The office being No 8, my house, my street. This house. The communal gathering point.
My days are never boring. Today being a good example. There have been comings and goings. Tonight a pleasant night of comings and goings. Eight of us will be walking the Heaphy Track in two weeks time, tonight there was a pre-Heaphy meeting of the eight to figure out logistics of the almost two weeks we will be away. Such a lot to logisticalise about too.
Being outdoor adventurers of the Kiwi kind we really do have to cross our t's and dot our i's to make sure every eventuality is covered for our hard and arduous few days of walking in the South Island West Coast wilderness. Therefore logistics relating to every angle are a must.
Logistics such as: Who is bringing the wine? How many of us can carry the wine? When do we purchase the wine? Which person has the biggest plastic carryall to carry the wine? Where do we find really lightweight, yet compact-able glasses from which to drink the wine? Which night is it that we will most need the wine?
Clearly there is going to be some form of division among this group of eight. Division over which wine will be carried, and by who, and who gets to imbibe the most. The sticking point being that one in the group is a white wine only consumer while the rest of us are more than happy to know the most obvious choice of colour to take will be the crimson coloured, which will be nicely warmed and ready for supping at the end of a hard, hiking day.
If only there were some way to get wifi service in the Heaphy Track, am sure there could, or would, be some most interesting articles scribed after a few glasses of whatever wine we have.
That was this evenings busy-ness. The earlier part of the day passed relatively quickly as I was ticking off many of the items on my ever growing list of 'To dos'. I did do many today. Not without leaking moments.
The weekend just gone had reason to unconsciously have me reflecting on a period only eighteen months ago when my dear one was still with me. This weekend past I had committed myself to giving some of my time to the sport of triathlon, paying back as opposed to paying forward.
Auckland was hosting an international triathlon event and many weeks ago I responded to the call out from Triathlon NZ for qualified triathlon technical officials to put their hands up and volunteer to give up some time to assist with the smooth management of the numerous events being held over a two day period. As is often the case the good inner being within myself immediately responded to the affirmative and ticked the 'Yes' box to help out in any role of technical official. Little did I realise at the time how burdensome that genuine desire to help out would take it's toll, both physically and mentally.
Shan't go into definitive detail as to what I mean by that except to say that the weekend aroused a continual flow of memory bank unfolding. Of being reminded how only eighteen months ago I was at a replica event with my sweet, dear man.
It is funny how the subconscious mind works. There is little conscious control of how and when and in what form that the subconscious will sneak it's way through to the consciousness. And when it does, Wham, it hits hard, it hits deep and it sits and lingers, no matter what tools one brings out to move it along or away.
For two days the damned subconscious interfered with the practicality of living in the now, of living in the future and moving forward to the future. It kept dragging me back to the past, to the mode and presence of eighteen months ago. It dug it's toes in and would not budge, no matter how I tried to move it away, dissolve it or ignore it. It hung over me like a foreboding black cloud of condemnation for daring to try to disperse it.
Saturday, the most glorious April Saturday in Auckland, this invisible yet morbidly heavy weight black cloud moved over to follow me around. No matter what, or who, or where I was during the day it sat right over me - choosing to interfere with conversations, thought patterns and any form of obvious frivolity I compelled myself to have in an attempt to disperse the blackness above. Damned thing. It just would not go, or disperse and stay away. Indeed, it floated above me all Saturday and then throughout Sunday. As the hours passed on Sunday I found it totally oppressive to the point where I ended up escaping the environs and heading home to close the door and feel a sense of relief in not having to be churning on the inside and bright and bubbly on the outside. It was a good decision. A little bit of leaking love on the way home and things lightened a little.
A new day today found it was still floating above to a lesser degree, but still there.I found myself, once again, leaking love as I descended the escalators in a Newmarket shopping mall. The car park attendant must have thought I'd made a terribly bad purchase as he glanced at me when handing me back my car park ticket. I had donned the sunglasses but the leaks were too fluid.
The afternoon was a busy one involving buoying up someone else whose life has taken a far greater turn toward glumness than mine and fortunately my efforts to help this frail and elderly one meant that the cloud, whilst still there, was not bearing down on me with such great weight. The temporary lift was replaced with sadness for my friend. That was not a negative, for the positivity of at least giving time to try and help made for a greater resilience to black clouds of my own. As I left her place of residence with a heavy heart over her situation it steered me in the direction of determining to make a mutual alliance with this cloud that was sitting above, to acknowledge it was allowed to creep in and out of my life at undetermined times, but I was not to be surprised at the indeterminate times it fronted up. For I think that was the problem, I did not expect it whereas at other occasions there were obvious reasons for it occurring, this one had not crossed my mind.
But never mind. It's gone now. No doubt helped by the knowledge that seven other Heaphy-trackites were heading this way this evening, armed with good thoughts, positive energy, and a couple of bottles of red wine. Or three. Ah, the panacea of many things, fine people and crimson wine. Or deep red. Or white, or pink and bubbly. Whichever colour - they are the perfect metaphoric antidote to have helped blow the cloud away.
