Easter in Central

 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.

                                                                Maxine's walnut tree

                                                                    Easter garage sale

                                                           Packing up the grandfather clock

Clyde food and wine festival

                                                                          Tui, 1924

                                                           Tui and younger sister, Marie

                                                              Tui, Invercargill, 16 years old

                                               Which to choose: Fiordland or the West Coast?

                                      Reminiscing with my old History teacher, Barbara Clark

                                                        Denis's painting, Autumn Splendour

                                                              Two years in the making

Beathe...It's Easter

It's Friday and I'm still recovering from the 60th. Pending. I manage an Eat My Shorts gig and Lis's party. I'm an island of sobriety in a sea of wasted people. My party ethic has morphed and been remoulded by responsibilities I've shouldered in the last few years... uni study and project managing a rebuild. Lis's 60th theme is 60's dress. Her wardrobe is a cornucopia of the decade. There's a fire, dj's, balcony bullshit and lashings of cheese. Highlight, a fire lit talk with an old acquaintance, reminiscing about millenial parties he organised at Castle Hill. He's just paid off debts from the 2000 party. What a legacy. 20 years of water under the bridge deleted in 20 minutes. Kaleidoscoped into infinity. We're looking back on our lives at 60. I hit the hay at 4:30.

A double-rainbow Sunday then I ad lib my way through the week. It's Easter, I only have to make it to Thursday. Unseasonably warm days and warmer than normal climate change ocean water see me through. Thanks universe.

The Birthday Disaster

I've put out an invite to the staff to join me on an equinoctal swim. Lots of interest and two shows. It's windy but the water is good. John arrives- no show without punch- he's the party prepper. We go to the Little Brown Jug for a Friday drink with Sharon and her Kimi Ora colleagues. There's a live band but it feels like a combination of a shearing shed and a country local. I bump into a girl I used to teach, or rather she was outside the classroom with her mates a lot. 

Saturday and Cecile's barely slept but wound up like a spring and ready to go. Her mate, Helen, flies in from Wellington to help but it's clear the assistant/ director role is strained from the get go. Cecile has every last detail planned and there's only one way. I try to shed some light but can't get through. When I hear the first crash I throw a wobbly. Then there's the living room...I tell her I'm not taking furniture out and definitely not Llew's sculpture. We manage for a while. A swim helps. And finally Cecile lets me do a few jobs. I'm supposed to do nothing, just arrive at the front door, and enjoy myself. 

Hmmm. Mid afternoon there's another crash. This time it's the claw foot bath. Anyone reading this blog knows what a mission that's been. Cecile has knocked a vase with Ikebana into the bath, chipping the enamel. She was rushing round putting balloons in the bath when her hair got caught in the stick arrangement sticking out of the vase. When I walk in, she's about to sweep up the shards with a broom and shovel. And scratch the bottom of the bath to bits. I get there just in time, but it's the last straw. What with 3 weeks of Sharyn bumping, or nearly bumping, and dinging,  doorways and walls, I've reached my limit. 

I get in the car, taking Sharyn at the last minute, and Sue Quinn who walks up the driveway. At the mall I put my head in my hands. I can't do this anymore. Sue's practical suggestion: a savvy at Aikman's. I emerge able to breathe again, but only just. The rest of the night I put on the happiest face I can muster. And drink. Helen has bailed leaving Cecile in manic mode throwing together the last must happens from her head. A duo covers band, one of whom I know, have guests tapping their feet but the ice only thaws in the last set when even I bust a boogie. They comment the guests look like university professors. I'm faintly amused, concentrating on hostess vibes. All this accidental damage has pushed me to the brink, reduced pride in my achievement. The house has aged two years in one month. Armana, whom Cecile said I couldn't invite, arrives uninvited. Cecile graciously produces an invite with Armana's name on it. One for Chris as well. In the controlled brain damaged world, it's all got to go to plan. Does my head in.

There's a clean up/ breakfast party in the sunshine. It's one of the perplexing facts about do's, it takes a lot longer to put things back than to get them out. We bask in full sunshine on the verandah, dishes under control, croissants and coffee in hand. My head's still dealing with damage, I'm trying to rationalise that it won't matter a damn when we get to our 80's and 90's. Not much will if we're still celebrating birthdays. 

John does John jobs...ones I'm too scared to attempt. Today, it's putting up trellis for the jasmine, honeysuckle and wisteria I've planted along the old garage fence line. The garage that was held up by ivy for the last 20 years of its life. 

The land is cooling, so is the ocean. This year the water feels warmer than the air, it's taking longer to cool and I enjoy the daily dose of ozone. The week finishes with our PPTA AGM at Wigram with the Tiger Moths. A week which takes two more to get over. 

 

                                                                  Pete in his workshop

                                                                     Pete's corner...finished

                                                                           Kahu's art