It's just occurred to me, the night before we return home, that I might have left a goodbye note. I'm in the far north, spending my days swimming, sunbathing, napping, and having little girls jump on me, and my nights over-eating, drinking wine and hearing more stories from my favourite Uncle Price. I'll be back in Auckland tomorrow, and back here on Tuesday, and although I'm looking forward to sleeping in my bed, and not having to put on clothes and shoes to use the bathroom, and not having to mediate arguments about hide and seek, I'm sad that this holiday will be over. I'll have photos, and a tan, and probably more tongue ulcers from all of the drinking, but I won't have three little girls come and jump on me in the mornings, or try (and fail) to talk quietly to their Uncle Vincent while someone's sleeping, and I won't be at my favourite retreat in the universe anymore.
Holidays are always bittersweet. Which reminds me, on the way to pick up Mum yesterday, we passed a cemetery where two people were tending a grave, and I thought how it's both so sad and so cheering. Anyway, I'm fishing. See you soon.