Letter to Students 25 August 2009

Dear Reader

It is early Tuesday morning, and I feel like I am the only person awake at three o’clock in the morning.  It is very still outside, with not a breath of wind, and no cars to break the silence.  I have awoken early, as has become my habit, and it is good to have my computer on my lap again, my friend who allows me to express my feelings when my mind is a whir of mixed emotions.

In the weekend, I travelled to Oamaru to be part of the memorial service for my sister, Vicki, and although hesitant about going, I am feeling more in touch with my younger sister as I reflect on the service and the days which have followed.  Vicki’s new partner, Frank, is devastated, as all the family is, about the sudden removal of a much loved part of our lives.  Although Vicki and I didn’t see a huge amount of each other, we were connected through a familial bond which meant we shared a history in which only we were involved.  In constant pain, Vicki struggled through much of her life, and in one of our last conversations, she talked of her need to be with a significant other person in her life, and how lonely it was when she was on her own.  Listening to her partner, the members of the book club whom she loved in Oamaru, and the staff of the hotel in which she stayed, I realised how happy she had become in her last three months of her life with us.  The simple service reflected her life, her love of food and wine, and the little stories which had her in stitches of laughter.  I hadn’t intended staying the night, and the only change of clothes was a red woollen top I had bought at a boutique in Waikouaiti on the way up.  When Han and I used to travel anywhere by car, Han was often on a mission to reach our destination, and we seldom stopped except for a coffee if a good café was open.  Travelling on my own, and with lots of time, I made the most of the leisurely drive by stopping when the whim took me.  I spotted a rack of clothes on sale, and pulled over to have a look.  When I tried on a red outfit, the price seemed right although the sleeves were too short. Because they made the clothes at the back of the shop, I asked if they could attach a band with the same material which matched the bottom of the outfit, and was told this was not a problem.  After waiting for the renovation to be done, I duly went to pay, only to find that I had not seen the correct price as I wasn’t wearing my glasses.  I had made a mistake and had missed seeing the most important “1” at the beginning of the price, and ended up paying a hundred dollars more than expected.  I thought that Vicki would appreciate my oversight, although she would never have made that mistake.  When I looked through some of her clothes, I noted the number of outfits which she had bought at bargain prices, even buying clothes which were not her size but were too much of a bargain not to buy!  She would never have paid so much for any item of clothing.  However, wearing the new red number made me feel brighter and more positive as I travelled north to Oamaru!  As her partner was manager of the hotel, I was given a beautiful suite in which to stay, and it was comforting to know that Vicki had stayed in similar accommodation when she was in the hotel.  The old part of Oamaru has some beautiful historic buildings, and as I looked out of my hotel window, I appreciated the grand old Oamaru stone buildings which graced the street.  I reflected on how I had stayed in the same hotel in the late 1970s, when a friend of mine was the chef at the same hotel.  His name suddenly came to me through the mist of time, Hugh Cameron, and I wonder what he is doing now.

Thinking of old friends reminds me that I had dinner on Sunday night with one of my closest friends from high school, two other high school friends, and my first partner and his wife. We school mates reminisced over the sixth form school camp at which my two friends fell in love, and marvelled over the fact that only one teacher took twenty seven high spirited teenagers away to Wainakarua.  Mr Davis had huge trust in us, and we didn’t disappoint him.  Well, some of the students did take vodka which was discovered in the small hours of the morning, but it was a fabulous camp nonetheless. No teacher would ever think of taking such a group these days, and George, as I later called him, probably shouldn’t have done it then! 

Recalling my school days with my friend Becky, I remembered tasting margarine for the first time when I spread it on a Boston bun at Becky’s gracious home in Roslyn, and remember the devastation when her mother died suddenly.  However, I don’t think I realised the magnitude of death at the time, and it has certainly hit home to me now how fragile a grip we have on this life.  When Frank showed me the site of Vicki’s car crash, a month before she died, I was surprised that she had even survived.  A hawk had hit her windscreen, and she careered through a road barrier to be saved from plunging into a creek by a tree whose thick branches snapped on impact, turning her car on its side.  The car also snapped a cross, a mark of another unfortunate soul taken on that spot, and old plastic flowers were strewn around the scene, as if in memory to Vicki.  There was an eerie silence as I stared at the scene, and thought how “lucky” she had been to survive the crash, but wonder if the incredible shock to her frail body had actually contributed to her seizure a month later. As I stood in silence, I felt that this was the spot where she actually died.  Although an ambulance took her to hospital, she discharged herself that night, and perhaps her impatience to be home contributed to her passing.  We will never know.

