By Lucy

The tradies were here bright and early Friday morning. Gary and Ethan were notably sluggish from the nights’ indulgences, which made me chuckle a bit.

Once I finished the few tasks Simonetta had for me, mostly carrying heavy things up and down the stairs for her, I was sent to ask Gary for work.

He set me about working on my cabin, which was never completed. I had to prime and paint all the fresh wood the tradies had put on the cabin, which included facing around the doors and windows. They also needed a bead of putty.

He sent Regan over to “teach” me how to use the silicone gun, but something in my face made him stop. “You already know how to do this stuff, don’t ya.”

“Yup.”

“Alroighty, I’ll get out of your hair then!” He said respectfully.

I worked away at that for a few of hours. I wouldn’t quit finish it within my required 5 hours, but no big deal….

“The boys asked if you could take the chicken feed off the side-by-side.” Simonetta said, as she drifted by with a load for the line.

“Are they not capable of doing that themselves?” I exclaimed. She rolled her eyes in agreement.

I finished what I was painting and packed my painting stuff up. Whatever, I’ll finish it another day. I took the side by side down to the pens and unloaded the bags next to them.

The chickens were unmanageable on a day when I was already feeling underappreciated. They kept nipping at my fingers every time I tried to pick up a bag. They also swarmed into the empty feed bins when I opened them. I decided I’d just put the bags away later, when they went back to roost.

I drove the side-by-side back up to the house and went into my cabin and flopped on the bed.

My phone pinged. Jen was in Christchurch tomorrow, if I could visit.

Could I? I’d already had my two days off, but maybe I could take it from next week… Weekends are a better bet because Kelly is here to do the chickens for me.

The door to my cabin opened and I yelped. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, sorry Lucy, I thought I saw you goin’ the other way. I was just gonna paint the doorway.” Regan said.

“I already painted it!”

“Oh jeez, Gary is so disorganized. Yeah, look at that! What a good job. That putty is way better than anything else I could do.” He put the paint can down on the table. “Mind if I just pretend to work here for a bit? I’m so tired of this.”

“Go ahead.” I got up and made myself a tea and a snack. I showed him the pictures of the grocery store walk-in fridges I worked on, many moon ago. “Some days I couldn’t bend my finger after work, cuz it was so sore from flexing all day.”

“I bet.”

“How’d you end up here, anyway?” I asked him.

“Gary offered me a week of work, 4 weeks ago.” He rolled his eyes.

“Am I the only one not being paid?” I threw my hands up.

“You should be. You oughta talk to Gary, he’ll set it right. I’ve known him for 20 years, he’s a good guy.”

Yeah, but Gary isn’t my boss nor the one who hired me. I think. I presume he would be my boss if the house building had gone ahead as planned.

I went into the house. Simonetta should be having a quiet day.

As I entered her office, she said. “Ah, Lucy. Could you grab those things in the basket by the door and go put them in the granary? There are guests checking in today and I forgot. The boys are coming on Monday, and I’ve got to make a list for me and Kelly for tomorrow and Sunday. Gary’s family is still in town but they’ve changed the plans from tonight to tomorrow night…”

“Sure. Umm, can I talk to you about my hours – “

“Yes, you’ve been doing too many lately. It’s unbalanced.” She paused, but before I could decided how to continue she added. “Take tomorrow off! If that’s alright.”

I nodded. I didn’t really want extra days off, but since I did have something to do tomorrow, why argue when she’s clearly distracted. I took the stuff down to the granary and texted Jen to make plans.

Dinner was a cold affair. The tradies had taken out the woodstove in the staff kitchen – apparently it had been roughed in around 12 years ago and never finished. So they had taken it out, finished the wall behind it (before it was just open to insulation and framing), put some tile in the floor, and left the furnace off, presumably to let the mortar for the tiles set over the weekend. Everyone was so used to having the woodstove that they forgot to make alternative heating plans, so we ate quickly.

I walked back down to the coop in the dark and put the chicken feed away. The chickens made soft noises at me, and I couldn’t tell if they were awake and complaining as I was disturbing them, or snoring. Do chickens snore?

