Last day

Today was my last at the Sargeson flat; I'm now a Former Buddle Findlay Sargeson Fellow, no longer living among the birds in Albert Park. It was a frantic day, like all my moving days, involving manic cleaning (by T. Middy) and the proliferation of sheafs of paper, from receipts to photocopies to MS pages, all of which apparently needed to be stuffed into our luggage and dragged back across the Pacific. 

After five months of living in my home town, I'm very sad to be leaving Auckland. And the flat has been a haven, of sorts, despite the best effort of various assailants (drunkards, hooligans, club bouncers looking for a dawn party location, ants, mould, etc). I've packed in as much reading and writing as possible: completing two manuscripts and editing an anthology, among other things. While I was there, my fourth book came out and I turned 43 - not at the same time, but both quite unthinkable just a few years ago. I traveled to Sydney once, Wellington three times, and the US ... what was it, three times? Four? I voted in two elections. Every day I listened to the tui singing in the park.

This was the building, and the upstairs window where I sat working every day:

Behind the building is the Sky Tower, the tallest building in the Southern hemisphere, according to T. Middy. Downstairs is the art gallery that only ever showed one or two things, like a pile of hand-made bricks, or a tall stick. This is the staircase to my front door, compared by my brother, with only slight exaggeration, to the famous stairs in 'Kidnapped'. This was my desk, early on in the residency, before it got messy and I bought a nicer mug.

I'm in my second home, the Koru Club, right now, waiting to fly out, having spent the last of my NZ cash-in-hand on reflexology. (This is why I don't own a house: I take the Jack-and-the-Beanstalk magic-beans approach to spending money.) 

Once I'm back in New Orleans, I have revisions to complete on one MS right away, to make the deadline, and some work to do to prepare for next semester. There are also c. 250 student references to write, all of which seem to be due tomorrow. And Christmas is waiting to pounce, of course. We need to get a tree, organize our party, get presents for the US contingent, mail cards, drive to St Louis, etc. Only then will we get to escape to Paris, where I've promised to Do No Work ... 

But this morning, at Pilates, I smelled the pine needles of the Christmas tree set up in the corner, and I thought: Christmas, to me, really takes place in the early summertime; it smells of pine, and fruit mincemeat, and the coldest thing on Christmas Day is the ice cream we eat with the Christmas pudding. Today my niece put on a Bing Crosby album, so we could determine exactly how many Christmas songs he recorded (answer: 75 plus), and we sang along. 

But white Christmases are over-rated, I think, however picturesque they promise to be. I'd much rather be home, curtains drawn to keep the glare of the sun off the TV. With my family, because however annoying your own family may be, they're still your own annoying family. I have lots more pictures to post of our adventures this year, and will post more frequently in the next few weeks. Maybe "The T. Middy 2008 Photo Album"? He is elusive, TM, but occasionally captured on film.

Comments

[Graham Beattie]

It seems like only yesterday Paula that you arrived to set up as the new Buddle Findlay Sargeson Fellow and now already you are a former Fellow.
It has been wonderful having you back in your old hometown, thanks for your various contributions, spoken and written, to the literary life of NZ, good luck with the revisions, Merry Christmas to you and T.Middy, and come back again soon.