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Showing posts with label good days. Show all posts
Showing posts with label good days. Show all posts
25.1.13
1.7.12
Moving on.
When Seven was six months old, the owner who was never going to sell put our flat on the market. So I had a bee in my bonnet about moving on. I didn’t want people traipsing through our flat during open homes. We had a baby!
Adam and I looked at several places, but we couldn’t agree. Adam thought a character cottage was too small. I hated a Lockwood house with fruit trees in the garden.
The next day there was an ad in the newspaper for a three bedroom house with timber floors in the village.
I rang and asked the owner if the house had a bathtub or a fireplace.
“There's no bath. I’m not sure if the fire even works. And the garden is a jungle,” S said.
“We’ll take it.”
“Go and have a look,” S said. She gave me the address, spelling out the unfamiliar street name.
Adam and I put the baby in his car seat, and we drove up the coast to the house. Remarkably, we both liked it, and we were lucky enough to be chosen as tenants.
It was a private 1940s house, on a corner, a block away from the beach, at the park end of the village. You could see the sea from the front deck and the bedroom, and through the French doors in front, which nobody ever used. Everyone used the back door, which was not as picturesque an entrance, but whatever.
You could also see the sea from the kitchen, and even from the back deck, if you knew the right way to look. We only had a couple of big afternoon birthday parties at our house, but we always said its “open plan” had a good “flow”.
Seven and I lived in this house for seven and a half years. Of course, while we lived there, the house went through some changes. The lounge and the dining room traded places – a couple of times. Seven’s nursery eventually became the spare room/office.
Using the open fireplace filled the lounge with smoke and set off the smoke alarm. Adam put in a used wood burner that we bought on Trade Me. He spent years taming the jungle in the garden. And he put a door on the garage, which became his “man cave”. (Or “where all his stuff had to go”.) Seven went to the village Playcentre (the co-op preschool). I made new friends.
The night President Obama was elected, there was a gale. The French doors swung open and banged against the side of the house. This caused their panes of glass to shatter. So, the owners put in new double glaze windows.
Adam painted three sides of the house. Apparently, the owners didn’t have the money or the inclination to pay him to paint the fourth side.
When Seven grew too big for a baby bath in the shower, we bought a used cast iron bathtub on Trade Me. We put it in the kitchen. There was nowhere else for it to go.The bathtub never had a tap – we filled it by using a hose from the laundry sink.
Seven started primary school. Then he changed schools, so instead of walking with Seven to school, we had to drive. Our marriage ended, and Adam moved out.
The owners bought a new dishwasher. They built a new privacy fence on the front deck. We quibbled over the garden since Adam was no longer looking after it.
“I promise I won’t let it become a jungle – like it was when we moved in,” I said.
Every year the owners raised the rent, by three or four per cent, to keep the house at “market rate”. Before our marriage ended, Adam and I said year after year, “If the rent goes up by much more, we will move on.”
But we didn’t move on. We felt our rental was nicer than other rentals. Sometimes we even felt a bit clever or smug about it.
And yet, other houses have baths with taps, and insulation. And more manageable gardens. And off-street parking. And street names we don’t need to spell. Those houses are in the school zone. And are cheaper.
This year when the owners raised the rent (I'm embarrassed to tell you how much the rent had become, but it was too expensive for me), just like that, it was time for me to move on.
When I first looked at my new house, I waffled a bit, but I knew it was the one.
My new house was built in the 1940s. It's not in the village, but it's in Seven's school zone, and it has a bathtub with a tap, and a heat pump. You can see the sea from the driveway, or from Seven's room if you know how to look, and it has a very easy garden.
Adam and I looked at several places, but we couldn’t agree. Adam thought a character cottage was too small. I hated a Lockwood house with fruit trees in the garden.
The next day there was an ad in the newspaper for a three bedroom house with timber floors in the village.
I rang and asked the owner if the house had a bathtub or a fireplace.