The mice were still sending nightly showers of turds down. Is the roof not totally fixed? Do they have another way in?

Back to Christchurch. Urg.

It’s fine. I had cleverly picked a place on the outskirts of town, Willowbank Wildlife Preserve, so I wouldn’t have to drive into downtown traffic or try to find parking. Also, neither of us had been there, and Jen had spent a lot of time in Christchurch and seen almost everything already. We agreed to meet for 10AM.

It was a nice day for a ride, even if the wind was brutal. 19, sunny.

I got there a little later than intended. And the parking lot was packed – of course, last day of the holidays. One of the bonuses of a motorcycle, however, is that you have lots of options for parking, because you don’t need a full car space. I’d watched the Vagabond park on greenspaces and other paved areas lots of times. As long as you’re not blocking something, people usually don’t care.

Jen was waiting by the front door. The line-up was to the door, which made it look longer than it took to actually get through it. It took us maybe 10 minutes to stand in line, although halfway through she decided she had to go to the bathroom. When I suddenly found myself at the front of the line, I made a choice.

“2 adult tickets, please.”

As I was putting away my card, she ran up. “Oh, I’m so sorry, did we hold up the line?”

“Nah, it’s ok, I got you.” I said, steering her out of the way of the next customers.

“You didn’t have to do that!”

“It’s fine, you can get lunch.”

She nodded.

She broke down into fangirling when she noticed the sign by the entrance doors – otter feeding at 10:45.

“We have to see that!”

“Love otters, eh?” I laughed.

The wildlife preserve is beautifully designed. The first portion is a boardwalk over a moving stream, to showcase fish and waterfowl. There seems to be an abundance of opportunistic ducks that have figured out they can land in the preserve and get free food!

The first animal is the giant eels that were absent from the Avon. You can purchase specific feed for them and give it to them in these long skinny spoons.

All along the waterway was a collection of fat, colourful New Zealand ducks and geese. There was a regular swan (because no collection of waterfowl is complete without one, it seems. There was also a literal odd goose: the so-called “curly feather goose”, or Sebastopol goose. They were bred for down pillows, and their messy feathers unfortunately means they can’t fly.

After we exited the boardwalk, there were some small deer – brought here and bred for game – and then an area where you can walk among wallabies. There are lots of signs warning not to let the wallabies out, but they weren’t feeling very feisty this morning and stayed away from the path.

We entered a section of cages, where I started having problems getting good pictures of the vibrantly coloured birds! I hate to be “that person” trying to get the perfect photo, but fortunately Jen was also trying to get good photos, so at least I wasn’t alone in my madness.

At one point I noticed a lot of the birds were labelled “such-and-such parrot” and wondered what makes a bird a parrot. There was a zoo keeper in one of the cages putting out feed, so I yelled at them “What makes it a parrot?”

They froze. “I’m not sure, actually. The beak shape, I think? They have a large upper beak and it’s curved.”

(They were mostly correct. It’s also that they have 4 toes, 2 on the front and 2 on the back.)

There was this one peafowl type bird who apparently had free reign and was winding his way around all the exhibits, photobombing.

There was a chimp exhibit, but chimps are chimps and you can see them at any zoo. Me and Jen agreed, we’ve both been to many regular zoos and the draw for the preserve was to see New Zealand wildlife we couldn’t see elsewhere!

There was one exhibit with a bunch of turtles piled onto a log, sunning themselves!

The emu was slightly terrifying and I stood well back from the fence, because I wasn’t convinced he couldn’t stick his head through if he really disliked you.

We both agreed we love capybaras and they look very huggable. There is an option to basically pay to cuddle a capybara for 20 minutes, but we were both too cheap for it.

She was overjoyed to see the otters and we stood there for several minutes while they frolicked in the water. I told her some indigenous stories about otters, which reminded me that here we were, in New Zealand, trading stories about our respective native countries (she’s from Toulouse, if you were wondering).

The next section was done up like a barn and featured some of the animals bred for New Zealand.

