Images of the future, Transitions, and The cost of beauty and peace

Michael here…settling in to the end of the first week back home in NZ, without J who is still in the US facing all of the questions of her/our future against a backdrop absent of hills, waves, and sunsets. Last night, we received the next instalment of our future as the kids, the dog, and I all trooped up the hill to 6 Pingau Street (you’ll get the change of address card with your holiday card!). As you can see, the house is empty, in need of some love and attention – as well as tens of thousands of dollars – but has a whole lot going for it. It seems that many houses that have some history to them, that are a little older, have a spirit and an energy that is uniquely theirs. “Good bones” is a term lots of us have used – both for this house and for others we’ve been fortunate enough to own. There’s a feel that is more than the 80-year-old floor boards and old wood clapboarding holds. More than the beauty of the waves and the islands in the distance possess. More than is felt in the sweeping, wood-sy, secretive backyard that slopes down the back of the house, creating a kind of quiet and stillness that calls to me again and again.

Naomi is frustrated because she wants to claim ownership over this room or that room, this nook or that cranny. “Most of this is going to be different,” I explain to her, as our conversations with our architect have kicked in to gear. But I realize that this point isn’t completely accurate. Yes, the rooms will change and the house will get a bit of a polish. The sense that I have as I pull up the driveway, though, will become familiar. The way the echoes of the waves come and go, shift in and out depending on the direction and intensity of the wind will all become more expected and less surprising. The beauty of the sunsets will become more nuanced with each successive show out the front windows. These things aren’t going to be renovated or removed. They exist in us now, for as long as we exist in this space, and will become more of us and who we are in this land so far away.

Naomi has been sick – or something – these past few days. “My tummy hurts…(moan moan) has been her most frequent utterance. “There’s a bug floating around school,” Mr. Marsden, the principal at PK school informed me as I dropped off A at school yesterday and brought N back home with me, just to be safe. Thankfully, nothing more than complaints and moans. She’s eating a bit, drinking, taking it easy, but none of the un-savories that don’t need mentioning. I feel there may be other reasons for her discomfort. It’s hard to be back here in some ways. It’s hard to be without J. It’s hard to miss things and people that aren’t with us and be happy here at the same time. Transitions have always been tricky for Naomi. First it was the change of Sunday to Monday, and back to preschool. Later it was from School to Summer holiday. All of the effects of the transitions have softened and many have faded to a place inside of her where she manages them herself. But this feels like some of the transition stuff, coming to rest in her belly. She’s happy to be in NZ but sad to be away from the US. She’s happy to see her friends and her dog but she missed her grandparents and aunts & uncles, and cousins young and old. I realized the other day that over the course of the trip to the US, she saw nearly every relative from three of our four extended families. And then she had to leave all of them. It’s a little hard for me, but a lot harder for her, I think. One of the costs of the beauty and the peace. “We just have to tough it out,” I told her as we walked to school this morning. I get that it’s hard for others to have sympathy of our plight – J’s work questions, our transition issues. Things could be a lot worse and are for others. And I have learned that a time will come when we’ll look back at this and know how it worked out. Patience. Faith. “”Your tummy will be a lot better real soon,” I say to my girl.