Hataitai Beach
said goodbye meatpie of summer
It's true what they say about the way the weather is all changing with global warming. In the 1970's and 1980's Wellington really was hot in January. Then each week in February, a southerly shrieked in from south of Invercargill, startling the sizzle out of summer, pulling temperatures insistently down.
That first weekend in March, when we turned our clocks back to winter time, it's time to stop swimming, start shivering. The night before, Gerard was partying moderately with Helen, and the other English As a Second Language tutors - a swim at Hataitai Beach will blow all the Bull's Blood alcoholic residues out of his brain, on Saturday. There's just a wooden deck built out over the water, a change room, a tiny beach that nearly submerges at high tide, so then you climb down the ladder at the back... Gerard's brain isn't un-fogging. A nondescript steak pie for each of us, that was hot when we grabbed it on the run nearby may work ..... again they're disappointing. The striped paper bag we bundled them into is more interesting than they are.
In 1986, near the start of my chronic fatigue syndrome, I was more able to respond to being looked after. In the painting, Gerard continues to slump against me, bearded the twelve apostles style, making me feel heroic, now my head is starting to heat up inside my date palm felt hat.
Heroic is a great feeling. A still unusual one. Gerard saved my life when I got too sick to work, and really struggled to walk to the Newtown shops, a block and a half away. He'd start dinner cooking, turn the gas down low so it didn't burn, jump in the car, grab me, feed me, put Andrae his little boy to bed, give me a back-rub, and run me home to rest up more. A year on, I'm convinced I should be better.
Behind us, the southerly mixes the sand and gravel blowing over us into scuffy wee waves, that are sandy beiges, with wintry unappetizing blue glints. I'm interested in the bleakness this uninterrupted water surface has. The narrower brown bandat the top edge is thin sunshine catching the grit blasted along the exposed Mount Crawford shoreline.
In the 2000's the deck is unchanged, undamaged by massive storms. Summer sputters into life well into February. Its warm enough to swim in the sea until the shortest day.
Gerard lives in Bournemouth, and in fifty minutes on the railcar, he's in the heart of London soaking up Nina Simone singing at Ronnie Scott's Club. Working out exactly what she does playing piano, so he can stretch his pianistic skills when he gets home. Andrae is an experienced globetrotter, very familiar with stepping off the Concorde in New York, and finding his way onto the Los Angeles flight to visit Janet, his mother.
Me - in my fifties I'm wealthier than I have been in my entire life. I have people who love me. Is my sense of fun darker these days? Whatever. The gym leaflet I picked up amused me...
"Nice place. Interesting people. No mirrors -" the blue cover balances the meat pie bag's blue stripe perfectly!
I wrote this poem for the Bouncing with Billie book...
Autumn jolt to winter
me and Gerard swimming
sheltered dressed up drying
dufflecoat skullcap Jew
buying vino Welcome John and Mary home
from Holland.
“I Left My Worries on the Doorstep”
unpacking
Jill Walker’s bargain childhood
“If
I Had You...”
Judy Garland singing
Smashed.
From March the second I’ll be
painting
’stead of swimming
Be John and Mary JACKIE
radiantly balance John’s
hand
trapeze artist keeping wildness out
Drives farmers crazy
fencing madly
in Mama’s photo box
direct from Holland.