Skip to main content

Autumn in Aotearoa

Autumn in Aotearoa

Autumn morning, fresh and cool.
Kids splashing in tub/Gather, gather, gather – drive to school.
Children yelling, laughing in the courtyard, chasing balls.
Smiling mums, kissing, waving goodbye.

Running in the sand, crunching shells.
Smooth ocean, bright sun, long white clouds.
Strong legs, sore back.
Green mountain, blue water, grey rocks.
Couples snapping pictures on the island.
Up the hill.
Pause.
Harbor ship. Ocean freighter.

Up the sidewalk, to the little orange car.
Pause.
Water, newspaper, bench.
Smooth ocean, bright sun, long white clouds.
Dread-headed, bed-headed backpackers, cradling coffee.
Memory, moment, anticipation.

Circle of mums/circle of bubs.
Singing, laughing, crying, chatting.
Baby's blue eyes/Baby's sweet-scented head.
Homemade scones with dates and butter.
Words of encouragement and praise.
Long hug, big heart, reaching out.

Bubbling soup, baking muffins.
Clearing cobwebs from the clothesline.
Hanging wash in the sun.
Last strawberries from the garden.
Pause.
Newspaper, coffee.
Memory, moment, anticipation.

Kids and their people at the gate.
Backpacks, strollers, projects, notes.
Plans and play dates. Names and numbers.
"'Bye sweetie."

Hungry, stalling kids. "Let's go!"
Op Shop treasure hunt.
Spilled peanuts in car. "Pick 'em up!" (Grrr)
Home again. Muffins outside.

Driving, following directions.
There it is.
Running in the dark.
Which way? That way.
Boardwalk, trail, sidewalk, street.
New batteries, dim torch.
Strong legs, sore back.
Memory, moment, anticipation.

Arrival. Cold Margarita.
Stories about finding, meeting.
Jokes, songs, laughter.
Cool night, cold sweat, damp head.
Memory, moment, anticipation.

Comments

  1. Love this.

    I have a project I have been working on for two years (at least) called "memory, moment, motherhood." Some overlapping sentiments here.

    xo

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Murder House

Murder House (MUH-dah House) The deed is done              “I don’t wanna go to the dentist. It’s gonna hurt,” says Fiona. I can hardly deny my eight-year-old the truth, but I can tiptoe around it.             “They’re going to rub medicine on your gums to numb them,” I tell her. “And they can put your tooth to sleep with a needle.”             Fiona gasps, “I don’t want a needle! No!” Oops. I shouldn’t have used the “n” word. Fiona starts her high-pitched screeching if she thinks a needle exists in the next room. When I got the kids immunized in preparation for dragging them round-the-world, Fiona cried as the nurse swabbed her upper arm with iodine. You would’ve thought someone was whacking off her limb with a rusty saw, yet the needle lay feet from Fiona’s body. New Zealand is not the place for dental work for a squeamish, sobbing little girl. I learned after bringing Fiona to a dental clinic during the Christmas school vacation (otherwise known as summer holidays) that sch

Ten Years On

Ten Years On Our ten-year wedding anniversary, Dec 3, 2009 Scattering ashes in Michigan, August, 2010 January 23, 2010 is a date I'm afraid to remember and scared I'll forget. It's the day Sean died. I wanted to write about the weirdness of marking ten years since Sean’s death, but it’s almost too big a task. It’s like straining to hear what my kids are asking from the other room while the kettle is boiling in front of me; like trying to figure out how to build a bookshelf when the instructions are cryptic pictograms.  How to talk about a decade of living, loving, grieving? It’s like a trip to the moon and back ten times and also like a walk to the corner store. It has been a long odyssey and a quick jaunt. What no one can tell you about the years stretching between death and this-new-normal-kinda-life is how your perspective will change. What once seemed important now seems trivial, and the person you were back then is different from

The Affair

The Affair Ohope Beach, NZ I had an affair last week. I’m not ashamed to tell you, either. It was sweet and sad. It made me laugh, cry, sigh and dance in my chair to James Brown and Rupert Holmes. My Kiwi PAHT-nah, Pete, even facilitated the tryst, though neither of us knew what to expect beforehand. Pete watched the kids while I was gone for five nights. Five whole nights.  No kids. No TV. No partner.  I enjoyed a dalliance with my late husband, Sean (though I should write instead, ‘dead husband,’ because Sean hated being late). It happened in a wood-paneled house across the street from the ocean, in Ohope Beach, New Zealand. I attended a writer’s retreat to work on the memoir. I revised six sections totaling more than 40,000 words. In the course of revising- subtracting old text and adding entries from letters Sean had written me when we first started dating, plus journal entries he wrote around the time Fiona was born - I fell in love again. With Sean’s openn