A healing HOLIDAY

Kerre finds clever ways to get around her latest injury

I don’t want to come crashing off the ladder and be left lying there until the lads turn up

Finally, finally, more than a month to the day that I was supposed to be up in the Hokianga, I’m here! And it’s bliss.

I was supposed to be here just after Christmas with Mum and then two friends, but my arm was still recovering from the operation and I couldn’t drive. But now, thanks to the wonders of North Shore surgeons and nurses, I’m back in the Hoki and it’s everything I remembered and more. A final glorious week before it’s back to work and back to reality. I imagine this is what you were all experiencing over Christmas and New Year – long, hot summer days, swims at the beach, feeling slightly sun-crisped around the edges at night and going days without washing your hair, or corralling yourself into a bra or putting on make-up. Heaven.

I’ve only been here 48 hours, but it feels like I’ve been here forever. Big walks on the beach, where I can count the number of people I see on one hand. Wallowing in the sea at high tide and being the only one in the water – if I don’t count the things I can’t see that make the harbour their home. Lolling in the hammock, trying not to be distracted by the tu¯i in full cry, reading one of the six library books I brought up. Discovering what’s ripe and ready in the garden – it changes every visit. This time it was blueberries off the bush for breakfast, spring onions and celery for salads, and silverbeet, which will stay in the garden until it’s time to come home and I can deliver a bunch to Mum.

There’s also the glorious holiday luxury of waking up early, then falling back to sleep. I’m making the most of that before I have to set my alarm clock next week.

I haven’t been entirely indolent. As I write, all the coffee cups in the cupboard are sitting softly fizzing on the bench with a mixture of vinegar and baking soda to brighten them up. The washing is on the line, and all doors and door handles have been wiped down. And I’ve written three columns – not all for the Weekly, sorry, Marilynn!

When it rains, I use the time productively, cleaning, writing or reading. I keep the doors open so the petrichor smell can waft through the house and I do the indoor jobs that need doing. Some of the jobs will have to wait until the boys come up. Even with a ladder, I’m too short to change the lightbulbs on the highest part of the ceiling, nor am I tall enough to reach some of the cobwebs. I am somewhat risk averse, following my latest fall. I don’t want to come crashing off the ladder and be left lying there until the lads turn up on Friday.

But some tricky jobs I’ve managed on my own. When I was smothering myself in sunscreen the other day, I looked at my poor back and wondered how I could protect it. With one gammy arm, it was mission impossible. Then inspiration struck. I’d use a spatula. The flat rubber wouldn’t soak up the sunscreen and it would be long enough to reach even the middle of my back. Amazing what you can do when you have to.

For the most part, I’m busy doing nothing. All I hear is the sound of birdsong and the tides coming in and going out. I’m doing exactly what I want and trying not to feel guilty about that. Does Catholic guilt stay with you forever, even though you left high school in the ’80s?! I feel so very grateful to be living in my kind of paradise for one glorious week before it’s back to reality.