As a sidebar cuz who knows where else I’ll put it, sheep breeding is going through changes in New Zealand. Firstly, apparently the predominate breed for many years was only producing one lamb during breeding season, so they imported and crossbred it with a British variety that produces three when it breeds and now they’re a victim of success. Secondly, supposedly the price of wool has collapsed, so a large number of breeders are breeding “wool-free” sheep, who don’t grow enough hair to need to be sheered, just for meat. Food for thought.

The barn animals! There was the kunekune pig (kune just being the Maori word for pig, naturally), some pure white doves, a Clydesdale who seemed very out of place, and an absurd variety of chickens! Selkies (which we have in Canada, and look hilarious), black and white ones, and couple varieties with fuzzy feet!! It has to be seen to be believed;

There was a little herb and veggies garden, which seemed out of place in a wildlife preserve. The most interesting thing in there is that, in New Zealand the clover grows like three feet high and they harvest it with a thresher! It’s used as a nitrogen fixer and as cattle feed.

The larger mammal area was funny – the fence is honestly not high enough to prevent a real escape attempt, the animals just don’t feel like escaping. There were small cows, goats and sheep. I do find it curious that a lot of animals that would be smaller in North America are massive, like the geese, but the larger animals are smaller – the cows were all half the size of a usual cow. But then, I’ve seen regular Angus cows here, so it’s not a rule.

Jen had never seen a llama and somewhat leaned over the fence to get a better picture of it. Which led to a hilarious moment where the llama decided she was getting too fresh, and walked right up to her! I had to warn her that llamas will spit if they don’t like you, and she gave the fence a wide berth after that. The llama followed us until we were beyond the reach of its pen.

There was a small reptile house with some lizards and turtles. The king of the exhibit is the tuatara, although to be honest it does just look like a small iguana. The plaques like to play up the fact that it is a “living dinosaur”, but then so are crocodiles and sharks and many other things. It is scientifically interesting; it represents a missing link between dinosaurs and reptiles, and it only exists in New Zealand. Also like a few reptiles, they have a “third eye”, which is covered over by scales between 4 and 6 months of age and is not longer visible to the naked eye but remains functional. If you have an interest in dinosaurs, look into it further!

And then the exhibit I really wanted to see… the kea!

Actually, why do I want to see Kea? They are the sheep-eating parrots that I was worried would take a chunk out of my motorcycle! They’re like magpies turned up to 11 – they will grab anything out of your hand, just to bug you. Sometimes they will eat sheep while the sheep is still alive. They’re also somewhat endangered and I think the world is better with them in it. You can walk in their exhibit, like the wallabies, and it is notably the only exhibit that has a “bypass” so you don’t have to risk them messing with you.

For better or worse, they were docile the day we were there, and no shenanigans ensued.

And last but not least, the legendary Kiwi.

Kiwis, as it turns out, are delicate and nocturnal, so you can’t really get a good photograph of them. The preserve keeps a small population on an artificially reversed day-night cycle, in a large underground room. It was cool to see, but obviously fake nighttime does not make excellent pictures so I have none that I took. I stuck around long enough to observe one with my eyes, then the enforced silence started wearing on me and I went to the exit to wait for Jen.

Then we were done! We wandered down to the cafe for lunch, it being nearly 1. I ordered a delicious seafood linguini, and a flat white in the edible cup they advertise. The edible cup is simple, really – just a tooled up version of an ice cream cone!

We sat around chatting and eating for the better part of two hours. We tried to find somewhere else to go, but the irony was that anywhere we went, she’d have to take the bus and I’d be stuck waiting. Which isn’t the end of the world, but when it was nearly 2 PM and I’d still have to negotiate traffic to get out of the downtown core, I wasn’t keen on it.

I had been hemming and hawing about taking her on the bike. The first problem is the lack of spare helmet. The second problem is that I’m not sure if I’m legally allowed to have a passenger, although I suppose that’s technically only a problem if I get pulled over. Hanuman told me he thinks I could handle a passenger, and Duff told me I should cool my jets. I expected her to be leery about being a passenger with someone who was unsure, but ironically, she was very excited about the prospect of being on the back of a motorcycle. She requested to see it, so we walked out to the parking lot and I showed off my bike, which was quite gratifying!

