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July 29, 2020, Journal
Unending ribbons of rain prevented me from taking my regular morning excursion, which ostensibly involves a benign mixture of yoga, tourism, and tramping through the West Coast’s forests. It’s far too damp to pretend that being outside is synonymous with ‘vacation’.
Today, the Regent’s company will have to serve as my daily distraction from the pain of being unlovable and barren. He’s so alive; so eager to talk about anything. Was it just the four months of Covid-19 isolation that we’d all endured, or was it a longer loneliness that had been begging for dissolution? His expressiveness reminds me of the few times in my childhood when I’d taken a precious school friend up to my room, my sacred space, and shown her all the treasures that I’d collected in my handful of years: shells and dolls, plastic horses and dream castles, books and bones and a long, shimmering snakeskin. Those rare friends slithered out of my life consistently, but I do remember how joyous that initial intimacy was.
Show-and-tell to a loving and genuinely interested audience is a childhood fantasy come true. The Regent deserves that. Why not? He loves to talk, like all men do, but our relationship is something special. He’s read my blog, and he knows who I am… at least to some extent, at least between March 23 and April 22 of this year.1
This blog is written in my honest voice. I really like it, and I want to share it, but I reckon everyone feels the same way about their voice. My voice is usually drowned out by the voices of other, more important people, and I always end up hating those relationships. Sharing my words with the Regent so early on might not have been the wisest idea, given the content herein, but it’s put me in a unique position of power. I’ve been heard on my terms. Is this the first time that a person has voluntarily taken the time to listen to me?
Of course, you talk to men on dates, but they don’t listen. They just stare at your flesh and think of their next brilliant quip. If you do manage to capture their interest with words, they’ll twist that connection into a competition and tell you how they’ve done it better or more dramatically. I always end up wasting my night, staring at them in forced adoration as they orate ad infinitum. Every time, I pray that we can stop this dick parade and maybe discuss something like two human beings. They never notice my kindness and respect in letting them drone on, and they absolutely never allow me to drone on. If I go on for more than five or six consecutive sentences, they stopper my lips with a kiss and move right on to sex.
Funny. If you replace the sex and kisses with yelling and whippings, they’d be exactly like my parents. Funny, funny patterns.
This is different, though. The Regent already knows me. My parents have never read my words. None of my exes have, either, except the Quaker, back in 2018. The thing is, I’m not sure that I want them to see my strength. They love me for my softness.
My words are my weapon. Divorce taught me that. I destroyed my ex-husband with my words, as much as one can destroy a vampire. He conquered me physically so many times, but I used my exquisite, sharp words to claw away at his deformed heart until it finally bled tears in recompense for the pain that he’d caused me. They were all so surprised that I’d hurt him. They thought I was prey, too.
It would be lovely and marketable if the sword of truth that my writing wields was a handy kitchen tool that I could use to slice off a piece of New Zealand to share with the world. But it is a weapon. Slicing away the Veil, sentence after sentence; a sword destroys boundaries. Humans love to peer within the hidden architecture of our character to find the juicy flow of life, a reminder of their own vitality. It’s the same old story: following the Universe’s injunction to look, perceive, know… to penetrate darkness with light. Then we can fulfill the only desire of the Universe: to lovingly see Itself in all Its naked glory.
Finally, that primal hunger to be truly seen and known is being sated. In my fantasies, that is love. I’m often wrong about such things.
The Regent hasn’t mentioned my writing, but it seems to have created a shortcut to our friendship. He sees me as a person without him ever having to listen to me speak. I feel heard, and he feels secure. I also feel exposed, as I cannot forget that these words expose my vulnerable vital organs to the world. He seems enchanted by my boldness. Is it a fox’s fixation on a mouse?
These rainy days have been ideal for working on my blog. Like everything I do, it takes forever because I like things just so. The tricky part is presentation. It’s always got to be fresh… new words to say the same things, covering up the obvious: that it’s all just a pile of zeros and ones; shaken, stirred, and served fresh daily!
This sort of mental and emotional challenge requires all of my attention. Sitting on the Regent’s guest couch, I fall into the memory of those lockdown days at the Lodge as though I’m falling into a hypnotic state and diligently tap my story into my cell phone. Sometimes I’ll sit there for two or more hours, and I often feel the Regent considering me from a distance. I’m spending as much time typing as I am hitting that tiny delete button with my fat, almost-40-year-old fingers. I need a proper keyboard.
It occurred to me that I might be able to buy a used laptop online if I could use the Regent’s address as a destination, so I asked him for permission yesterday. I love watching him be generous. Pride sits well on a Maori. That lifted barrel chest displays his culture just as obviously as the Regent’s full lips and well-creased eyes.
This morning, the Regent was eager to show me his Virtual Reality toys. In his casual Kiwi way, he waved at the small stack of VR units still in their boxes under his TV.
“I got a great deal on these,” he explained, “I want to set up a gaming room in downtown Westport.”
“Really?” This was the first time he’d mentioned any sort of career or community involvement. “What a cool idea! We need more social spaces, and I bet you’d get tons of business.”
“Nah, yeah, I’ve got a connection, and I can get a good space for cheap. It’ll just be a bunch of VR stations where you can rent these by the hour, and just play and chill.”
The way he said ‘chill’ made me giggle.
