Piglet's Potter

Much harder than I expected or remember. I've spent the past few days since my last post saying good bye to friends and family and I did not like it one bit. Leaving Mum was the worst. It took me back to being 4 or 5 years old; an instant flash back to bright sunlight and dry grass, the driver packing a compact suitcase into the standard issue U.N. Peugeot 404 as my Mum kneels to hug me, her perfume a wave of nostalgia for the weeks to come. My memory has let me down: I had forgOtten the tearing away of one life from another that makes new adventures possible. Remembering it was a pretty horrid experience. Sadly, it's one that we are likely to repeat, but that is for another blog.

Dinner at Molten was divine (as usual) and felt - for most of the night - like the usual gang getting together to catch up holidays, future plans, recent acquisitions and disposals. Thanks, to those of you who were there, for the cards, the sentiment and pressies, but mostly for just being there. It was a lovely send off and I will miss you very much. I'm taking some consolation from the fact that we will hopefully repeat that dinner on my side of the Pacific (or Atlantic...?) sometime soon.

A whirlwind of packers, painters, carpetters, cleaners, letting agents, banks, post offices, internet cafes and car rental agencies later, we are moved out and on the way to San Francisco, via Australia, Southern Africa and the UK. For one last fling with all things wonderful in NZ, we rented a holiday home in Raglan to spend some quality time with Mum and Arnold. It was a weekend punctuated with cups of tea, long walks on the beach that hovers between sky and sea, soaking in the hot spa bath, pottering around curiosity shops and staggering home, bellies taut with wholesome food and luscious pinot noir. Perfect.

There is the most surreal view out of my airline window. It's early in the morning, the witching hour, and we are flying into Brisbane. There is a full moon floating under a snow white duckdown duvet of cloud, fringed with fuschia pink glow from the sun rise creeping its way into the sky, the background light faded shades of turquoise and indigo.