6 min read

the weekend that was

the weekend that was


i have so much to tell you that i am not at all certain of where to begin.

so i keep things to myself, stuck in outward silence with a blaze of words crackling around in my head.

do i start by telling you about the sofa, or the magpie calling nearby? do i mention the cows in the valley, the paradise duck calling as it flies overhead, or the hawk quietly gliding from one side of the window frame to the other? do i mention the outdoor bath with a majestic view that sang to me, though i never answered her siren song (but my best friend did)?

and what of the river that tumbles through the valley below, making its way out to the sea we catch a glimpse of on the horizon… if i started with that, where would i go next and what else would i say? would i tumble over the rocks forming white caps with my words that stir you the same way the sound of rain down a drainpipe stirs me?

do i start with our turntable of togetherness; the way we circle around each other, our grooves forming a familiar tune when we gather? do i talk to you about how stable the vibrations are that connect us … so much so that we arent ever really that far away from each other (or is that taking my peculiarities of thought to a level you are uncomfortable discussing)?

should i talk about how i believe there is no right or wrong way to be near the ocean, there just is. and what of the ocean itself? watching the waves fold over themselves as if in competition for the best spot on the shore. standing in the foam and the roar, feeling the tug of childhood as i gaze at the horizon, sand sticking to my feet and nestling under my toenails; the nostalgia that creeps into my thoughts as i’m exploring the drains that carry joyful waterfalls through black sand to the shoreline.

perhaps instead of sea, or river stories i could start with the tray filled with tiny flower vases, stuffed with colour, catching the sun. or how maybe the breakfast at lahar would be to your liking…. the plump rosti and crispy salmon skin with mustardy hollandaise and layers of flavour. or the old school knitting patterns that indicate which loos are the ones for you.

a handful of tiny purple shells and a perfectly formed spider web speak to me deeply of both fragility and resilience. i am unable to resist either of them.

would you find it as funny as i did that our friends arrived with a gift but hadn’t realised it was my birthday, and would you laugh even more when you found out that i received a birthday email from her yoga studio email address inviting me to join her for a complimentary class?

would you be interested to know about the heated floor in the bathroom or the way all of us moved with the sun? would you like to know about the lilies growing on the side of the road that glowed as white as the fresh dusting of snow on mount taranaki? or how a defiant part of me will quietly always call it mount egmont in honour of my grandparents house and the street that they lived on?

i wonder if i should tell you about the david clegg exhibition at the art gallery and how i set previously disconnected neurons in my brain down new creative idea pathways. or how len lye’s exquisitely tangible and untouchable sculpture was so mesmerising in ways that made my soul move in the same rhythm and place in space. might we discuss how much beauty and pain its possible to cram into one weekend and how companionable silence can often speak more about the nature of a relationship than any words ever could?

what about the dumplings and bao and coconut black rice pudding we got as takeaways from a local restaurant, and how we ventured out for saturday night’s dinner. would i tell you about those or would you lose interest halfway through given you weren’t there and it’s never the same when you just hear about it rather than being there to savour it all? would you even get this far through our conversation or did your attention wander much much earlier, leaving me alone here with my words?

should i point out to you that from this angle, i can’t tell where the sky ends and the world begins? or how much of a love/hate relationship i have when life intervenes and a rapid adjustment is required? would i follow up with a comment on the imprecise nature of interactions…

…or should just keep it simple and say, “yeah it was awesome, how was yours“?