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July 13, Correspondence

Texts between the Mormon and I

On July 13, at 11:44am, the Mormon wrote:

got there ok? How are you getting on?

3:57pm – Hi! Yeah, all good, thanks.
I had the chance to visit with one of my lockdown friends!
It was so good to see her again!
But she says there are no jobs around here.
Think I might head north tomorrow.
How are you?

Texts between Drew the Drug Dealer and I

On July 13, at 7:04pm, I wrote:

Hi Drew! We met maybe a month ago and the Mormon gave me your number.
I’m traveling up your way again, and I was wondering if you could hook me up?
If not, no worries – I know this is kinda out of nowhere.

7:06 – Give me a holla when you’re in town and I’ll see what I can do

7:06 – Sweet! thanks

Sunset near Lake Tekapo

Emails between Sister and I

On July 1, 2020, at 7:35am, Sister wrote:

Hi Sister? Did you feel the earthquake in NZ? Are you still there? 
The European Union banned travelers coming from USA. Travelers from New Zealand are allowed.

Anyway I hope you are ok

On July 9, 2020, at 4:09pm, I wrote:

Hi Sister! I hope the kids have a wonderful vacation, even though things are still upside down. They look happy! 

I still don’t have a good plan. I would love to visit – thank you so much for that joyous possibility! But I checked out the travel restrictions, and they say only EU citizens are allowed to travel to France right now. I saw that they would accept more people (just health workers and students though?) after July 10, including New Zealand citizens – would I count? I wrote an email to French Foreign Affairs, and we shall see what they say! I would probably need to do 2 weeks of quarantine anyway.

The Mormon is gone, finally. He was lazy and a nudnik, and I’m pretty sure that all the good guys are taken. There’s no good reason to be here. Sorry, I wish I had some news. I didn’t even feel the earthquake! Mama is pushing me to stay here. I’ve been able to delay my taxes and yearly eye exam, so I might as well stay for another few weeks. But I truly have no idea what I’m doing here. I’ll be headed out of the Otago area (where the Mormon lives) towards Christchurch again this weekend. The Mormon was right – this place will suck you in. I think some locations are like that – our hometown, too. It’s often seemed like a black hole to me. We both escaped!!

Anyway, this hotel is nice, and i’ve been able to heal a lot in the past week or so. My back and right hip and ankle are bothering me from driving or from the cold – I am so old! Mama was right – arthritis is no good! But they have a good bed and hot showers here. I’m enjoying healthy food and a good sleep schedule and I feel better than I’ve felt in weeks. Can I blame the Mormon? Probably not.

How does the summer feel? Are people relaxing finally? I guess if hotels are closed, there are still no tourists? I finally got a haircut last week and it feels so good! I got rid of 4 or 5 inches of dead stuff. And a few days later, one Mormon. 

I miss him a little. But this short and ungraceful relationship is giving me a lot to write about, so I’m so grateful for all of my experiences here. So, my days are writing and yoga and cooking now, hopefully to be repeated in several choice locations around this sweet island for a little longer!

I’ll let you know when I get a response from the French Foreign Affairs office. I’ll be going to the American Embassy in Christchurch on Monday to try and figure out a plan of sorts. I hope all is well. Sometimes I imagine that, by the time I leave NZ, the whole world will have already gotten the coronavirus, and I’ll have to contract it anyway just to be a part of society once I’m off this island. Maybe it’s best just to catch it and survive it?

I love you and thank you and wish you and the family a happy Bastille Day!

On July 10, 2020, at 10:30am, Sister wrote:

X? you are alive! It so nice to hear from you! I did not realize my last email was so cold and rigid. Sorry about that!

What guy exists that is NOT lazy and a nudnik? All the ones I’ve ever met are! Did you have to develop arthritis in those freezing conditions in the van? That is too much!

We are getting old, eh? What was that you said?

Here are some news updates that accumulated while you were cloistered up as a hermit (but not too crabby… gosh, my sense of humor is getting progressively stale as the years go by).

They voted green in my city! Our mayor is an ecologist. She is going to develop the parks and maybe make tram free for all children under 18 and other people too. That will make it easier for me – i won’t have to do all that extra multiplication in my head every time the children ask to go to Orangerie! We actually just walked there the last 2 times. It was a disaster. The eldest stepped on a bee the last time… we had to walk all the way home. Luckily a handy banana peel soothed her foot temporarily… until it kept slipping out of her sandal. Poor girl.