The sun shone brightly as I returned to Dunedin, after a breakfast of eggs Benedict which had been Vicki’s favourite breakfast.  Taking the coast road, I marvelled at the beauty of the aqua Pacific Ocean, and pondered how I could never live far from the sea.  Returning to Dunedin, I picked up Shahan from my oldest daughter, Jo’s home, a place where many friends were gathering for a potluck lunch, and took her acro to her friend’s home.  I don’t mind being a taxi service for my children as it gives me added time to be with them.  I spend a lot of time ferrying my offspring and their friends across town, from Brighton in the south, to North East Valley and then out onto the Otago Peninsula.  I see this as part of a parent’s job description, and I do it willingly.  Doing the garden is another chore which I enjoy, and I spent Sunday afternoon mowing the lawns.  At first, I couldn’t get the lawn mower to start, and when I went to ask for help from one of my neighbours, my friend told me that her husband had just said that he was on the way to mow my lawn beside their home.  They have a small garden, but enjoy the view of my section from their deck.  Having a neighbour who is not only a mechanic, but also enjoys getting his exercise from mowing lawns, is the perfect combination in a neighbour!  Do you know who your neighbours are?  Living in a close community as I do makes it hard to think of ever leaving here.  As I mowed the large lawn in front of my cottage, I drank in the scene around me.  The white of the apple and plum blossom shone in the dazzling sun against the bright blue of the sky, and the sea sparkled.  I stood in awe and wished I could capture the scene in words. This I am finding difficult to do, and my inadequacy in expressing myself is frustrating!

With separating from Han, I thought I would have to leave my slice of paradise and buy another home.  However, after my day in the garden, I have decided that I want to stay here, and continue the dream I began when I saw the cottage in November,1989. At that time, I had just bought my three bedroom house in Portobello, and was working in my garden when my neighbour on the other side of the big macrocarpa hedge invited me over for a beer on the steps of his cottage. I thought that I had found the perfect house when I moved into my home, but the cottage seemed to have everything I wanted, except room for more than one person!  The cottage had been gutted from a two bedroom house into a one room studio, which was perfect for a writer who had recently separated from his wife.  The sun shone brightly as we shared a beer, and although I never returned to the cottage while the writer was there, I carried the memory with me.  As the years passed, the writer rented the cottage out, and refused to prune the hedge which separated the two properties.  The long branches stretched out to cover the cottage and block the sun, leading to the deterioration of the once pristine retreat.  The red paint on the steps faded and cracked, rotting the wood and eventually making walking on the warped planks dangerous.  The iron of the spouting eroded, and the wooden cladding of the house suffered from a lack of sunlight.  Moss grew where once grass was the carpet, and the house disappeared from sight as the trees reclaimed its legacy.  It was only when Han and I were able to buy the cottage, at a time when the writer wanted money to buy his dream home in town, that we were able to rescue the house from the elements.  We spent a hard winter cutting down the macrocarpa hedge which divided our home from the cottage, and it was an incredible labour of love.  We weren’t able to burn any of the branches, and had to hire a chipper to get rid of trailer loads of chipped wood which we put on our garden.  We cleared the section when the frost was hard on the ground, and at that time, I never thought we would be able to sit on the verandah and enjoy the fruits of our labour.  However, after weeks of hard work, we were rewarded with a cleared section, and sat on the couch on the verandah and soaked up the atmosphere. I was the most contented I had ever been in my life, and felt that if all my dreams had come true. 

Which brings me to the present day, three years after that memorable day, and I am contemplating my future. How can I give up this beautiful slice of paradise?  After seeing where Vicki died, and realising that my life on this earth is limited, I want to make the most of every day, and live in this special part of the world.  If at all possible, I will stay in this locality, and make the cottage the space in which I do my writing.  I have always wanted to be able to have the time to write, and now I am being given this gift. I can not waste this precious present.

Love

Sharron