realise these island are home to all of us. And the growing numbers of expats seeking refuge from Covid-19. Our safety feels like a miracle. We are so lucky. Our freedom, we don't take for granted as we hear what's happening elsewhere. I call my cousin, Woody, in Essex. It's snowing and he and Sally have been cooped up for months. Trying to teach and running out of ideas. In the dark, cold, living with the dead. I send them videos from my beach, Waimairi, and a parcel from Papanui High School to Sweyne Park School. To let them know, they're not alone.
Kahu is on night shift and out with his mates during time off. His time to have fun. Carefree. He's teamed up with some good girls. But the lawns don't get mowed. Although the kitchen is tidy.
On Wednesday, Mark Dianne and Andrei deliver boxes from Fir Close. It becomes almost impossible to walk through the garage. I will know what to do with myself when I unpack. Whenever that is.
Odds and ends...the Perrin and Rowe toilet seat is in pieces on the bathroom floor. Gary tries to fix it, breaks a part and gives up. Friday I go to an Eat My Shorts gig. It's Anjie's birthday party, Greig's band is playing in a crowded bar of friends. On Sunday I pick up more stuff from Chris's and look at the remaining piles in dismay. Work is full on. I'm getting my head around two new senior courses and five classes. An eight hour day is not enough but the pay doesn't motivate me to do more. Kahu finally mows the lawns.
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