“Chell.” I mimicked his accent as well as I could, trying to curl the outer edges of my lower lip down and in so I could achieve the same delicate conch-shell shape. “Where’s the ‘i’? I think you mixed it up with your ‘iggs’ for breakfast.”
“Eegs!” the Regent insisted with mock outrage. “They’re eegs. Always been eegs. How do you say it?”
“Eggs… it’s almost an ‘a’ sound, actually.” I laughed at my American assumptions. “I guess it makes more sense your way. You say the ‘e’ sound and then a ‘g’… what else does a person need from two letters? It’s perfect.”
“Yeah, sweet as.”
“Another one!” I pointed to a Kiwiana poster at the far end of the living room that was simply a collection of Kiwi sayings and slang2 in a variety of jazzy fonts. “There, on the left: sweet as! You really do say all of the stereotypical words! I love it. And I especially love that it’s completely unironic. You’re a perfect tour guide.”
“I’m Kiwi as.” the Regent’s puffy chest rose as he laughed. “Here’s one that’s not on that poster: jafa. Have you ever heard that one?”
“Jaffa? A city in Israel? No… Sounds like something I’ve eaten before, though… Isn’t it a sort of chocolate-orange cookie?”
“No,” the Regent smiled wide and enlightened me. “Jafa, with one ‘f’. It stands for ‘Just Another Fucking Aucklander.’”
“Ahh! Awesome! Is there some sort of rivalry between the big-town snobs and the rural salt of the earth? Are Aucklanders really terrible or something?” It felt like getting the goss from the girls at work after a few days off – my ears were tingling to know about the juicy local social alliances.
“Auckland is just full of these assholes who think they’re king shit, with their huge cars and their fancy clothes. If they could, they’d buy up all the land and make wineries. The rest of New Zealand can’t be bothered with them.” The Regent shrugged. “You’ll see, if you ever get there.”
“Pff.” My disdain was obvious. “Doubt it. Sounds like Americans. Sounds like exactly the type of person that would destroy a continent for financial gain. Sounds like what I’m running from. It makes me so happy that there is a derogatory word specifically for city folk like that.”
“They’re basically wanna-be Australians. And Australians are wanna-be Americans. Out here on the South Island is where you get the real New Zealand.”
“Do you have any idea how lucky you are to be a citizen here?” I was serious for a moment. “This country is so real, and pure, and people are actually reasonable! I mean, they actually have common sense and they use it! You have no idea how rare this is in the States. I hate it there, and I don’t want to go back.” I heard my petulance, and I rushed to justify my discontent. “Americans are scared, stupid, and angry. I mean, you know. You’ve watched TV.”
“Yeah. The whole world knows what Americans are like.” the Regent’s chin wobbled in unambiguous assent. “Why don’t you stay here?”
“Can I?” I shrugged away his answer. “Everything’s still so strange with Covid. Do I belong here? Can I afford it? Maybe once we get to Level 2, I can look for a job.”
“Well, while we’re still stuck at home, do you want to try the VR?” The Regent really is good company. I must remember to compliment his excellent hosting skills when I write my review for AirBnB.
“A hundred percent.”
“Here, start with this.” He flipped through the options that popped up on his TV and rested on an Aquarium Immersion. “It’s just a small interactive world where you can try out the controls and see what it’s all about.”
A heavy set of goggles was strapped to my head, and the Regent pressed little control sticks into each of my hands. Darkness cleared, and the goggles showed me that I was underwater, facing a digital reef that swayed to a digital current. The sticks allowed me to navigate, as though I was propelling a little metal cage that defined the inside edges of this virtual aquarium. Fish swam past, traversing the field of my goggles with long, elegant strokes while anemones pulsed beneath me.
Visually, it truly seemed immersive; in a false, cartoonish way. VR could feasibly be quite entertaining. During my ten-minute session, I was extremely aware of two simultaneous realities: moving the hand controls and goggles to accurately interact with a world which only I can see, and how insane I looked as I did so. The cognitive dissonance was too much for me to bear, so I gently removed the lie from my head. It felt like quitting a job. I returned the VR set to the Regent with much gratitude for this new technological experience.
“It really feels like you’re surrounded by water! Amazing!” I used the moment to add some encouragement around his idea of opening a gaming room. He’s clearly lonely here in Westport.
“I’ve got stacks of these in the garage,” the Regent boasted. “I knew VR was going to hit big, so I wanted to get ahead of the game. Once Covid dies down, I can get the business into gear.”
“Once Covid dies down… How many times are we going to say that over the next few months?”
“It just won’t go away. And people are acting like eegs, making it worse. Did you hear about the idiots that escaped from quarantine last week?”
“What?! No, what happened?”
“They just had to get out of isolation,” he shrugged, “I guess they flew in from Australia and were under quarantine. It was a handful of people that just fucking jumped the fence and made a break for it. It was up north. They’ve been at Level 4 lockdown basically since this whole thing started: shelter in place, that sort of thing. We’re lucky to be at Level 3 and to be able to travel between towns. They’re going nuts with all the restrictions up there.”
“I got the impression that Kiwis were happy to follow the rules, or at least the Covid rules that impact public health.”
“Down here, yeah. We kind of go along to get along on the South Island.”
“There aren’t many people here. I guess that helps you respect and appreciate boundaries?”
