Thursday Drinks

Today is the last day to send Christmas cards within Aotearoa so they arrive in time. I rush round dropping a few off, to say a personal thank you to people who in my orbit during 2019. By early afternoon I'm gardening. As anyone who has one knows, gardens require constant weeding, trimming, mowing and tidying. Two years before the demolition I started moving plants, plonking what I wanted to save in the back, and giving them away. The more I did this the more grew back. The land here used to be a swamp and most things flourish. I have peonies from my mother's garden, autumn crocuses from my Auntie Marie in the high country and various bits from other friends' gardens. I happily gave away what I could to keep the cycle going. I straighten up and drive off to drop in on Lizzie whose house flamboyant house radiates colour like a bird of paradise in native bush. She finished repairs this year and her colour choice, both inside and out, made her a finalist in the Resene colour awards. Although she didn't win, I'd class her as the Trelise Cooper of house palettes.
Tonight is the last Thursday night drinks of the year. A teacher based group of OE returnees, we started in 1997 based on our nostalgia for London pub culture. All of us had lived in this iconic city long enough to call it home and we missed its bustle and old world charm, not to mention the density of its ale houses. We became a loose group with one very simple rule- drinks out on Thursday night. Child raising put my attendance on hold and people have come and gone, often back to London. Several of us have become parents and we have lost Robyn to cancer. In an interesting twist of fate, Sherry, Chris and I, original members, are living together. Tonight's destination is the Retropolitan. We bus into town and walk through the CBD to the pub. Seeing the empty sites, derelict buildings and containers bracing building fronts takes me back to early earthquake days. The feeling of desolation and helplessness at so much destruction, not only from the earthquakes but also from the demolition. As the rebuild progresses, creative new architecture of varying degrees, brings hope that life will return to this neglected CBD and the city of Ōtautahi will reinvent itself.

Lizzie's house

Post drink cook up

Snow on the mountains

After a warmer than normal November, I wake to snow on the mountains. A lot of snow. It's a shock after all the north-westers we've been having. According to NIWA, the warm air masses have been coming from Australia. An Australian reporter interviewed by Radio NZ connects the "rolling, ongoing fire crisis" and climate change. His view, that the fires are never going to be extinguished, Australians simply have to adjust to this preview of what summers will be like for the foreseeable future. To add insult to injury, climate denier, Australian PM, Scott Morrison, has gone on holiday. Sydney has been shrouded in smoke for weeks and some mornings there's a filtered light typical of photochemical pollution, over our skies. Simply put, Australia's fires will affect us too. It turns out this November has been the second highest on record globally, with the world's five hottest Novembers occurring since 2013.
Here in Christchurch, it's trouser weather with a howling southerly icing the peaks of the Southern Alps. I spend the morning making food- antidote to cold weather. It's mid afternoon before I get to the house, having stopped to buy a honey suckle plant and visiting the bank on the way. There are cabbage tree and magnolia leaves over the back garden and the dirt pile is growing weeds. I dig up another old bottle and give myself a good work out moving earth. The sun is out, the wind drops and by the time I get to the beach in the early evening it looks like summer again.

Fruit cake going in the oven- I'm going to have time to do Xmas icing one day

Best bank in NZ- locally owned and friendly as

The Enlivenment

Rain falls gently. I arrive at 22 College Ave to find the meter man sitting in his truck. He is the final link in the five step electricity connection saga. He places an umbrella over the electric box and says  no to a blog photo as he's not wearing his safety glasses and doesn't want any repercussions. Rene does a final check. I do some weeding- I'm definitely behind and the back garden resembles a wilderness. Nicki, Kirk and I have a meeting to iron out progress so far. Building jargon goes over my head and I'm so glad to have Nicki there to ask and interpret. She's been so involved with the design and understands the picture in my head. I'm wet and shivering by the time we finish so decide to have a swim before the forecast southerly blows in. The water temperature is warmer than the air but I'm shivering when I get out. On the way home I stop at the Pink Elephant to say hi to a new friend. I spot a unique piece of early 1900's kauri furniture. Instant purchase.

I've volunteered to help in the PTA uniform shop at Boys' High. This brick outhouse used to be the piggery for the Deans homestead. Planning the restoration was a labour of love and caused some debate. Cost versus quality was the sticking point but the investment has been worth it. The shop is a lovely blend of old and new and truly fit for purpose. I sharpen up my knowledge of uniform and sizes as I help boys and mothers find the right kit. 

On the way home I check out ovens. Ilve, 600 mm, sorted. After dark a hopeful hedgehog hops up the stairs from the garage. Sherry and I wait for Chris to come home to move it. 

