by Sadly it’s all coming to an abrupt end. Dad’s got his Google gadget gizmo playing sixties music (they’ve turned the TV off – will wonders never cease?), and appropriately the deceptively complex Here Comes the Sun is playing as I write this. Spring has sprung; I’m seeing the daffodils coming out for the second time this year. Today it hit 19 degrees here, and at 1pm one of the famous nor’westers whipped through. Now we’ve got the Beach Boys – Surfin’ USA.
My brother called us this evening, just after we’d finished our chicken and vegetable pie. My nephew – nine days shy of his first birthday – was in a happy mood, as he is pretty much always. He’s a lovely little boy, it must be said. I’ve hardly ever seen him cry. He’s benefited hugely from all the time his parents have spent with him. My sister-in-law goes back to work soon – she’d rather not have to.
This afternoon Mum took me over to my aunt and uncle in Woodbury. It looks like they might pull the plug on their rhododendron nursery. I’m amazed they’ve kept it going for so long. We were there for two hours, most of which were taken up by gossip about various local no-hopers (quoting verbatim here) getting handouts they obviously don’t deserve. Before that, I got some life admin done involving phone calls to RaboBank (I had a high three-figure amount in an account that they’d closed) and the IRD, while Mum and Dad were getting haircuts and doing the laundry in Temuka, and sorting out a new kitchen in Washdyke. I also watched an incredible women’s doubles match at the US Open. At the end of a topsy-turvy third set, the American pairing of Taylor Townsend and Leylah Fernandez raced to a 7-2 lead in the first-to-ten tie-break before Gaby Dabrowski and Erin Routliffe won 10-8. I didn’t know at the time that Routliffe played for New Zealand. I also saw Sorana Cîrstea’s quarter-final with Karolina Muchova. The Czech had too much for the Romanian, who had done extremely well to get that far. There was one crazy game in the middle of the first set – it went ten deuces, and Cîrstea had nine break points – which could have sent the match on a different path had it gone the Romanian’s way.
Yesterday both Mum and I visited the IRD in Timaru. She’d been faffing around for many angst-ridden hours on the IRD site using her four-inch phone, and I also had a problem to resolve with non-resident tax, so I persuaded her to actually visit the office which is located just off the main street of Timaru and open 5½ hours a day, three days a week. Nowhere near enough. We arrived before it opened and were first in the queue. The two women we dealt with at the desk were very pleasant, although Mum was still effing and blinding because she had to pay provisional tax.
When we got back from Timaru I had a sudden urge to clear the cobwebs. Too much sitting around, either in a car, or worse, in my parents’ living room. So I took Dad’s rather good bike out and went all the way to the huts at Milford, 24 km away, and obviously all the way back. I’d packed a flask of tea. On those last few kilometres I was saddle-sore and ravenous. Mum was visibly concerned by the time I got back.
After a month in this neck of the woods, I like what I’ve seen. Could I move back here to live? Probably, yes, if I could somehow keep teaching and find a suitable place. It would need to be out of curtain-twitching range. As beautiful as Waikouaiti is, I’d find it hard to hide there. Dunedin would suit me I think, but could I afford it? These are things to consider in the medium term.
It’ll be a sad moment tomorrow as my parents drop me off at the Jucy Snooze place next to the airport where I’ll doss down for a few hours before my 6am flight – an early start to a long ordeal. Saying goodbye to Mum is the hardest. With Dad he’s still sort of there on the end of an email or a video chat. Without being able to hug Mum and smell her perfume – the same one she’s worn since I was a kid, at least – it’s really not the same.