The Regent pursed his curvy lips. “Yeah, and a lot of the farmers are used to being isolated and chained to their farms. They’re very conservative here in the South, especially when you get down towards Invercargill. Strangers bring change, and they don’t like either of those things. Lockdown was just fine by them.”
“And that’s not the case in Auckland?”
“Mostly, yeah, Kiwis will follow the restrictions. We’re all about family, whanau3, and we want to protect each other. Whanau isn’t just your immediate family, it’s your cousins and their cousins and anyone that we want to include in our circle. But we definitely have our share of radicals. That’s where Greenpeace was created, and those hippies are serious.” The Regent was flipping through his phone to find evidence for his assertions. A rather dry timeline of New Zealand’s Covid events appeared.
“See, here,” he scrolled, then paused. “24 July… five people abscond from a managed isolation facility, making a total of eight who have done so.”4
“Abscond!” I laughed heartily. “I love it here! They make it sound like Scooby-Doo and his gang are in trouble! Do they seriously need to keep Auckland under quarantine for so long? I know we’ve had new cases, but there’s been basically almost no deaths, and absolutely none since May 28th.”
“We’ve had 22 die.” The Regent’s pride was also a remembrance. “The first one was right here in Westport.”
“I’m so sorry. I forgot about that.”
“No, compared to the death toll in America, it is almost nothing.”
“America could use a culling.”
“America could use whanau.”
1 thousandpetalsproject.com/april-22-day-28-journal/
2 https://www.shopnz.com/blogs/nz-travel-and-culture/nz-slang-words-and-what-they-mean-to-us
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July 26, 2020, Journal
I entangled myself in the exposed roots of a tree that lay bleached and heavy on Carter’s Beach. It was an easy walk along its trunk to get there; head to toe. I felt light and peaceful, so I meditated a little.
Along came a fellow (don’t they all?) to puncture my peace. He was gray and leathery with small yellow eyes and several missing teeth. Like a moth to a flame, he couldn’t take his eyes off my face, and he approached steadily.
“Hiya!” His speech was an uncomfortable grumble, as though multi-syllable words had dislodged from his mouth along with his peg-like teeth. “Where ya from?”
He thought I said Canada, and I thought he asked if it was warm in Canada.
“Yes,” I replied, “It’s summer in Canada now.”
“Nah, nah, is thare wimmen in Canada?” He clarified. “Cuz I’m gonna go get me one.”
I didn’t know what else to do but laugh. He was so eager to explain his maleness! Is this inarticulate mess also the Divine Masculine yearning for the Divine Feminine? A fish spewing his sperm into an ovum-laced river is more elegant.
“Wanna have some fun?” he asked.
Although his directness was satisfying, I told him that I was having fun right where I was, thanks. Falling silent, I relaxed against the tree and let my gaze settle peacefully onto the ocean. The rickety fellow eventually left.
When I was in Nimbin, Australia, back in early February, I asked my lover, Mark, what the New Zealand accent was like. He couldn’t really pin down what made their accent different from an Australian accent, but it was, and Mark said that I’d see for myself that all Kiwis are a little weird.
He’s right – they are.
It’s the grandness of the Land of the Long White Cloud1 coupled with a sparse population. There’s air in everything: caught between the snowy alpine peaks, leaking from the crystal-clear night sky, blowing over flat farmland, and bustling in the overly-manicured hedgerows2.
This is what gives Kiwis clarity of perception and an open heart. Air is the element of the heart chakra3.
An excess of the element of air is in their speech, too. Vowels are pronounced differently out of economy: they flatten the ‘e’ and cup their ‘i’ into a ‘u’ to avoid cracking their wind-chapped lips… ‘fush and chups’… Their words are lighter, yet more precise than an Australian’s. Like the Kiwi bird, they are comfortable probing from a distance: to them, space is a tool, not a barrier to intimacy.
Perhaps because people are more rare here, they are more precious. A Kiwi seems weird to a foreigner because Kiwis will make and hold eye contact without hesitation. They skip right over small talk to bravely face uncomfortable emotions and raw truths. Like the wild birds that dominate the animal kingdom here, they don’t know what it’s like to be hunted, so they go where they will (in conversation and in motion) with complete ease and self-confidence. If you find a bird crossing the street in New Zealand, and a car comes speeding towards it, you’ll see that the bird walks to safety at the edge of the road; it does not fly. It’s not worried. It has no fear.
That’s it. That’s what differentiates New Zealanders from the rest of humanity, and that’s why they’re weird. They are beautifully unafraid.
My suspicion is that it’s nature, not nurture. Just imagine being able to stride confidently through long grass without fearing an infectious tick bite, or scaling a cliffside without fearing a hidden rattler in the rocks. There are no snakes, no wolves howling in the night, and no poisonous creatures lurking in dark holes; no lions, tigers, or bears. Kiwis spend their summers shoeless and connected to the Earth: there’s no foot and mouth disease or rabies4 to scare them into sole(soul)-destroying shoes.
If the opposite of fear is love, then the generous New Zealand social system must be a natural extension of their strong sense of security. It’s the safest, kindest, and most honest country in the world, and that’s why it’s so difficult and expensive to achieve residency here.
Kiwis are damn lucky to be born into this majestic land that knows more of love than of fear. I’m lucky to have a chance to experience this authentic, open-hearted way of life. The Regent is the first proper Kiwi that I’ve really gotten to know.