On Monday, the synogogue gave the children gifts, as usual at the end of the year. Hebrew books mostly… but the eldest got a surprise gift, some kind of blue-tooth earphones. The children were so excited with it; it worked with my phone. But the fourth child did not go to Hebrew school, so she had no gift. She cried in the secretary’s office – but a cute, quiet crying, she had tears in her eyes, “why don’t I have a gift, too?” so the secretary found some sticker book and gave it to her. Then she was happy.

The eldest with her new headphones forced me to figure out what the heck is bluetooth. I felt like some primitive caveman with all my lack of knowledge. She’s already better than me with my own phone! (she’s giving me lessons on it)  How embarrassing!

The eldest actually says she remembers Grandma (our mother) and trying to repeat some Russian words after her… and you! She remembers stuff I already forgot, like when Auntie slammed the door after she was playing with your bra?? There were other instances… it all seems funny now (at least to me…) when you were angry because of a pipi the second child did on the floor? The eldest actually dreamed about you a week or two ago. She said we were all in a haunted house (dirty, no light at all) and then you prayed in her dream (yes! Auntie X in the eldest’s dream was praying), and the whole house was filled with light. I hope things are OK over there! You’re so far away from everyone! 

I better go! Sorry for babbling away as we Geminis sometimes tend to do! Love, Sister

Grafitti on a water tank in Geraldine

Emails between Mother and I:

On July 8, 2020, at 2:35pm, Mother wrote:

Today, as never before, please, stay put where are you! Read the news from the Babel, the USA. I do not see any improvement, not in the COVID-19 numbers, not in the political shifts.

The head of the country – is stupid. His policies are harmful to the country, for our lives, health, business, promised happiness. Money for the people and unemployment lost in Kushner’s and Trump’s many companies’ deep pockets. The unemployment rate is growing, as is homelessness, the random crime and racism. I do not believe I am living in this kind of time, I thought they were finished and past away in my Grandparents’ lives. 

Please, my Darling X! Do everything which is in your power and what is LEGAL to stay in New Zealand, appeal to the right instances, people, offices. I know how much you hate bureaucracy and meaningless running from one to another but no one could do it for you today, just you. Please, be kind to yourself and stay there now. Wait for the changes in this country. Hopefully for good. You know. You know the rest. Love my precious daughter with all of my heart, Mother.

On July 12, 2020, at 7:36am, Mother wrote:

Hello, X! Shabbat Shalom to you! I hope you are alright. 

I saw your pictures on Instagram. Such beautiful places. Please, be safe, keep yourself healthy, write to me if you need help. Help me help you. But stay there as long as you may do so!

I saw another article today: they want to free 8,000 criminals in in California because of the corona. You are so much safer there, so much more! Ain li milim! I am speechless! I miss you. I wish I could hug you and hide you. But it is so much better for you to be in NEW ZEALAND today than in the USA. People are crazy, dying like flys and still do not wear the masks! Some Karma is boomeranging the USA for all the racism and hypocracy they did to me, to you, to blacks and to native Americans. I do not know other interpretation for all this. Love, Mother.

Looking at the Southern Alps from the Canterbury Plains

On July 13, 2020, at 6:19am, Mother wrote:

How right you were!

On July 13, 2020, at 6:31pm, I wrote:

Hi Mama, 

Of course I’m right – I’m YOUR daughter!

Ha! I knew a nonviolent revolution could succeed! Tell me, how did they pull it off? Did the rebels band together and march on the White House? Was it an internet coup?

I hope you are doing well? I guess I will stay here for 3 more weeks, at least. I seem to say that every 3 weeks! I’m back in the north part of the south island for the warmer weather. I still don’t know what to do or where to go. I hoped there would be more clarity after Mercury went out of retrograde, but there isn’t, and I’ve had delays in my travels. I think I can put off my life in the US a little longer. I am not sure that I can afford a life here, but so far I am ok, I think. I need to figure out how to check my savings account, and then I can tell you whether or not I have a money problem.

Thanks so much for offering to help! But I do feel guilty – the money is yours and I am wasting time here. I need to find a solution where I don’t have to take from you.

I heard that some states are closing again. Are you ok? I hope that you are enjoying the summer a little? It must be so nice and warm there!

I know it’s been a while since I wrote, but there’s not much news. I’m still floating around the country… You’ve seen the pictures! I’m in a town called Geraldine, for another night anyway, and then maybe I will go find a warm beach further north. Not that warm, though! It really is winter here.