I headed home after that, sad to say. There wasn’t much to do beyond sit around and chitchat, and it was starting to feel silly.

At 7, Simonetta and Gary were heading out for dinner, so me and Ethan were on our own. I fixed myself a dinner of leftovers and went back to my cabin to curl up in front of the fire.

I woke up at 2 AM to the sound of fat raindrops hitting the roof. The tinny sound of raindrops on the roof is soothing most of the time, but that night it was loud and grating.

When I woke up, it was still actively raining. Puddles had formed on the gravel driveway.

Through a collection of odd luck and the fact it doesn’t rain often here, I hadn’t actually fed the chickens in the rain before. Would it be the same, or different? Do the chickens need to be water?

I went to the staff door, but it was locked.

I was baffled. I couldn’t remember it ever being locked before. They must have partied hard the night before.

Kelly would be here soon. I’ll wait for her.

Within 20 minutes I heard her car in the drive. She was also confused by the locked door, but said you feed the chickens the same. She went to check why the laundry room door was closed and was bounded upon by Earl and Luigi.

“Why were they in there!” She exclaimed as she wrestled them back in and shut the door.

I shrugged. “Gary locks them in there when he doesn’t feel like taking them down to the kennel.”

It still doesn’t seem like a nice way to treat the dogs, especially Earl. I know she needs to be kept on a lead because she has a tendency to run off, but when you just shuttle her from kennel to lead to kennel, she’s not really getting a chance to stretch her legs. I had suggested to Rich that I was tempted to keep them inside my cabin so they had a little more room, and he pointed out I’d probably wake up with a Luigi-shaped heater. Which isn’t the worst thing, but I’m not cold in bed. What I dread is getting out of bed and making my breakfast in the morning.

I went down to feed the chickens and collect the eggs while she tried calling Simonetta.

When I got back to the house, the door was unlocked, and Simonetta and Gary were having breakfast. We left the eggs on the counter to give them privacy, and went to turn over the cabins; one guest was moving across the country and had left bright and early. The other guest left by the time we were done the first cabin.

I had a few basic fix ‘er up jobs to do, and then I was asked to clean the coal range while Simonetta and Kelly cleaned the cellar. Not that I was arguing, there are entirely too many spiders in the cellar for me.

I was curious about the large coal-fired stove that exists in the ancient kitchen. Apparently because of the cost and effort required to keep it running, Simonetta fires it up when it becomes cold enough in fall, and keeps it running all winter. Her cooking changes, becoming mostly baking to take advantage of the fact the stove is always on and warmed up. When it’s warm enough in the spring to wind it down, they do one big clean and then she oils it to maintain it and then it’s just idle ’til autumn.

That’s pretty cool, I’m sad I missed it in operation.

It took me a couple of hours to scrape all the ash out of it, replace all the parts, wipe down both it and the walls around it, and then do a final sweep for stray ash. I was covered in soot by the end, like a proper Cinderella.

“Service is back to being rubbish.” Kelly said, as we sat down to have a tea. Simonetta nodded. At my curious look, she added, “They have a repeater to improve cell service for the ski hills. They unplugged the repeater today cuz it’s the end of ski season.”

Of course, even less reliable service!

Monday was back to school after spring break, which means Simonetta is back to her second job as a teacher (no, I don’t know how she does it either). My Italian lessons will also take a bit of a backburner, understandably.

The first order of business was to make sure the cottage was fit for the two boys to stay in. I didn’t know anything about them other than they are “strong boys” and from the Czech Republic. Simonetta just asked me to take down the milk, butter, bread and sheets, and leave them there, but I also made sure there was cereal, jam, coffee and tea, and I made the beds. The first day of being here and having Ethan vaguely point at the unmade cabin (there’s still a box of Lemsip under the bed from the previous occupant) is not something I want to to inflict on someone who is potentially visiting a new country for the first time.