1 https://teara.govt.nz/en/1966/aotearoa
2 Stairway to Heaven, Led Zepplin: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iXQUu5Dti4g
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July 11, Journal
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July 10, Journal
6:30am
A virile young couple has moved in next door at the lodge. The waves of testosterone are making me dizzy.
I’ve got to get out of here. One more bowl of oatmeal, one more orgasmic shower under the lodge’s hot, clit-punishing showerhead, and I’m out. I don’t even try to keep my moans quiet anymore.
9:25am
Turban’s kiss was as pillowy as his thick brown lips promised. They cushioned mine against the shock of their proximity; seemingly appearing out of nowhere after a long, sexually charged good-bye hug in the lodge’s communal kitchen. We pressed our lips earnestly together a few times before Turban snaked a pointed tongue into the crevice between mine. I welcomed its slickness with soft licks, and our hungry bodies pressed together indecently. Resenting every woolly layer of clothing that kept my skin away from his, I caressed his bare neck and let my fingertips slide over the back of his exotic black turban. We kissed away the long minutes until the 10am check-out time, when I had to reluctantly pull away from our warm embrace in the bright morning sun.
If there wasn’t a horny Mormon waiting for me less than a mile away, I’d have found a way to get naked with Turban. Why did he wait to express his interest until the evening before my departure? We could have fucked a lot in this past week, but it never occurred to me to make a move because Turban was the manager here, and he had been commendably professional. As it was, we only got half an hour together with our desire exposed, and this belly-melting kiss is all that we’ll ever have time for. Time is a funny thing. The story of Turban and I lasted exactly as long as it was supposed to, I guess: we were allotted one kiss, and it was delightful.
I’ll have to practice noticing and taking more opportunities for sex. It’s a shame to miss this ride when I have no fear or reticence holding me back. Shy dicks need riding, too, but only the bold ones get wet.
10:11am
I’ve just pulled in to the Mormon’s farm and Rex is running in happy circles around me. Turban’s kiss turned me on so much that I am going to fuck that Mormon limp.
He’s just walking towards me now, smiling his lopsided Wolverine smile, and my heart has flipped and melted like a chocolate chip pancake. The Mormon is everything that I do and don’t want in a partner, and I need to be safe in his sexy arms before I leave him behind in the dust. I’ve completely forgotten what Turban’s lips felt like.
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July 9, Journal and Correspondence
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July 8, Journal
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June 26, Journal
The Mormon’s landlord put him to work planting garlic almost immediately after breakfast. Breakfast had rolled lazily out around 9am, surrounded on all sides by weed and sex: the wake-and-bake kind of day that we enjoyed. The cold, damp box of his caravan seemed like home after our exhausting journey east, and we cuddled into each other’s warmth like nesting rabbits.
Rex the dog was delighted to have us home. He wriggled his fat black body from his pillowy bench to the Mormon’s bed and was rewarded by being pulled into the soft, sleepy embrace. It was family. It was home. It was love.
Despite his general aversion to work, the Mormon was motivated to try his hand at planting garlic because he’d found a way to be a carpenter, not just a field hand. He was quick to figure out spatial problems. His brilliant solutions were often left on paper, but this time, the Mormon actually created a tool. It had a long wooden handle affixed to a wide, short plank that held 6 fat pegs, spaced an inch or two apart. When these pegs were thus thrust simultaneously into the ground by a clever garlic-planter, 6 holes appeared, ready to receive 6 fat cloves.
The sun was still high when I returned from my errands that afternoon. I watched the Mormon working diligently from the comforting doorframe of Farmer Colin’s mustard yellow caravan.
Farmer Colin greeted me with as much enthusiasm as a laconic cowboy-artist who’d recently bid adieu to his lady-love could muster. His large, thickly-lashed eyes had deepened in their sockets as well as darkened soulfully to an emerald brown. He’d been alone for over a week, and his young need was sexy.
It was a sunny, windless day, and Colin’s checked scarf was slung low into his jacket so that tendrils of tattoos could slither up for air. His smile cracked in the dry cold, but his eyes danced with the novelty of conversation.
“So, how was your trip?” he asked me, as we watched the Mormon slowly impregnate the long, roughly-plowed field with husky cloves of garlic.
“I’m glad it’s over. Turns out that the bed was a memory foam mattress, which my back hates. I could actually feel my skin crawling out of the bed as though it’s trying to get out of a heavy metal mosh pit, and the pain in my back is kind of unbearable. But we slept in the caravan last night, and the Mormon’s sad little mattress was a million times better. So, I’m doing well now. I’m much less angry.”
I diverted my pain with a flood of words. No harm, ahimsa1: that was the number one rule. I must always strive to operate out of love towards everyone, whether or not I am in their company. I didn’t want to tell Colin that I thought his friend was unbearable and infuriating (that would be harmful), but I wanted him to see it in my eyes so that we could share the intimacy of frustration. He must know that the Mormon had no hold on my heart or my loins.
“I’m leaving for a week,” I continued. “I need time alone to find peace again. The Mormon’s a nice guy, but there’s something about him that I just can’t comprehend. I need a better connection.”
Now was the time to look up at him, hand on his arm and the plug pulled out from bottom of the chocolate bathtub of my eyes. His gaze dropped into the whirlpool, and we reflected each other’s need for intimacy.
I enjoyed Farmer Colin. His company was satisfying and familiar. There’s no harm in laying the foundations of desire on top of rock-solid kindness marbled with martyrdom.
