Holiday. Car stuffed with bags, duvets, extra pillows, and one small boy with huge excitement and an ability to eat a week's worth of food in two hours. Perfect golden driving weather, strangely warm. Stops for iceblocks, duck feeding and scenic photographs.
We stayed in a rambling old motel at the edge of the sea. We visited Mum, who brought us a gift basket of grapes, mini chocolate bars and magazines. A veteran opshop lover, she patiently carted us around to all her favourites and encouraged L's new opshop addiction by slipping him money when I wasn't looking. Back at home, he has now set up his very own personal bedroom shop with carefully priced armies of stuffed toys set up in rows and an 'Open' sign on the window. (And hopes of making vast quantities of money).
It felt calmer down there. Sedate. Or maybe it was because I was away. Going away always starts up the 'I wonder if I could live here?' fantasies. It doesn't really matter where I am. It's like trying on a place for size, like a pair of shoes. Tauranga, although warm and comfy, would get a bit tight around the edges, I think. But going away - I love it. Shakes things up a bit. I'm back feeling inspired to make some changes, dig myself out of a few more ruts, jump in a few more deep ends.