After that, I was handed off to Gary for more painting tasks. The big one was the cornerboard on the 2-story cabin, which the tradies had replaced. Gary had put up a scaffolding to match, lashed it to the building with a ratchet strap, and put a single deck on it. Tada, your working platform. Regan refused to paint it because he’s scared of heights, and Ethan refused to paint it “because he’s not good at cutting in” (because obviously people will be checking the white-on-white paint job behind the building).

It’s only two stories. Not even. It’s not that high.

“What, are you afraid, girl?” The Vagabond’s voice drifts from my imagination.

“Probably hurt myself if I fall.”

“Don’t fall, then.” Chuckle.

Right.

I wonder if he would agree to this or if he would insist on some sort of fall protection. He does fastidiously use the provided PPE, but he also likes to brag about how he’s not afraid of anything.

Obviously, ground and first floor were no big deal. It was when I had to haul myself up to the top with a full paint can that my heart started racing. Double for when I had to lean off the scaffold to get the far side of the cornerboard.

Then I ran into a snag. I was not tall enough to reach the highest 2 feet, everything else notwithstanding.

Well, I primed as far as I could reach, then I walked back to the staff kitchen, where everyone else was having a tea. “I’m not tall enough to do the corner board.”

“Put another level of scaffolding up?” Ethan suggested.

“Nah, we don’t have any more.” Says Gary.

“The cherry picker?”

Gary thinks for a minute. “How much is it?”

“Two, maybe three feet.” I reply.

Ethan rolls his eyes. “Alright, I’ll do it, but it won’t be pretty.”

Everyone at the table shrugs. I’m pretty sure he’s also afraid of the scaffold, but he’s bullheaded and won’t admit it, like me.

After I’m done that, I go back to my cabin to work on painting it. There’s only one sander to share, so I have to hunt down Regan for it. He comes back to the cabin with me to see what I need it for.

“I have to do the windows, and around the top of the roof.” I point.

He goes up to the window and peers at it. The paint was clearly done too thickly and is flaking off. Whoever did around the glass smeared paint across it as well. He points to a board next to the window, which is rotten and splitting around the nails. “We should just strip this entire wall, use some turp to clean up the windows…”

I shrugged. “Gary just told me to sand down the window frame and redo it.”

He makes a face, but there’s really no point in putting that much effort into this place. From what I’ve gathered, this cabin is some sort of retrofit of one that existed before, not a new build. And it’s entirely within the realm of possibility that the property will sell right away when it goes on the market in November, and the new owners just tear this down.

Around 5:30, I go into the house to make a phone call. The local Soroptimist requested I call her, for some strange reason, but Simonetta and Gary are ok with me using the landline. There’s a meeting near Christchurch next Monday. If I can get to her place by 5PM, I can carpool with her and then crash at her place, which sounds like a good idea. The meeting starts at 6 and there’s no way I’ll be there briefly enough to be able to drive back in the daylight. She lives out in Rangiora, which she makes sound like a trek and a half from my location, even though it’s less than an hour.

Also, that’s still all information she could have relayed over email, but I suppose some people like to hear a voice before they commit to letting a stranger sleep in their house.

Me and Simonetta are talking about the Soroptimists when the door pops open and a tall, graceful lady in a peacoat, shades and high heels struts in. We look at each other before she takes off her glasses and reveals that it’s Kelly!

Since she was in Christchurch for work, she picked up the boys and brought them here. She dropped them off directly at their cottage and drove up here to say hi.

Simonetta turns to me. “Would you like to come with me to meet them?”

“Absolutely!”

“Ah, we’ll need to grab milk, bread…”

“I already put all those things in their cabin.”

“You did? Goodness! I love it when people use their brains and don’t need to be told every little thing.”

We meet them on the path, in the dying light.

They are brothers Martin and Jacob. Based on what they’ve said, they’ve visited like 150 of 200 countries that exist, meaning they have the Vagabond beat for rambling as well. Surprisingly, they only know Czech and English – English gets them everywhere, although their accents are still rather thick. I suppose it’s a mishmash of other foreigners who don’t speak English as a first language either.