“Yeah, he’s different,” Farmer Colin said, stumbling over his dry lips. “He’s got a special way of looking at the world. How do you feel about him?”
“I’ve got a problem, Colin. I look at the world in a special way, too, so maybe the Mormon and I do fit together in some way. Just after lockdown started, I began to feel love, but a new love; a different love than usual. I’ve been in love several times, and it feels feels like my heart is a spotlight directed at one person. But this love is three-dimensional, and it shines in all directions indiscriminately, like a disco ball. I imagine this is what they call agape2 love. I love everybody and even every living thing I encounter whole-heartedly: like an idiot, like a teenager. It is impossible for me not to see the shining spirit in everything. I see the inner child, the virile seed, the eternal Godhead. I don’t want this joy to end.”
“Ok. So you love him?”
“Yes, without a doubt. But I also love your cat, and Rex, and that tree on the ridge, and the guy I had for one afternoon during lockdown at the lodge, and the weed seedlings on your window ledge…” …and you, I didn’t say. “I love everything. Literally with all of my heart. What is this insanity?”
“It’s wonderful,” he shrugged. “We need more love.”
“Yes,” I replied, my smile flowing in and out. “I’ll feel more love when I’m away from the task of being with the Mormon. I don’t want to lose my open heart. Everything has the potential for love.”
“Don’t talk to me about potential,” Farmer Colin grimaced, his handsome face pulling tight into the wrinkles of a much older man. He pulled out his pouch of home-grown tobacco and began rolling a spliff with some of his home-grown weed. “I hate potential. Everyone’s preached to me about my potential, ever since I was old enough to draw a straight line. It’s bullshit.”
“I know!” I commiserated. “I’ve heard that from my family and teachers for decades. Potential. It’s a dirty word. It means nothing!”
“Fuck yeah! Potential means you’re not successful, but you could be successful. Potential means that if only you worked a little harder, you could be somebody. Potential is someone else’s dream that you’re supposed to live out and complete for them.”
Earth shifted in the bones of Colin’s face: his bright eyes became more hollow as his cheekbones grew denser and his brow assumed a regal weight. His wrinkles filled themselves. My body rose in response to this oak-like strength.
I nodded vigorously. “Man, I know. Potential… it’s a life sentence of disappointment. I think people just like to make stories out of other people’s lives, and they try to manipulate you into taking the hero’s journey for their own entertainment.”
I touched his hard, dirty fingers as I accepted the lit spliff.
Admiring my smoke and opting for a second puff, I slid my gaze to the swiftly approaching Mormon. He has an extraordinary sense of smell. The furry earflaps of his hat stirred with his long stride, and I returned the spliff to its owner and my hands to their pockets.
“Hey doll!” the Mormon greeted me cheerfully, hoisting his garlic-planter with pride. “Did you see how much I did? My tool works!”
Farmer Colin passed the spliff to the Mormon as he joined us, grinning loosely. I embraced the Mormon, opened to Colin’s gaze and shrugged.
“That, sir, is a fine field of garlic.”
As I was packing up this evening, separating my belongings from his, I fingered the fine film of the Mormon’s only gift to me that wasn’t food or weed or tea. It was a recloseable plastic baggie that one would get for free at a fancy grocery store to contain their bulk candy or nuts. It contained my half of our weed purchase in Motueka. Once is never enough, it said, in bold text on an acid yellow popsicle.
“Just like you,” he’d said, when he presented it to me in the privacy of a chilly hostel room in Nelson. “I thought of you when I saw it. Once is never enough for you.”
The Mormon had winked and grinned and moved close enough to finger my crotch. I’d encompassed his hand as well as I could in 3 pairs of pants, reflecting his need so that he felt loved. This was extraordinarily thoughtful of him. This was his way to love. Why wasn’t it enough?
1 https://www.artofliving.org/us-en/non-violence-and-the-art-of-ahimsa
2 https://www.nonviolenceinstitute.org/post/unconditional-love-part-2
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June 15, Correspondence
Emails between Sister and I
On June 1, 7:43pm, Sister wrote:
Hello! I forgot to wish you a happy Shavouot! It is already passed, but today; June 1 2020, is Pentecost Monday in France, nothing is open, so it reminded me. These holidays always have beautiful weather over here. God bless you, Sister!
On June 5, 2:12pm, I wrote:
Dearest Sister,
Hello! Mama wrote and said you were sick with a virus – I hope you are ok?! Of course I worry about you and the family in such a populated area. Have you been to the doctor? Does the honey help? I’m so sorry, I wish I could help. Actually, maybe I can – let me know if there’s anything I can do. Maybe I can even fly to you if you would like that?
I just heard that my ex-husband’s grandfather had a stroke. It’s hard. I love him – he’s such a loving, strong male influence in my life (better than Papa, by a long shot). He’s helped me, especially with my dog, Rogue, and he really listens to me (unlike most men). Should I run back, as my ex-mother-in-law hopes, to be by his death-bed?
He’s the only one of that family that I care for, and I know I should just let them go. But I am so loyal to my stupid heart. I want to help – I know I can help – but why? Stupid love. It always overwhelms me and distracts me from doing anything productive for myself.
And what am I doing here? Drifting around aimlessly with an English bloke and wasting money. I might as well do that in the States, right?
