Getting sorted

Sold!

 

 It's now October and, by the measure of recent years, this year has been manic. Moving house is difficult at the best of times; when you are both well into your senior years, it can seem next to impossible. For a while, our only goal was to survive the next open home - there were ten in all, the last one on 27 July. Then, finally, on 18 September, moving day was upon us. Our movers were great; they came and packed, transported everything and cleaned the empty house. I must admit that paying the bill was significantly less stressful than doing all the work ourselves.

 

I'm glad that we didn't leave it any longer before selling the castle and downsizing. The last seven months have been exhausting enough, even though we had professionals doing most of the heavy lifting. At our age, taking six months out to work on moving house seems like a significant inroad to our remaining years; another few years, and it feels like the stress could have been terminal. Still, here we are, all in one piece and ready to make the most of the remaining years.

Our new 'digs'

We are now five weeks into our new home, and things are beginning to fall into place. There is still much to do to make it 'our place', but we have made a good start. As the garage slowly emptied of storage boxes, the car finally managed to get undercover last week. A dog-proof gate has been installed on the courtyard entrance, insect screens for doors and windows are being manufactured, and the landscape man is looking at repaving our courtyard out the back.

The lounge.

Our unit is nice, less than half the size of the castle, but warm and comfortable. I have a small office, and Annette has a nice workroom out in the 'Pod'. There's a 5m square living area and a wonderful-looking modern kitchen. About that kitchen … we both liked it when we viewed the unit back in March. It is a modern upmarket design with some very snazzy appliances. After working in it for the last few weeks, we can also confirm that it is an absolute triumph of form over function. I could go on for the rest of this post about the kitchen's shortcomings, but suffice it to say, it is the most inefficient kitchen I have ever tried to work in. Looks, dear reader, aren't everything.

Courtyard and 'pod'

We have a large lawn out front, which someone else takes care of, and a nice-sized private courtyard, which is a bit shabby at the moment but will be made into a nice sunny space for sitting outside when the weather permits. We still have too much stuff (little stuff, not furniture), but we'll work through that in the coming weeks. 

 

Staying in Oxford has been good. If we had to find our feet in a new community as well as a new home, it would have been too much change. Bethany is now just a few meters up the same street, while Katie and her family are just around the corner. All up, this seems to be a good choice as a place to work out our retirement. We feel quite blessed.

 

Then, on Thursday last week, we had the strongest winds that we have seen for several years. Trees down, power lines down, trucks blown over - it affected everywhere from Southland to the middle of the North Island. Some of the more remote places are probably going to be without power for a week yet. Fortunately, our power went out during breakfast, but was back on in time to cook dinner - one of the advantages of living in a small town, I guess. First power outage in our all-electric home, though!

 

All this activity has, fortunately, diverted our attention from the fact that the USA continues its seemingly relentless march from world power to bankrupt impotence. There's still a way to go yet, but the direction of travel seems set and, rather than fix the problem, those who can seem to be fleeing the sinking ship. I guess that's what you get when a country puts individuality above community, power above truth, and braggadocio above character. Whatever you think of his predecessors, Trump will at least earn his place in the history books as the president who swung the wrecking ball - both figuratively and literally (goodbye, East Wing). Oh dear, that probably means I am on some administrative blacklist now. C'est la vie.

Trapped in the Twilight Zone

 

Waking late, the clock tells me it is 9:15 though the light from the window says, dull, grey and 7:15. Not sure which to believe. The house is eerily quiet, heavy with the absence of wife (off shopping) and my brain is certainly not in gear yet as I shuffle into the living room. 

Apparently, Christchurch has had an earthquake (sheesh, didn't we already do that one?) and Facebook is showing me a twenty-year-old picture of my sister and niece, along with a whole bunch of other stuff that I'm sure I have seen before. Perhaps I've entered a time-warp. 

The news is no help either. The UK is in lockdown (been there, done that) and the US still can't decide between Sleepy and Grumpy (If only they could find the other five dwarves they might have a real choice). So, no help there. New Zealand has never felt so sane. 

I decide to cook breakfast, open the dishwasher to retrieve a plate, only to discover that everything is still dirty (I usually put it on before going to bed). Then there's my foot; incrementally better, but still swollen and confining me to another day of hobbling indoor existence, sans footwear. 

Groundhog day? Timewarp? Twilight Zone? Or perhaps I've started to crack and am going slightly doolally. But then, you knew that, didn't you? Hello, is anyone there? 

COVID-19 Life (1)

After only two days at alert level 2, the number of NZ infections has now reached 102. Today, the government moved us to alert level 3 and gave notice that we would move to alert level 4 (the highest level) on Wednesday.

At level 4, everyone has to stay at home, all non-essential businesses, schools, and public gatherings are banned and only essential service personnel are allowed to attend their workplace. The level 4 restrictions will be in place for at least four weeks. I believe that the majority of New Zealanders are behind these measures and understand the need for the vast inconvenience that they will cause. Some, of course, take this opportunity to flaunt their stupidity and selfishness by trying to empty supermarket shelves at ten times the usual rate.

I am not sure how I feel about the next four weeks. On the one hand, the thought of being at home for four weeks sounds attractive. On the other, I can’t help but wonder whether, after four weeks of virtual house-arrest, we might all get a little stir-crazy. We are allowed out of the house for exercise, provided that we keep our distance from others, but we are being encouraged not to travel further further than “local”. I guess that a ‘Sunday drive’ isn’t out of the question, provided that we stay in the car and don’t handle a petrol pump.

It is worth remembering though, that shouldering a little inconvenience is nothing compared to the five-year sacrifice made by my parent’s and grandparent’s generations. If I catch myself grumbling at any point, I hope I remember that.

Green house, blue

Eventually it had to happen; after 25 years in the green house it was way past time for a lick  (or  two) of paint. Wattyl call it "Scandinavian Grey" - I call it pale blue. Whatever it's called, it's a nice facelift for the southernmost outpost of the Ford clan. 

Budge up!

Annette and I were never naive enough to imagine that being a parent stopped when the fledglings left home. But, since the nest emptied a few years ago, we have become rather accustomed to 'home' being a somewhat tranquil refuge to which we can both retreat at the end of a busy day or week.

That tranquility was interrupted at the beginning of this year when our son needed a roof over his head while he finished his nursing degree. Next weekend our youngest daughter joins him as the tenancy on her flat has come to an end and a replacement is not available. And so we find ourselves having to squeeze up our 'spread-outedness' as we loose our last 'spare' room. (Please don't ask to come and stay for a while - unless the floor will do.)

No, being a parent doesn't end when they leave home and, being a parent still comes with responsibilities. So, we squeeze up and make room, not only in a physical sense but in a relational sense too; for these returning children are not the same as those that left a few years back. They return with a maturity that they didn't possess before (and some lingering immaturity that we wish they had lost). They return with new habits and traits born of their recent freedom. Their expectations are different and have a validity that often challenges our own. There is a lot of making room to be done.

So, the cars are out of the garage. The garage is now 'storage' and the oldies must remember not to walk about the house in their underwear in the mornings. So much for 'retirement' :-)