Jacob is the older brother, more gregarious and a bit of a jokester. Martin prefers to let Jacob speak for both of them, but his grasp of English is better and he’s more observant. They only brought one small backpack each, meaning they packed even less than I did.

We walked them back down to the cabin, where Simonetta gave them the rundown of how things go around here. Once all the introductions were done, she excused herself to go make dinner. I showed them where the woodshed and the laundry are. They offered to be up as early as 6:30, but I told them Simonetta is rarely up before 9.

The temp dipped close to 0 that night, not quite close enough for it to snow. It was still raining cats and dogs when I got up.

Tuesday was going to be the first day I tried to keep the fire going all day. I know you shouldn’t technically leave the fire going unattended, but my cabin is explicitly not insulated, and I didn’t fancy the idea of trying to start the fire and then shivering for a couple of hours while it built up from near-zero. I had stockpiled a bunch of little pieces so that when I had to throw something on the coals, it wouldn’t result in a big fire.

Another reason to hate the rain – the chicken pens become mud puddles. I slip and slide on it, the chickens are covered in filth, and the eggs are all dirty the next days from the mud on their little raptor feet. I stomped back up to the house, dripping rain and dragging my wet, muddy shoes through the grass to try and clean them off best I can.

Simonetta had the boys taking down and packing most of the decorations around her living space, and wiping down the walls. They get pretty dirty from the smoke when you open the wood stove. There was an impressive collection of plates shaped like cabbage leaves on the big cabinet, which it turns out are Gary’s.

Once they were safely in the dishwasher for a dust before they get packed into a box, my job was revealed. There was a section of baseboard that had been removed to install the fireplace, which wouldn’t even be that bad except apparently there was no wall behind it, just insulation. I was to fashion something to cover the hole.

Gary sent me to the garage to find an appropriate piece of wood, but he didn’t like my suggestions and sent me to the stable instead. There was a piece exactly like the baseboard, except now I needed a skill saw that didn’t need a plug, cuz no way was I standing in the rain trying to use a saw. All the skill saws in the truck had plugs.

“Where’s the Milwaukee with the battery?”

“Just grab the drop saw.”

The what?

Apparently in New Zealand, a mitre is called a drop saw. The language barrier strikes again.

I still think a skill saw would have been just fine, but whatever. I set the mitre up on my little porch (the better to keep an eye on my fire), cut, sanded, primed and panted the piece of wood while I ducked in and out of other little jobs.

The chickens lay more eggs in the summer, so we are drowning in them. Simonetta decided to make scrambled eggs on toast for lunch, which were delightfully light and fluffy. I wished she had made double, and settled for regular toast with jam as I was still hungry.

Then I had to notch the board.

Hmm…

It’s not like I haven’t notched wood before, but it was always for scaffolding, so looking pretty wasn’t important. I realized that with the mitre, trying to notch the board the way I was used to would leave big lateral gashes in my paint job. I pulled out my phone.

“You need a drill and a chisel.” Jacob helpfully started to offer.

“I know what to do!” I exclaimed, even though I really didn’t, hastily shoving my phone back in my pocket. “But do you think I can find the tools I need in that truck?”

Jacob had seen the inside of the truck earlier. “Good point. Good luck!” He grinned.

I heard the Vagabond laughing the back of my mind. “Thought you were a carpenter?”

Look, I know what I don’t know. I wanted this job cuz I thought it would be Gary teaching me, not Gary going “Here’s a piece of wood and the tool truck, figure it out”. What I wouldn’t give to go back in time and watch the Vagabond’s old man teach him! Hah!

Back to reality.

I stomped back out into the rain. Mercy of mercies, there was a square chisel and a hammer right on top of the mélange of tools. I brought them back to my porch and put the chisel to the wood.

Um.. let’s be smart about this. Hit the back of the wood, so if it doesn’t look pretty no one will see it.

Whack!

Not bad, good bite on the first hit. My hammer technique continues to improve. Could it really be this easy, just cut through the wood with the chisel?

I heard a chuckle and looked up. The journeyman was walking by. “Having fun?” He asked me.

I shrugged. Might as well be, since who knows what else I am doing here!