Sister, fight this virus! Rest well! I hope you have good nourishing soups and stuff. I will pray for you. And this English bloke is a Mormon, and he says he can get other Mormons to pray for you, too. He’s a little weird, but adorable. And I’ll have to break up with him because I’m paying for everything and he talks too much.
I have to make all the decisions for 2 people – he has no input and a lot to say. A man-child, I guess. And I guess that’s why I’ll run from New Zealand; maybe soon.
I tried living with him in his caravan for a week, but it was very cold, and the owners of the property said I couldn’t stay, so here we are, drifters. Ridiculous.
I don’t think there’s anything here for me. You’re so lucky to have a stable base. Please feel better soon! Sorry i haven’t written much lately. Stupid Mormon. I love you!
On Jun 6, 9:48am, Sister wrote:
Dear Sister, I do not know exactly what the headache and fever were from. I did not say it was coronavirus, but maybe? Today, my partner, out of the kindness of his heart, made a very delicious beef stew. Plus, we had some cherries. My headache diminished after that (almost completely gone), I felt more energy, and the fever disappeared.
Who knows? Maybe it was just a lack of iron. I did take a spoonful of honey, it was very delicious, it helped too. I stopped coughing. We took a walk despite rainy weather, and went home to light Shabbat candles as a family. As usual I have to keep the two eldest children from being pyromaniacs.
Gosh the owners of the property are lame. What kind of help is that- they just kicked you out in the middle of winter? It doesn’t seem too pleasant to be in a cold caravan either. You are certainly roughing it.
I did not realize there are British Mormons. I though they didn’t drink caffeine. Tea is lighter than coffee though, and a British Mormon probably couldn’t drop that. I loved JD Fitzgerald’s Great Brain books, so after I found all in the series, I also got his books “Papa married a Mormon” and “Mamma’s boarding house”. They are a tad more violent/ adult content books, but the same writer, so I enjoyed them.
My eldest devoured all the Great Brain books- I guess those books spoiled her – she was less interested in Roald Dahl and had almost zero interest in French books. I feel bad about it because I have no direction to give her in French literature, except boring college texts… I liked Phèdre.. but it’d be too much for her age.
What is happening in America is interesting to the whole world. They had some manifestations in England, in France too, against police brutality. Even in my city, I think my partner said, in front of the American consulate, they walked on their knees to protest.
Are you sure you would come to coronavirus capital in France? I know Frenchies are not yet allowed to go out of France. I think to come into France it is still complicated (quarantine). Maybe since you are from NZ they’d be nice about it though.
I don’t know what to suggest about your ex-grandfather-in-law. I tell my third child: stop getting distracted… just find your goal… and do it. (it is like pulling teeth to get her to finish whatever she starts – even that delicious stew or the cherries). That’s the advice I’ve been recently cranking out, so I’ll try to sell it to you, too.
That is nice your dude is cute and all, but honestly! He needs to man up and pay his part! It is hard enough being a woman, even without social inequality – just having a woman’s body is simply quite painful – a little gratitude on his end would be nice.
I will pray for you to have direction and make the right decision where to go. I know my partner used to pray for you when you were in conflict with your ex-husband; he was scared your ex-husband could kill you with some of those guns. Take good care of yourself,
Shabbat Shalom
Love, Sister
Emails between Mother and I
On June 7, 9:50am, I wrote:
Hi Mama!
Wow – that’s very cool of the DC mayor to paint ‘Black Lives Matter’ on the city streets! So, what do you think? Is the US safe now?
I haven’t made any solid plans for a flight home, but I’m spending so much money here. I have to do something differently. I’m up in the north part of the South Island again, because it’s warmer here! I wanted to visit the North Island, but the ferry is booked until September.
Also, I found a nice Englishman for company, but he’s not a keeper. It’s been hard finding a cheap place to stay. The kiwi harvests are in, though, and there’s cheap fruit everywhere. We’ve been eating tons of golden kiwis. I love you!
On June 7, 12:40pm, Mother wrote:
I love my daughter!
He-he! About the Englishman I knew, it is in your horoscope. Also, it said that you will figure out some ‘secret’ about him, as if he is a ‘married’ man or some other lie and will decide to shovel him out of life if even you had plans to marry. It is alright if it is in the stars.
The next will be a better catch! It will be always better. According to my life experience! But I like the fact, that you are together today, you need support in the foreign country. Also, I think it is lucky and a beautiful country! It is hard to get a real working visa in order to lead a dignifying life there?
I assume you didn’t apply for a visa until now, huh? Do not be afraid, go ahead, try! It just feels strange and frightening, but you never know it until you try it – it doesn’t cost money, but may bring some income so you will feel better about yourself, though.
People are people there – they would understand you and your situation if even your own [divorced!] parents tell you to hold on horses and do not come now! About the money. I talk to your father last month he said, proudly, that he is supporting you financially in the NZ. Is this true? Then why money is a problem? Say: Thank you, Papa! And use his generosity while it lasts!
It shouldn’t be a problem. I think, with the horrifying experience of divorce you lost the perspective of the world and the sense of self-security. Do not worry about money. Never. I know, it sounds crazy, but this what my mother taught me, I think from her experience.
All the time you are alive there would be money for you to survive. It is not a teaching of the “rich dad” who would teach you to save, collect money, become rich, and some more… It is the words of a person who stayed alive in the circumstances when other people lost the hope and gone under the water. What I try to say: now – this is a crisis and not just in your life: you are the lucky one.
