I woke this morning, wandered out to the open-plan living area, heard the precious old pup following me, fed him his possum pet-roll, noted the mighty river had returned to its pre-flood boundaries,and realised that we are 6 sleeps into this new life and things that were new, have taken on their own peaceful familiarity.
I swallow down my teaspoon of Apple Cider vinegar, in a cup of water, then quickly reward myself with a small Lavazza coffee. (We have learned to carry the coffee machine with us, beginning each day in the best way). Then there's lighting the fire, making up a small pot of porridge. Peeling pears, leaving them bubbling while I take my place at my laptop …
My laptop, in front of the massive picture window, with a view of the mighty Mohikinui river mouth meeting the Tasman Sea - here at the huge round dining table that sold me on this rental cabin, out on the edge of civilisation … bottom of the world but top of the South Island, New Zealand.
I am resting, truly resting, after so many years of fight or flight; of making-do, of finding ways to celebrate a life that has been so determined to be anything-but-normal.
Sitting here, I remember other morning routines in other countries with other people.
Istanbul, where I spent my first morning awake at a barred window, the soft heat of summer and the scent of flowers I knew no names for … listening to the call to prayer float out over the city, wondering if this time I had leapt too far, alone, in search of financial stability after a long marriage failed.
My new abode was located in a modern suburb ... last apartment block, under one approach to Istanbul's busy international airport. The Marmara Sea was off to my left when I stood on my balcony. My breakfast routine was a lonely one.
I found ways to love it.
Belgium was another kind of life. I had more than one kind of coffee machine during the 10 years spent there but a noticeable lack of any kind of fire for heat. Fires have only really reappeared in my life since I moved to the mountains. I love the invisible, instinctive feeling of making a fire. Wood-smoke and warmth …
Italy and a morning routine of long walks. The quiet joy of being recognised and welcomed by baristas who were so kind to that stray Kiwi who slipped through their Genovese streets with her camera; passionately in love with their city.
Often there have been dogs in my life. And incredible locations, like Berlin, Portofino, Stavanger, London, Oxshott, Naples, Cairo and that tiny Swiss village. And people. Remarkable souls who wove their way into the tapestry that my life has become.
After the Belgian divorce, I kept saying Yes as the world called by and invited me off on yet another adventure. I used to smile sometimes, comparing myself to Alison in Wonderland; slipping down rabbit holes following those that I trusted.
Home to New Zealand, and there I was, almost back where I had begun, living with Dad as his mind slipped away.
That was another new life. I returned in the summer, my breakfast was sometimes taken in his quietly lovely backyard. Roses and fantails, on the best days.
Manapouri: dog-walking and fog, wet fields and mice. There was another kind of breakfast routine. And on and on and on, I wandered … till now.
Out here, on the edge, we have created another kind of life … far from the voices who scold and advise; who judge, without taking care of their own lives. And the peace is exquisite. Finally there is time to reconnect with the selves we used to be … as children, almost.
The mornings are my quiet time … where I get to read and write while looking up at a view that is so empty of people, in a place where there are absolutely no expectations beyond what I expect of myself.
So I potter these mornings, quietly cooking and fire-lighting between writing and reading and thinking, delighted to have someone to nurture. This someone I can nurture but who, more than just accepting these gifts from me, nurtures me in return.
These quiet days are the days we have stolen, before we move on into the next stage of Us, and they are all about recovering from difficult years and disappointments.
They are days full of shared music, good food, resting walking and reading. Of sharing our space with his old dog … that dog who has made me one the pack, gifting me his unreserved love.
The Tasman Sea, and the landscape in front of me, both shrouded in a soft sea mist that blurs the horizon, blending the grey and white sky with grey and white water. It's a soft morning, startlingly warm to this woman who has become used to the lower south-west corner and its mountains. Van Morrison is playing, my porridge and pears are ready to eat, the fire is ticking … life is good.
Ciao, from this place of quiet rugged New Zealand beauty.