Learning, in theory.

The wood was rotten and splintery. Luckily, I had erred on the side of caution and measured the notch slightly small, so I could clean it up with sandpaper. It’s wasn’t the nicest thing, but pretty good for a first attempt. My biggest problem is that the wire for the TV goes through where the baseboard should be, so there was no option but to notch it below the level of the wall.

Before I installed it, I waited for the journeyman to walk past. “I did it!” I said, holding it up.

To my surprise, he actually walked over to take a closer look at it. “Pretty good.” He said approvingly. “Let me know if you want me to clean it up.”

He paused and for a moment I considered it. But I shook my head. If I let him fix it, I might as well have let him do the entire bit. I debated asking him if he would let me work with him, cuz he seemed pretty positive and laid back, but then he was gone into the rain again.

The boys are hard workers. I think we’ll be able to get a lot more stuff done!

For dinner, funnily enough, Simonetta made chicken with gravy, potatoes, pumpkin and parnips. It seemed oddly like she was trying to replicate a North American Thanksgiving dinner, which had just passed.

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Update

I decided to skip a lot of the next week, to give myself a brain break from constantly updating the blog. Not much happened – we painted and worked on the garden. I worked 9 days without a day off, oops.

Surprising no one, probably, I write novels in my spare time. One of the smaller reasons for starting the blog was to break my writer’s block. I’m feeling like working on my novel again, but I wanted to have a finished rough draft before I open it up to general reading. Still, if anyone wants to read the 2/3’s of a novel I’ve got, I’ll attach the link here. It’ll ask me for permission when you click on it.

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Meditative Nonsense

I observed to Rich that I’ve been here for a month and I haven’t bothered unpacking my clothes into the dresser in the cabin. Part of that was because it took me a while to notice there was a dresser – it’s hidden under the kitchen counter. There’s also nowhere to store my luggage, so it’ll just be empty on my bed anyway. But another part is that it just seemed silly to unpack somewhere temporary. Except, how temporary is this? I already agreed to two months before I got here, and I’ve extended it by another three weeks… that’s almost as long as I lived at Wolfgang’s place, collectively.

He said something about acceptance and belonging, and I pointed out those are two different things. I believe everyone here accepts me. But do I belong here, or feel a sense of belonging, is something else entirely, not usually something I’ve had.

I’ve always known myself fairly well. Everyone’s who’s known me for a long time has been unsurprised by the recent changes in my life – it might be a significant shift from the way I lived, but entirely within my character.

And yet, I’m still surprised by the extent to which I didn’t realize the restless wanderer was an option for me. I suppose part of that is the endless cliche of it. Another part is the reason why Moana speaks to me. Her village isn’t a bad place; she doesn’t have wanderlust to escape from an unpleasant situation, like so many other stories. My life immediately before wasn’t bad, it just…

It’s like the Avicii lyrics;

All this time I was finding myself

and I didn’t know I was lost

I noticed Avicii took his name from Avici, a “punishment” realm for translations’ sake, in Hinduism and Buddhism.

For a long time I’ve been bugging Hanuman about how to attain Nirvana, and the nature of desire. Ironically, it’s been a long path for me to even learn how to want things. I had a thought that you can’t be empty without being full first.

I still go back and forth on what “wanting” means. I am enjoying the trip, but truth is, I would be equally happy in Thunder Bay. I had the means to go to New Zealand, and the interest in doing so, but it’s not like it would have been a lifelong regret otherwise. Hell, before last year I had basically written off visiting New Zealand as unattainable. Truth be told, I didn’t even go looking for the visa – it literally appeared as an ad on my Facebook feed. So presented with two equally viable options, I chose this one, but I still wouldn’t say I “wanted” to go.

So, did I accumulate karma for it? It’s like saying, when presented with chicken or fish for dinner, you chose fish cuz you prefer it – is that coveting? Wanting? Desire? You had to make a choice, or does someone on the path to Nirvana see something I don’t?

Maybe I worry too much.

Il meglio è l’inimico del bene.

“Perfect is the enemy of good.”