It sounds surprising but so true! You are in NZ! Your life is safe from the strange and evil disease, from the cops, from the horrific unrests, as if GOD took you into His hands and carefully placed you there for the time being. Your goal is to solve the puzzle of survival in NZ side of the world. That how I see it.
About the question: if it is safe to come back and when. It is a serious question and deserves a serious answer. Let us do some research. Now, my partner is in the car on his way to NY [what is new?]. He said to me there is some four stages plan to re-open the country. Now we are on the stage One, although, people are opening the businesses, which is maybe not very wise, but are people are tired of self-isolation.
He will see how it works in the government’s many papers and graphs tomorrow and tell me. He thought maybe in Autumn, but then it would be a second wave of it. But he is the one who must see from every possible angle before he says something.
He is a nudnik but at least, trustworthy. One just has to learn some patience lessons with him and then everything falls in the right place. It is good you didn’t do something definite about it so you would have some flexibility. I know, it sucks, defeats the whole purpose of following the Sun as it was planned, but it is a small price to pay, believe me.
When it will be all over you would look back and say: Praise the God! It was a very good experience for me, though! I am glad you are in the warmer place now. If you can go to an even warmer place – I will be just glad for you: at least there would be a little baby step towards the Sun in this journey for you!
I love the fact that you eat kiwi a lot, and the fruits are cheap now! It is good for your constipation problems, sorry, I cannot find a prettier word for it. But I thought about it a lot, that you may be suffering from it because of your irregular schedule of life.
I love you so much. If you ever knew how much. I have never worried about your sister to this extent. Please, be safe, be smart, wise, protected. Think about your personal safety first. The rest would fall into the place itself. God bless you, save you, guide you, give you His wisdom, and ease of understanding of the situation. I love you so much, and some more.
Maybe, it is a time for you to write this book that you hold in your mind, heart, huh? You have a lot of time now, do the best with it!
Be in touch, Love,
Mother
https://news.yahoo.com/university-washington-forecasts-145-000-020151153.html
On Jun 13, 2020, 5:55pm, Mother wrote:
How do you do, babe? Is it clearer your journey today?
One day I saw you in my dream: you were looking for your horoscope, or teaching it over the internet, and telling me abruptly: “Be quiet! Don’t you see, I am busy?!”
Then, I got an idea, what is new? I listened to several ladies and gentlemen for your horoscope, and they are do not know each other, but essentially telling the same: you have some love, but after you realized the lie he is feeding you, don’t be sorry about it: kick his ass out of your life so you can make a space for real love with fulfillment, love, understanding, the real thing in September -Oct.-Dec. [there were three cards, but of course! I forgot them, but they are all good and kind to you.]
Second, they mentioned about the plans to travel to faraway lands. [What a surprise!] You would see, the plans are scrambled, but don’t worry, it is good to not travel because there is some corridor of eclipses from June 5, to June 22, and July 5. It is not a good time for travel, especially by air. [several of them said.]
And try to not be on a road a lot these days, and be aware of the sharp objects. It is time to relax, reflect on what you learned in the past 12-18 months, make the conclusions, and go ahead [as: not backward]. Those lessons were spiritual, not for physical life. They called it: karmic lessons. If you graduated, got some more self-esteem, self-awareness, that you will not have to go back, but come to nirvana, according to one of the lecturers.
However, another said that if you have something to change in your outer look that you wanted to do for a while, but was afraid, wasn’t sure; do it in June. It would be successful and you will be so beautiful and love yourself. It would be reflected in your image and will draw to you the right, kind, good people that you need in your life. It could be a haircut, some cosmetic stuff, spa, or whatever is connected with your look.
Yes, another, the previous lecturer, not with the connection to Leos, but about something else he talked: We sat in isolation so long and we need the haircut. Go cut it as short as you can for your face because in the length of our hair we are accumulating the sadness of the past – cut it away and feel free of its load!
I am, too, gonna cut my hair. Do not worry, and be safe, I love you, my Darling. You are always in my heart and in my prayers.
Do, and do not be sorry about your decision: it is done because I decided such! You will be so pleased with yourself and your decisions! But do not do them on the empty place: listen to the news, understand them, draw the conclusions. Make plans and maps of your actions. If you have to stay in NZ until September, so be it! Father is not leaving you in limbo.
Oh! It reminds me, one of them said: be vigilant in June: someone looking for your money, to steal, do not give anyone the opportunity to do such a crime! Save his karma from this sin! Kick his ass before he would have an opportunity! Good luck! Those things I wanted to share with you for your goodness.
Also, you probably already saw some emails from your ex-mother-in-law. She asked me yesterday to call you and ask you to call her. I think, her Dad is in bad shape and she thought you are in the country, so she can ask you the favor to stay with him. [as if she doesn’t have a very big family, children, and their families as well!] Or, she just wanted to cry on your shoulder, as if she doesn’t have anyone else[?]
But I sound clinical, and it is maybe not good. She wasn’t nice before and now I do not know how to react when she is in such trouble! I wish I could be helpful. From another side, I feel like in the situation with my relatives: the moment they would finish using me they would do something so backstabbing so I will remember never to show up and remind them with my presence of the worst, miserable, and most shameful moments of their lives.
