After several months of no posts, I have become accustomed to not writing a blog. It’s not that there hasn’t been anything to write about. 

The nine lovely souls who committed themselves to cheer me on may be secretly relieved; drenched as we are with other people’s cleverness. So I’m not going to beat myself up over the quitting gene.

I’m just a little played out on the external stimulation of ‘Hey looky here, see what I’ve been doing and here are the photographs to prove it'.

This blog was intended to keep my hand in the writing life. Then the words started asking awkward questions like, ‘is this really what you want to say or are you just going through the motions?’

You can’t fool yourself that the mojo is there when it isn’t.  The spirit moved on from this project when I started to become present to myself. During the Riwaka winter I took time for the breeze to blow between my ears and have done no writing except for grocery lists.

It’s been six months since I walked from a safe job at Auckland’s Super City. Not just the city, but the entity at the heart of RWC discontent, Auckland Transport. I didn’t just walk, I ran. There was something in the air that got up my nose in the way that my previous employer the good ship Waitakere Council didn’t.

I’m still based at Motueka, with my father who is coping with being bi-polar and old.  I'm planning new travels around the south with Lily, the peke-chin. Summer's nearly here and I can't wait to hit the beaches.

Being here is a challenge to help him keep a fresh perspective on his current situation. 

I was sad to see him looking neglected when I returned from a two week trip to Auckland. He was very low when I arrived and then the next day, he bounced right back.

We drove to his favourite fish and chip shop on the Mapua wharf, opposite the ruins of the aquarium razed by a fire that was deliberately lit a couple of nights before.

The issue of whether a rest home is right for him is the current itch. There is a room available at the local one right now. At the moment he’s itchy himself. He’s asking himself, should I go?  Am I ready?

In the thick of all this, I think he should get into a good place before his health gets worse. But it’s complicated.

He needs daily care when he can’t look after himself. I've told him that I'll be travelling and won't always be around. He goes down and up.  Now he’s saying that he still has his driving licence for the next 18 months and that he can’t go to a home because of that!