It is not cold, but it is raining and grey. Leaden. Sunday morning got off to a late start, but now I am showered, warmly dressed, and far too comfortable to try very hard. The floor and bathrooms are clean, but the dusting and tidying can wait, indefinitely for all I care at this moment.
I look across the lane to my neighbours’ decks, and they are abandoned at this time of year. Some, like me, persist with gardens in pots, but few are thriving at present. Tiny white mites have invaded all of my plants now, even the gardenia whose tough and shiny leaves I thought immune, and which is just about to flower. Yes, yes – I have tried this, that, and the other, but the problem persists. The deck furniture looks particularly forlorn. The brightest colours are faded or washed out. The bean bags look deflated. On one deck is a perfectly good leather sofa that its owner has no room for inside. Over the months it has gotten dusty, dirty, and now mouldy.
Some of the windows are permanently curtained or blinded as if some people prefer to live in a twylight world. Those decks are permanently bare, although I know people live there. My curtains are rarely closed. The bedroom blinds go down at night, and on a wild and stormy night I may close the living room blinds. But otherwise I prefer the light and to see out. My life and my apartment are transparent, lit up on winter nights like a peep show for those looking in from across the way.
This morning is so lazy. Last night a friend gave us home-made pizza for dinner, and made us a doggy bag of the leftovers, so lunch is spoken for already. Johan is watching Stephen Colbert on his laptop, but soon I know he will ask me what I want to do. What do I want to do? There is a new show on at the Auckland Art Gallery, but I cannot be bothered walking up the hill from my carpark in the rain. We could go to the movies, but why bother when I can just turn on Netflix. Not the same I know, but today too lazy to care. We could go for a walk – it would be good for us – but no. Not today. Shopping? Nah. Sort out our finances. Organise the cupboards. Make meals for the week ahead. No, no, and no.
We could venture out west where it will be even greyer, green and dripping, to visit daughter, son-in-law and grandson in the rain forest house. But maybe not. We have to be careful to give them some space in their new premises. I could call the other daughter and see if she wants to catch-up, but no. She will be busy I suspect. My sister has taken herself off to the Cook Islands to inhabit that bubble, so no visiting there. And I took Mum to the dentist and then had lunch with her on Friday, so no braving the southern motorway for us today.
The day will probably drift by. There are always days like this in winter. Nothing much happens. You do nothing much. The appeal of activity is hard to locate. June is when it occurs to most Aucklanders that it is actually winter.
But it lasts no time at all. In truth, the temperatures are spring-like, and in July the daffodils will be popping up with the (false) promise of spring. We will get used to venturing out in bracing weather with coats and scarves and umbrellas. Motorists will remember how to drive in the rain. Winter sports fans will revel in the rugby instead of the cricket. The bare oak and plane trees in the streets will start to look sculptural instead of sad. The chimneys of the little villas and bungalows that surround my apartment building will pump out fragant smoke from their ‘for show’ woodfires. And we will get on with our work, and play, and socialising, and family events, just as we do the rest of the year, accepting that it is just a little more of an effort.
Then, almost before it began in this part of the country, it will be over. Some of us will still be heading south where there is snow on the mountains to ski, and all of us will pity the poor South Island farmers when freezing storms make lambing a nightmare. But for the true Aucklander, every sunny day will see experiments with tee shirts and shorts and jandals. The barbecues will get cleaned up and fired up – yes, there are barbecues on almost all of the decks in my building. My neighbours and I will rip out the limp and dying vegetation in our pots and go shopping at the Plant Barn down the road. Some of us will scrub and others re-seal our deck timbers. Bikes stored in the basement will reappear in the lane more often, at least once the tires have been pumped up again. Someone will have a party in the roof garden. A concert will take place at Western Springs and we will get free music. We will breathe, and stretch, put on sun screen, and venture out on foot. Eat salads instead of casseroles.
But not just yet. For now we are sunk in the long, slow rhythms of winter. And it is actually quite nice.