The Enlivener

The Bibliophile Sisterhood

It's the week before Christmas and everyone is rushing to get their in tray cleared before we begin our longest shared national holiday. New Zealand downs tools for three weeks but to make that work we have to speed up beforehand. Even though I'm already on holiday, I participate in this curious rat race. My first job is paying for the decking wood. It's only on special till the end of December...so I have to sort it....now. I call in at Trinity Glass to confirm lead lights and, to keep Kay sane, offer to deliver a package of glass. Paying back time- she's stopped work often enough to talk to me.
I forage broad beans and peas from the school garden then drive out to Kenneally Timber where things are going mad. I try to finalise my order but give up as Dianne and I don't have the skills to calculate the correct quantity of Tasmanian Blackwood from the plans. And everyone else is busy. While I'm out that way, I drop in on Lila who's had a double hip replacement and bed ridden. Her home is now Australia where her son is, but home is also here.
Book group at the end of the day is down time, finally. We're loosely but expertly organised by Naomi whose enthusiasm got this group started and whose aroha ensures that everyone finds and gets to the meet ups. We volunteer our homes and so have come to know and understand each other intimately. Everyone's living room tells a story, while our food offerings reveal common proclivities: cheese, hummus, Whittaker's chocolate, cake. And the idiosyncratic array of plates reveal differing tastes: china, pottery, glass, Crown Lynn, op shop finds. We car pool and pass around clothes we have grown out of or no longer wear. At 22 College Ave I've held a couple of summer meetings under the stars round a fire in the back yard. And there was the night nobody turned up. The evening I was the only one who arrived at Sarah's, a week early. We see each other at book festivals and writers' talks and spell binding vocal and dance performances starring fellow bibliophiles. While books were the glue initially, five years later our meetings are based on real affection stemming from the laughter, tears and philosophical questions elicited by the stories we read. And life goes on. In the past year we've rallied round for the death of a partner, a scare with a sick baby, and the demolishing of a home. Tonight is the last meeting of the year at Julie's house, sequestered down a tree-lined lane by the Avon. We are surrounded by her surrealist art, figures half human, half animal. It's raining but we're making merry round the Christmas tree.
The sisterhood of the book fans. I love meeting, eating and drinking with this unique group of talented, intelligent, articulate women. We're so diverse: singers, actors, dancers, festival organisers, academics, artists, teachers...but so similar: mothers, daughters, lovers, friends. And we love books.

Teaching sisters- Lila and I

Mural in Cathedral Square

Book group in captions and images

Sisters in books

The Bach

I've promised to spend a day at Te Oka Bay helping Nicki do some work at her family bach, an old wooden farm cottage with a big garden. Blue skies and sun, a perfect Sunday drive. The road winds up through trees from Little River to the crest of the volcanic crater. It's a big drop over the side and Nicki recounts stories of drivers who didn't make it back. I trust her knowledge of the road and the captivating view overrides crash images. We stop to saw off a Christmas tree for the bach and to admire the ocean stretching south. At the bach Nicki shows me framed pictures, water colours painted by her mother and grandmother, a testament to the family art gene. A perfect family display for a family holiday refuge. In the garden, there are black currents to pick, weeds to pull out, and thirsty plants to water. It's been a dry summer so far and the veges are wilting, those the possums have left. The grounds are well set out with a pool, tennis court and outdoor eating area but I'd rather go for a dip in the sea. There's a seal gambolling in the distance and a dead animal washed up and rotting on the rocks.
As we leave I don't feel I've done a lot of work but it's been companionable. I've lent a hand to a generous friend who has offered so much help with the rebuild, an area she has considerable expertise in. Over the years she has also opened the Te Oka bach to her friends. No cell coverage but all the mod cons and the sheep don't complain about the music volume or the laser lights.
When I get back, I drive to feed Pierre. While I'm there I dig, shovel and water till dusk. I'm rewarded by a rasping meow. I haven't seen Pierre for at least a week but he forgives my absence. We call a truce over cat biscuits.

Road to Te Oka

Nicki's proud of her blue front door

The Garden Fork

It's a slow start after the party. I'm in the mood to do jobs I have put off for ages, like vacuuming my car which is feral after so many trips transporting stuff. A clean interior lifts my spirits. Some days it doesn't take much. I head for my garden. I'm still sorting out the dirt in front of the fence where the garage was. The fork rings as it hits a hard object and I get the spade out to dig as this implacability extends in all directions. Turns out it's a huge slab of concrete which, once it's loose, I can hardly budge. With a mammoth effort I get it to the top of the hole I've dug and eye up the ivy trunk sitting nearby. I pick up the fork, stab and lever upwards. The fork is embedded in the wood and as I push up one of the prongs snaps off. Damn. The fork is my most used garden implement. It's hot and I shovel dirt into the wheel barrow and dump it in the hole. Five loads later I'm hot, tired and smelly.
I drive to Waimairi Beach. At 6:30 I have it to myself. After dark I head to one of Pete and Trudi's world famous in Christchurch live music parties. The house is heaving with musos rocking on against a backdrop of city lights. The line of Colombo Street stretches from the hills to the horizon. Dead straight to the dead Christchurch Cathedral.

The smell of wet concrete is fading, replaced wood

Friday the 13th

On Monday, 11th December, at 2:11 pm, Whakaari, White Island erupted with no warning. There were 47 people on the island at the time. All but eight were evacuated, some of whom have died. The discussion this week has been whether to recover the bodies given the hazardous conditions which make this a risky operation. Yesterday the news was that the chance of another eruption was 50 to 60 %. After living through the Pike River debate and continued refusal to send a team into the mine to recover the 28 dead miners because of danger to life, I'm puzzled to hear the police will attempt a recovery from White Island this morning. And they do. They bring back 6 bodies and begin an ocean search for one of the missing. The eruption is a tragedy and descriptions of burn injuries, horrifying and sad.  I understand families want their dead back. But I wonder, why did it take so long to make this happen for the Pike River families?
Back in Christchurch, my mission today is to move the rest of the wood I've saved from the old house off site. It's unfinished business. In the meantime I sort out decking wood and visit Kaye and her team at Trinity Glass. They have come up with two designs for the ensuite window- both incorporate a star motif I saw in a lead light at Kate Shepperd's house. We discuss options for coloured glass too. I'm sure Kate would approve.
I meet Pete from Ambrose Heal at 22 College Ave and we ferry the remaining useful wood along the back of the house, out to his ute. But there's a pile left- shaken and split with lots of nails. It's an eyesore. I pick flowers to take home for a Christmas party at Chris's. Epic.

Tidying up the English office

Cold outside- water less cold

"The drink you have when you're not having a drink."