I bought a space heater at a thrift store, and I’ve been taking it into all my hostel rooms because they are stingy with heat here. This room doesn’t even have a heater! And it’s a nice place, too – you would like the chandelier in the bathroom. Thank you for your letters! I love to read them, even if I am lazy on responding. It is good to know what’s going on over there, and I’m glad you think I’m in the right place for now. The tourist visa that I got when I arrived is good for 2 years, actually. I’m just not supposed to earn money. Well, these poor Kiwis are trying to restart the tourism business here with no tourists, so I guess I am helping their economy as much as I can with my American dollars. At least I’m doing one productive thing here!

I love you very very very much!!

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July 11, Journal

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May 30, Journal

“Spunky pussy,” the Mormon said tenderly, as he tapped the aforementioned region with two firm fingers. I was pleasantly full of our juices, and I basked in their heat like a parched lakebed soaking up a long summer rain.

My homecoming was celebrated with much sex. The Mormon has pumped away at me tirelessly many times over the past 36 hours, and joyously, he finally flipped me over. It’s hard to believe that we’d always had sex face-to-face up until now, but I derived so much pleasure from his full frontal contact that I never bothered to suggest doggy-style.

I love being entered from that angle because, like a virtuoso violinist, his dick drew he most extraordinary sensations out of me when it hit those depths. Another delightful side-effect was that my nose was significantly further away from his armpits. However, he was uncomfortable on his knees, and it was too cold to stand on the floor, so we ended up just flopping forward on the bed inelegantly, his belly to my butt. It was an animalistic pleasure: two wildcats fucking desperately in the face of extinction.

When I got back to his caravan 36 hours ago, it was a little messy. The bed was just a pile of soft things; clothes jostling for space with blankets and pillows. The steel countertop that was the kitchen was invisible under the remnants of meals: past, present, and future. I breezed in after our ‘welcome home’ kisses and immediately started tidying.

As I was clearing off the bed, I found a little bottle of lube tucked between the wall and the mattress – something I hadn’t seen in the previous 2 weeks of cohabitation. That naughty Mormon! I had to say something.

“So, looks like you had some fun while I was away,” I chuckled and winked at him.

He was abashed, and wouldn’t look me in the eyes as he organized his clothes under the bed.

“Yeah, I missed you, doll.”

“I missed you, too,” I replied with a loving hug. It was so nice to be with a young man, a simple man; a man who wasn’t afraid of animalistic passion, and whose pleasure didn’t rely on conquest.

Since my return, I’d decided to invest a little bit of my heart into my new home. I made plans to clean and organize the kitchen. This could work, and I had the tools to help make it so. The Mormon might not be a perfect fit for me intellectually, but we both had the same sex drive and the same level of hope for our future. If I had to quantify that level, I’d say that we both scored a 6 out of 10. Yes, life was an impossible game to win, but if we could fill our present moment with enough sex and weed and kindness, life could be downright tolerable.

Yesterday, the Mormon and I were talking about how we could improve the storage situation in his caravan, and he sketched out a plan for new shelves above the sink. I went to the grocery store, and by the time that I came back, he’d built the shelves!

What?! Who was this proactive, highly skilled carpenter? He’d used old scraps of wood, but they were sturdy, and he’s cut them precisely to fit the odd angle of the kitchen corner. Now, there was more space for us; for a life together.

I’m glad that I was alone in the caravan when I first saw the shelves, because my heart swelled and I smiled girlishly. This is why I love him.

Ok. So, I’m not completely unreasonable.

Soft rainbow over the dam near the Mormon’s Lake

That afternoon, I was cleaning the dishes the best way I could: outside, next to the tap on the shed. A round glass table that belonged on the farm owner’s patio was the perfect spot for a drying rack, and I’d bought myself rubber gloves, which kept the bitterly cold water at a comfortable distance from my stiff fingers. I was almost done when the Mormon returned from a chat with the farm owner.

There was an unease about him that clouded his brow and set his shoulders inward.

“What’s up, sweetie?” I asked.

“Nothing.” The Mormon set to drying the dishes with more thoughtfulness than I’d ever seen from him.

“You seem a little… heavy. What did the owner say? Is everything ok?”

“Well, not really.” He finally looked at me. The cloud over him darkened his eyes, and his lower lip softened to reveal the truth. “You can’t stay here like before. You’re only allowed to be here one day a week.”

