How to Rock a Raincoat (and other stories from Georgia’s first day at school)

"Nov. 2006. U2 CONCERT. Awesome night. We traded bubbles for rubbish sacks and JB fashion us raincoats!"

“Nov. 2006. U2 concert. Awesome night. We traded bubbles for rubbish sacks and JB fashion us raincoats!”

“Does she go on the stage and sing songs for children?” Georgia asks.

“Not really. She’s more on TV and in movies for adults, not kids,” I say.

“Adult movies, Mama?”

Jez raises an eyebrow.

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Letters to a Friend: Mama I’m Coming Home

Thursday 18th September, 2014: Pt Chevalier, Auckland, New Zealand (Caroline to Katharine)

The green, green grass of home

The green, green grass of home

Dear Friend,

I’m home. Just to say it feels good. But here’s the thing: both Jez and I feel completely weighed down by things. We have so much stuff. After living out of two suitcases between four of us for two months, every bulging bookcase, every box of toys and every pile of fluffy towels feels heavy and, well, excessive. Everywhere I look there are things to put away, to mend, to take to the hospice shop, to get the tradey back to fix. How can even our most precious things – our paintings, our mementos, even books – feel so heavy?

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Letters to a Friend: Gucci Scarf and Gumboots

4.09.14: Wanaka, New Zealand (Katharine to Caroline)

Dearest Caroline,

I was saddened to read about Aunt Gloria’s passing, I know how much the journey unravelling your family history has meant to you and to lose another link must have been heart-wrenching.  I wish I could hug you, I have in my heart.

We are nearing the end of our adventures friend, so many stories to tell. Spring has arrived in Wanaka; daffodils, pink blossoms, baby calves and lambs. We’ve hardly had a winter though, with today being the 20th day of clear blue sky and sunshine. Some days it feels like mid-summer, the only hint of winter being a light coating of Jack Frost in the mornings. Locals are calling for rain; the land is hard and dry, the mountain road’s a dust bowl, while the Lake is low and water reserves are drying up.

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Wherever I Lay my (Sun)Hat

CB around rocks “Home was the place you lived now, the place you lived then, the place you came from, the place you went to. The place you want to be at the end of the day, when your feet are tired and you want something hot for dinner.”

Queen of Beauty by Paula Morris.

“This building,” I say pointing to the stunning verandah-ed manor lounging across a whole block of the main square of Tamariu, “someone’s home? Una casa?”

The waiter’s wonky eyes brighten and he nods “Si, casa.”

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