“There's no bath. I’m not sure if the fire even works. And the garden is a jungle,” S said.
“We’ll take it.”
“Go and have a look,” S said. She gave me the address, spelling out the unfamiliar street name.
Adam and I put the baby in his car seat, and we drove up the coast to the house. Remarkably, we both liked it, and we were lucky enough to be chosen as tenants.
It was a private 1940s house, on a corner, a block away from the beach, at the park end of the village. You could see the sea from the front deck and the bedroom, and through the French doors in front, which nobody ever used. Everyone used the back door, which was not as picturesque an entrance, but whatever.
You could also see the sea from the kitchen, and even from the back deck, if you knew the right way to look. We only had a couple of big afternoon birthday parties at our house, but we always said its “open plan” had a good “flow”.
Seven and I lived in this house for seven and a half years. Of course, while we lived there, the house went through some changes. The lounge and the dining room traded places – a couple of times. Seven’s nursery eventually became the spare room/office.
Using the open fireplace filled the lounge with smoke and set off the smoke alarm. Adam put in a used wood burner that we bought on Trade Me. He spent years taming the jungle in the garden. And he put a door on the garage, which became his “man cave”. (Or “where all his stuff had to go”.) Seven went to the village Playcentre (the co-op preschool). I made new friends.
The night President Obama was elected, there was a gale. The French doors swung open and banged against the side of the house. This caused their panes of glass to shatter. So, the owners put in new double glaze windows.
Adam painted three sides of the house. Apparently, the owners didn’t have the money or the inclination to pay him to paint the fourth side.
When Seven grew too big for a baby bath in the shower, we bought a used cast iron bathtub on Trade Me. We put it in the kitchen. There was nowhere else for it to go.The bathtub never had a tap – we filled it by using a hose from the laundry sink.
Seven started primary school. Then he changed schools, so instead of walking with Seven to school, we had to drive. Our marriage ended, and Adam moved out.
The owners bought a new dishwasher. They built a new privacy fence on the front deck. We quibbled over the garden since Adam was no longer looking after it.
“I promise I won’t let it become a jungle – like it was when we moved in,” I said.
Every year the owners raised the rent, by three or four per cent, to keep the house at “market rate”. Before our marriage ended, Adam and I said year after year, “If the rent goes up by much more, we will move on.”
But we didn’t move on. We felt our rental was nicer than other rentals. Sometimes we even felt a bit clever or smug about it.
And yet, other houses have baths with taps, and insulation. And more manageable gardens. And off-street parking. And street names we don’t need to spell. Those houses are in the school zone. And are cheaper.
This year when the owners raised the rent (I'm embarrassed to tell you how much the rent had become, but it was too expensive for me), just like that, it was time for me to move on.
When I first looked at my new house, I waffled a bit, but I knew it was the one.
My new house was built in the 1940s. It's not in the village, but it's in Seven's school zone, and it has a bathtub with a tap, and a heat pump. You can see the sea from the driveway, or from Seven's room if you know how to look, and it has a very easy garden.
7.11.10
Guy Fawkes Night.
Guy Fawkes Night marks the celebration of a failed plot to assassinate Protestant King James in 1605. (The plan was to replace him with a Catholic head of state.) As part of the Commonwealth, New Zealand celebrates Guy Fawkes Night, but it is just an excuse for fireworks.In the cities, there are public fireworks displays, but Guy Fawkes is really a night for amateurs. For a few days before Guy Fawkes, fireworks are on sale to the public. (The range of fireworks that are available doesn’t include firecrackers or rockets.)
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Friday was Guy Fawkes Night. On his way home from work, Adam bought a box of fireworks.
It had been a scorching hot day, but at 7PM an enormous bank of clouds was rolling in from the south. The wind began to pick up. Gales are common in the Roaring Forties, and we are accustomed to fickle weather on Guy Fawkes Night. Adam is adept at lighting fireworks in wind and rain.
