Note: Due to the almost 24-hour time difference, this post appears to have been posted on December 27, when in fact I posted it on December 28.

We took the day off from posting, not because there was nothing to say, but because there was finally enough energy to do the things that quietly pile up when life grinds to a halt. The past two weeks since our arrival had been defined by illness and recovery, days blurring together as we moved only when necessary, conserving strength and patience in equal measure. Now, feeling noticeably better, we both sensed it was time to gently reclaim some normalcy and tend to the practical matters we’d neglected while simply trying to get well.

The morning began with our monthly financial routine, a task that has followed us faithfully from country to country, no matter where we land. At the end of each month, I sit down with my laptop and coffee, pulling up balances from multiple credit cards, checking statements line by line, and scheduling payments through our banking app. It’s not glamorous, but it is necessary. Everything gets paid off on the first of the month, or in this case, the second, due to the New Year holiday. There’s something deeply reassuring about closing those digital tabs, knowing we’re organized, current, and free of lingering obligations. It clears mental space in a way few other tasks can.

Once the numbers were handled, we turned our attention to the house. While we’d kept things reasonably tidy during our sick days, a deeper clean was overdue. Tom took charge of vacuuming, washing the floors, and handling the trash, jobs he’s tackled as his own over the years, while I dusted every surface, scrubbed the bathrooms, and gave the kitchen a thorough cleaning. The cleaning felt almost meditative. Cloths wiped away dust, familiar scents of soap and cleaner filled the rooms, and before long, the house felt transformed. By the time we finished, it felt as fresh and clean as it had on December 13, the day we arrived.

Laundry was completed, loads washed, dried outdoors, folded, and neatly put away, restoring a sense of order that only clean clothes, towels, and bedding can provide. These simple domestic rituals might seem mundane, but when you’ve been sidelined by illness, they feel like small victories, proof that energy is returning and routines are once again possible.

Dinner was our reward. I wanted something nourishing but comforting. For Tom, I prepared a lean pork roast with rice and vegetables, simple and satisfying. For myself, I made a lamb patty, paired with homemade ketchup, and a hearty slice of the mushroom, sausage, cheese, and egg casserole I’d made on Christmas Day. We ate slowly, savoring not just the flavors but the fact that cooking no longer felt like a chore or an impossible effort.

As the day settled in, I felt satisfied with another small but meaningful step forward. I started an indoor Tai Chi program I found online, hoping it would help rebuild the strength and stamina that vanished after two weeks of lying around. The movements are gentle and yet stimulating for my weary muscles, requiring balance and focus rather than force, and they feel right for where my body is now. I’d love to begin walking outdoors, but the unpaved, rocky road nearby makes it too risky for now. Tom isn’t a fan of walking anyway, and I’ve learned not to push him into activities he doesn’t enjoy.

By the end of the day, we felt lighter, physically and mentally. The house was clean, the finances were in order, meals were prepared, and our minds were free to rest. Recovery isn’t just about healing the body; it’s about restoring a sense of control and calm. Today, in these small, ordinary ways, we felt ourselves moving steadily back into balance.

This remote location, hours from any possible tourist attractions, suits our daily living far better than it serves our social media feeds. There are no bustling towns or iconic landmarks, begging to be photographed and shared, anywhere nearby. Instead, there is quiet, beautiful scenery, long stretches of it, broken only by birdsong, shifting clouds, and the soft, familiar sounds of everyday life. While that may limit the variety of new photos we can add to our posts, it offers something far more valuable right now.

After the constant motion, activity, and stimulation of our recent 47-night cruise, followed by injury and then sickness, this stillness feels intentional, almost necessary. Our days unfold without urgency. Mornings ease in slowly, afternoons pass without schedules, and evenings settle gently into rest. There’s comfort in knowing we don’t need to be anywhere or do anything beyond caring for ourselves and each other.

Of course, at some point we’ll venture out, camera in hand, ready to explore and document what lies beyond this quiet pocket of New Zealand. But for now, we’re content to stay exactly where we are. This pause, this calm interlude, feels like a gift, one we’re happy to accept before moving on to whatever comes next.

Plus, when we head to Penguin, Tasmania, on February 12, everything will naturally shift. With a more active social life and everyday activities within easy walking distance from the house, we’ll ease back into a far more energetic pace. There will be people to meet, places to go, and reasons to step outside each day, and with that, our active lifestyle will quietly reassert itself without effort or forcing.