My neighbour, Papa Ray, from the big house on our property, says everything in the islands arrives with a bang: summer, winter, dawn, darkness. It's true - because we are quite close to the equator, it gets dark early, even in summer, and quite suddenly. And in the morning, bang! The sky is light all of a sudden and it's time to get up.
I decided not to go to the market this morning. One of the good things about the colder weather of late is that the island is bursting with vegetables, so there's not the same need to get to the market to scramble around for something green. There is plenty at the local vege stall and at the shop down the road.
Three things really needed doing today:
1. mow the lawns
2. resign - finally - from the lettuce job
3. write a response to a nasty letter to the editor about my article on Palmerston.
Re the latter, the editor had asked for a response, which will run at the same time as the letter. The writer basically said I couldn't know anything about the island unless I'd lived there 10 years, that I was too positive about it and should have been more negative. I guess it makes a change: a journalist being criticised for being too positive. I made a point of staying positive in my reply, and not stooping to his level of being personal and nasty.
It felt good to mow the lawns after that. I never like the thought of the job, but don't mind it once I'm out there. We live on an acre, and although my area to mow is less than half, it's still quite a big job. But I decided today there's a big difference between mowing the lawns in suburbia, surrounded by fences, and mowing the lawns here, where I can see, just over the road, the brilliant turquoise of the lagoon, knowing that after I finish, I'll be swimming in it.
I pretty much spent the whole day with a grin on my face, the arrival of the warmth just felt so good. Tootled down to Wigmores, the local store, on the scooter, the wind in my hair, and bought three huge capsicums (together they weighed a kilo) and a couple of butternut gourds and a bunch of courgettes. The beauty of the lagoon on this side of the island, unruffled by the wind, in a hundred different shades of acquamarine, still takes my breath away.
C played all afternoon with her friend, Gigi. They live within biking distance of each other and get on very well. Most of today they spent either a) up the tamarind tree at the front of the property or b) in the lagoon.
Wrote an email to resign from the lettuce job, and day just got better and better. Homeschooling and being the breadwinner at the same time has been hard work... and for some time I have thought it would be nice to have more of a break during the last term. So change is in the wind for the last few months of the year: C is going to school, and I'm going to reduce my hours of paid work as much as possible!
Actually, I've still got a tonne of writing work to do at the moment, mainly articles on Palmerston, but once that's finished I'll be able to work at a more leisurely pace, and have lots of afternoon swims and sunset dinners, and generally more time for moi. I've been working at the lettuce job only one afternoon a week anyway - and only because my visa said I did - but it is time to stop. In fact, it was time to stop a while back.
I'll be glad not to be working outside in the heat once it really warms up. And that will be soon. The open sea temperature has gone up three degrees in a week. The first leaves are on the frangipani trees - later than usual; the kakaia, the beautiful white terns, are back; and baby mangoes are growing on the trees.
So after various bits of writing and gardening and lawn mowing and preparing food for two hungry and happy girls, I went for a long swim. Deb and John from up the road were sitting in the water with a glass of wine, so I chatted to them for a while, and then swam almost out to the reef. Looking back at the island - a few tufts of cloud on the jagged peaks, palm trees bending to the sand, the water such a clear turquoise - it is just so beautiful. Beyond words. And I will miss it so much, I can hardly bare to think about it.
I love hanging out the washing on nights like this. In fact, I leave it till late just so I can be out there in the warm, balmy air, looking up at the Milky Way, which stretches right across the sky and down to the sea. The sky is so bright, just with the light of the stars, that the palm trees are silhouetted against it.
I might even sneak over the road for a couple of minutes, once the girls are asleep, to see if the stars are reflected in the lagoon. One thing I find curious: I have never seen a satellite here. Shooting stars, often; satellites never. In New Zealand, camping on the East Cape, you see satellites every night. I'm sure there is a good reason why, but for now I figure it's just because no one is interested in spying on the middle of the Pacific. There's nothing to spy. And I like that.
*****
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