I’d always thought that his lower lip was an exact replica of Brad Pitt’s, and all I wanted was to kiss it into silence, but the story kept spilling out.

“It’s getting towards winter, and there’s no work, and he’s lost money because of Covid. He’s kicking everyone out except me and Colin,” the Mormon continued, mournfully. “You have a few days, but then, you’ve got to go somewhere else.”

The vague fantasy I’d had of marital bliss with the Mormon slid to the ground, washing into the pores of the rocky earth with the dishwater. A whisper of joy shamed me. It would be so much easier to maintain my Self if I wasn’t constantly being irritated by the Mormon’s inanity.

I let the Mormon’s sadness take over this interaction, and we held each other close. We promised ourselves that we’d make it work somehow. Neither of us wanted to let go of the sweet comfort of union.

I had a dream last night about my ex-husband. I don’t dream, and I never think about him. Those ties have been long broken. But there he was, and for no good reason, I wanted him. Badly.

He wasn’t obese in my dream, so he wasn’t the boy that I’d married. He appeared as the muscular man that he’d transformed into shortly before our marriage dissolved, but he was still an asshole. That aspect of him had never transformed: past or present, dream or reality; that’s how I recognized him.

In the dream, my ex-husband rejected me firmly and with some kindness. He told me that he was interested and awaiting my next blog post. Well, there you go: at least I have one fan, if only in my dreams. The dream took me to a dessert buffet, and I filled my plate with sugary treats. By the time I got to the table, they’d all melted down into a brown, syrupy mess.

I’d eaten nothing, and I still had no cakes. Had I taken too much? Would the cakes have melted down into nothing regardless of my actions? Or did the act of removing the cakes from the table ensure their immediate demise? Why am I not allowed to enjoy the sweetness before me?

There is a separation that happens when you write about something. It’s usually a beneficial widening of perspective. But, the moment you step back from your life and see it as a story, you are removed from ‘I’. Of course, that is the truth.1

‘I’ is an illusion. It is a dream that we all dream. And if we’re all dreaming, why shouldn’t we fill our imaginary plates to overflowing with imaginary cakes? That’s where some other part of the dream that we call ‘reality’ kicks in. We start to stagnate in the sweetness, but our spirits want motion.

Fulfillment calls to limitation, and challenges creep in; just as lions hunting a herd of wildebeest, narrowing their path and giving them impetus. The wildebeest can now use the entirety of his physical being to express his nature. He runs as far as his legs can stretch; he feels the strength of his muscles and the strength of his entire herd protecting him. His lungs expand fully, and he may now find reason to call out, where as before, he remained silent in his satiation.

1http://www.douglasosto.com/2012/11/modern-samkhya/

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April 29 – Day 35, Journal

Rogue, my dear kind-hearted Rottweiler, Rogue, came to me this morning in the moments between sleep and wakefulness.

I saw her at the back door of our old house, and I followed her outside and through our spectacularly blooming spring garden. Spring was thick, and loud tulips jostled with carefree daffodils for attention. A green haze frosted the limbs of the tall Tulip Poplars above, and weeds needed pulling.

Rogue floated up the driveway, in huge leaps, her soft feet pressing on swooping currents of air rather than on the ground below. I saw her lovely black furry wings, unfurling and spreading like smoke across the sky.

Somehow, i followed her over familiar rolling countryside, to Granddaddy E’s house where she lay buried. There, she danced across the sky, her wings and spirit swirling through wispy clouds in the huge blue sky. Rich green grass grew thick under budding trees, and the river rushed by with brightness and purpose. Granddaddy E was well.

I cuddled into her soft fur, and she told me: “Love and be loved.”

The simplest and richest thing for a dog to say. What does she mean?

“Love…” She danced free, ghostly tendrils of black following her sweeping wings. Moshe came to mind, then the Mormon.

I could feel the sweetness of Rogue’s love, and a sensation of being pulled away from paradise.

“Love and be loved!”

I wish it had ended there, poignant and mysterious – a perfect visit from a beloved spirit guide. But then, a last whisper of words:

“And remember… Remember the numbers. Keep count. Remember.”

Dammit. Why? Why am i plagued by numbers? Why did they intrude on this lovely moment? Why is the universe fucking with my head? It serves no purpose. The numbers mean nothing.

I think i woke Jessica with my dramatic sigh. I hope this day will give me some satisfaction.