It had been a scorching hot day, but at 7PM an enormous bank of clouds was rolling in from the south. The wind began to pick up. Gales are common in the Roaring Forties, and we are accustomed to fickle weather on Guy Fawkes Night. Adam is adept at lighting fireworks in wind and rain.
Wellington went forward with its fireworks display. But the conditions up the coast were bad. We decided to postpone setting off our own fireworks.
"We'll do it tomorrow night," I said.
Five was disappointed and tried to stall. When the rain began to bucket down from the night sky, there were tears. The gale blew down the street sign. (This happens from time to time.) There were several power cuts.
But by Saturday afternoon, it was calm enough for Adam to build a bonfire in shelter of the back garden. (It is lovely to sip a glass of wine by the bonfire.) We ate fish and chips, and while we were waiting for it to get dark, we roasted marshmallows.
A bonfire in the garden is almost better than camping.
When it was dark, we could see a few stars. Neighbours from all around began to light their fireworks. We moved to the front garden, which has more open space. Adam lit the wicks of the fireworks that Five chose from the box. The fireworks had names like Gemini and T.N.T. There was noise and light and the smell of gunpowder. And then inside for hot cocoa before bed.
8.9.10
Spring has sprung. And a giveaway!
Flowers are beginning to bloom in my garden, and my blog is in blossom too. I am so excited to have 100 followers here on Wellington Road. You are clever, talented, amazing people, and I am grateful that you keep coming back for more of my neurotic whining and navel-gazing.
I started my journey on Wellington Road without a map. I just wanted to ramble on about whatever was on my mind. So my blog was about where I happened to be in my life. (Basically, I wanted a place to complain and whinge.)
Since I have been writing publicly on this blog, I have been reminded that a writer really wants to charm or entertain an audience—to try to make a difference in some small way.
You all have made a difference in my life. You have encouraged me, laughed with me, and inspired me. I really appreciate it.
I thought it would be fun to do a giveaway to say "thank you" and so I’m having a drawing for a NZ$40 Amazon gift card. (Or, if you live in New Zealand, and you prefer it—a $40 Whitcoulls gift card.)
"I wish I could give something to everyone," I said to Adam.
“Are you crazy?” Adam asked.
You need only to be a follower and leave a comment. One entry per person, please. Entries close Saturday at 6pm (NZST). I’ll put your comments in a random number generator and name the winner in a post that I will try very hard to write on Sunday.
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Edited to add. There are no hoops to jump through. You don't need to suck up to me in the comments (but you can if you want to). The giveaway is open to all, local and international.
16.8.10
A run in the park.
A while ago, Dana wrote a post about her running route. I promised to bring my camera on a run, and write a similar post. And here it is. . .
I run 5km three times a week in the park next to our house. Running around here means lots of hills. (And some of the hills are intense.) But I am rewarded with stunning views in the park.
Living by the beach means running along the coast, and there is nothing better than running by the sea. Here is my route, starting in the park.
The playlist for today's run:
Memories, David Guetta/Kid Cudi
Young Blood, Naked and the Famous
My House, Kids of 88
Just a Little Bit, Kids of 88
Don't Stop the Music, Rihanna
Just Dance (Trevor Simpson remix), Lady GaGa
Get Shaky, Ian Carey Project
That's Not My Name, The Ting Tangs
Paris is Burning, Ladyhawke
Dance Wiv Me, Calvin Harris/Chrome/Dizzee Rascal
Bonkers, Dizzee Rascal
15 Step, Radiohead
Now it's your turn, for anyone who walks, runs, or cycles. The next time you go, bring your camera. Post the highlights, along with your playlist. Go on. It's fun.
I run 5km three times a week in the park next to our house. Running around here means lots of hills. (And some of the hills are intense.) But I am rewarded with stunning views in the park.
Living by the beach means running along the coast, and there is nothing better than running by the sea. Here is my route, starting in the park.
The playlist for today's run:
Memories, David Guetta/Kid Cudi
Young Blood, Naked and the Famous
My House, Kids of 88
Just a Little Bit, Kids of 88
Don't Stop the Music, Rihanna
Just Dance (Trevor Simpson remix), Lady GaGa
Get Shaky, Ian Carey Project
That's Not My Name, The Ting Tangs
Paris is Burning, Ladyhawke
Dance Wiv Me, Calvin Harris/Chrome/Dizzee Rascal
Bonkers, Dizzee Rascal
15 Step, Radiohead
Now it's your turn, for anyone who walks, runs, or cycles. The next time you go, bring your camera. Post the highlights, along with your playlist. Go on. It's fun.
22.7.10
14.4.10
Autumn.
Autumn is about endings. But these school holidays have been delightful. OMG. Really. I feel like a hobbit. Like, in the opening scenes of "The Fellowship of the Ring"? When the hobbits are living a peaceful life in the Shire, and the ring is just a magic trinket?
I mean, OK. Solo parenting all day is tough. A couple of times, I have texted Adam with messages like, I’m losing the will to live. And, still? New Zealand is a fairy land. Years pass like days. And this gypsy autumn weather has cast a spell on me.
The past few weeks have been full of (dare I write this)...happiness, the days melting into each other. Five has been charming me, and I've been savouring these last weeks of his baby self.
Yes, it's bittersweet. This may be the last time echoes in the corners of my mind. The last time he lisps, or the last time he wraps his arms around my neck, or the last time he demands my attention, so he can give me a two-hour monologue about his super powers.
I am still the centre of Five’s world, but my time is (rightfully) passing. Soon the influences of school and his mates will change him into a different (and equally wonderful) little person.
But, until then? After crisp mornings, these delicious, nearly hot days. I want to gather them up like brightly colored eggs, and stuff them in my basket.
Flixster - Share Movies
The past few weeks have been full of (dare I write this)...happiness, the days melting into each other. Five has been charming me, and I've been savouring these last weeks of his baby self.
Yes, it's bittersweet. This may be the last time echoes in the corners of my mind. The last time he lisps, or the last time he wraps his arms around my neck, or the last time he demands my attention, so he can give me a two-hour monologue about his super powers.
I am still the centre of Five’s world, but my time is (rightfully) passing. Soon the influences of school and his mates will change him into a different (and equally wonderful) little person.
But, until then? After crisp mornings, these delicious, nearly hot days. I want to gather them up like brightly colored eggs, and stuff them in my basket.
Fertility symbols in autumn. It doesn't need to make sense.
The rituals of this new season, with Easter chocolate (everything is better with chocolate) and hot cross buns.
Going for a wander under pale blue skies.
Going for a wander under pale blue skies.
Civic Square, Wellington
A visit to the museum.
A giant leap for science at Te Papa.
By a calm sea. Putting on his wetsuit and going for a swim, or just lying in the warm sand on the beach.
Looking towards Kapiti Island.
Longer and colder nights, under cosy quilts. Ordering firewood, and conjuring up a few fires in the woodburner.
The woodburner. For the next few months, we will be best mates.
Five playing with his cousins and his mates. Learning to ride his bike on two wheels—his earnest, little wobble. Going for bike rides in the grassy acres of the park, or all the way down to the train station.
Watching cartoons and movies together.
A hearty new menu of soups and roasts, and pumpkin and potato, and apples and pears, cakes and crumbles, and soon feijoas.
And riding the miniature trains in the Marine Gardens.
Funny old men drive the trains at the Marine Gardens.
Packing away our summer clothes, and buying new gum boots, rain jackets, and slippers. Playing board games. Cuddling and reading books.
Watching cartoons and movies together.
Flixster - Share Movies
A hearty new menu of soups and roasts, and pumpkin and potato, and apples and pears, cakes and crumbles, and soon feijoas.
It's like a book I don't want to finish. My life is beautiful. I am blessed, and I am grateful.
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Want to see more photos of my life (over the years) in rural New Zealand? Check me out on Flickr.
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