So, I said kindly that I am sorry about the situation with her dad. Also, that you have had respect for Grandma and Grandfather since you were in college! It is not corona. He had the last stage of lung cancer and now, ten days ago, he got a stroke. But you maybe know it better than I did. Also, I said yes, I will tell you all of this, but you never call me either, just once or lesser a month! When you will call I will tell you it all.
Please, be safe, be beautiful, be wise. God bless you in every moment of your life, in any direction you go or think. Enjoy this country while you can. Each moment counts. I hope you went to the north of the country and not the south, where it is cold for you, huh?
Love you. Yes, she said [another one of the horoscopes]: it is such a bad year for everyone – with 5 eclipses in it – to marry or to get pregnant. Do not marry or get a child this year so the memory of 2020 will not be imprinted on its DNA and karma. I don’t know! I maybe shouldn’t listen to them.
But if you remember, once, the one Russian said: it will be a revolution in the USA. I thought: how much one should have a brainwashed hatred towards the USA to tell such stupidity from the blue! Look at us today! I do not believe my eyes!
But I am glad – it is long overdue: the Time has come. Also, I am glad that you are not here, you are young, you would be mingled in between all of them and everyone is so righteous! Oh! Maybe, God just stuck you there in order to save you?! Maybe, He has better plans for you that we even can imagine?! Maybe, God loves you more than we ever imagined?! Who knows?! Just God does.
Also, another one said: it is a year of the global changes and new, higher spiritual vibrations. We will feel it after the middle of June. Trust your intuition but be vigilant about nosy people who are too much into your business. Maybe, it is for me, too? I am also a too trustful person, it is embarrassing to admit!
In June it is starting a new cycle of 60 years – on a new vibrational level, whatever this means. Whatever was important before will be not anymore, it would be a shift into different priorities and perspectives. But you maybe know it better, because you did all of this labor of the cleansing.
OK, this is it. Be in touch, tell me where are you now? How do you do, feel, what is on your mind? Yes, they all said that June is not a good time for traveling, but a time for relaxing, observing, and thinking. A lot. OK, Please, be safe, be happy, maybe, you can find some synagogue there, huh? Just a thought. Love, love a lot, and some more, Mother
On June 15, 2020, 2:53pm, I wrote:
Hi Mama!
I’ve taken a break from the Englishman (he was annoying me) so I could have some time to think. I’m in a nice room with a kitchen in the southwest corner of NZ, but it is too cold and rainy to explore the area. I’m getting used to the cold, and I found some great wool clothes in their secondhand stores for $2!
Papa did send me money, but it isn’t enough. I don’t want to deal with him, so I just shut up and said thank you. He sent me a total of $2500, which seems like a lot of money! That was 2 months ago, and I gave the lodge $500 for keeping me through lockdown, and spent $750 on the rental car. I’m struggling to find rooms cheaper than $50 per night – it only takes 20 nights to waste $1000. And food is expensive, too.
I can’t solve the puzzle. It’s the exact same puzzle in the United States, though. I guess I have to come home? I got an email from my ex-mother-in-law about her father and his stroke. I feel so bad for him. I should go back and be by his bedside or something.
I do find it strange that my ex-mother-in-law needs so much emotional support from me, especially since I’ve been trying to distance myself. I’m sorry that you had to talk to her on the phone. Thank you. I know you are so good at being there for people when they need help, and I hope it wasn’t too negative for you.
I will look for a ticket home sometime after July 5 – I might as well wait for a day when the stars are aligned in a good way! On July 12, mercury goes out of retrograde, so maybe I should wait until then! Oh! But my taxes! I should get home earlier to do them.
Well. I haven’t really made much progress in the 4 days that I’ve been alone, but you will be happy to hear that I am writing. Feel free to prune any plants that you need to – I am just happy if anything survives! Thank you!
I hope you are doing well? We are down to level 1 lockdown, with no new cases in NZ! I’m so proud of us! I love you!
Emails between my ex-mother-in-law and I
On June 5, 2020, 11:15am, Ex-mother-in-law wrote:
Hey girl, just a note to give you an update on Dad. Today is Thursday. On Monday, Dad had a stroke. It was very scary and I’ve been quite upset about it. Obviously we had to take him to the emergency room and he was admitted. He is hopefully leaving on Friday to go to a nursing home for a short stay to get some physical therapy and speech therapy.
The stroke was the type that only affected his expression. This means he cannot speak well at all nor can he write to tell us what he wants or can he gesture to tell us what he needs. Some therapy may improve this a little but probably not a whole lot. It is going to be very frustrating to care for him if he gets to come home.
We really did not want to send him to a nursing home, but both his doctors highly recommended it for a short stay to help improve his physical ability to make it safer for him to come home. Once we do bring him home it will probably be under hospice care so that I have some help in taking care of him. Even before the stroke he was going downhill very rapidly.
I’m so sorry to be the one to give you this bad news, but I knew you would want to know. The part that is really hard is that we can’t even see him in the hospital, and once he transfers to the nursing home, we still can’t see him or be with him because of the virus. We may be able to do window visits at the nursing home.
Please let me know as soon as you are back in the area. I’m sure you might want to try and visit. His time is running out. Love you.
On June 13, 2020, 1:59am, I wrote:
Oh my God!
Sorry, I just saw this – I hope Grandpa is recovering well. I’m so sorry to hear about his stroke – that must have been so frightening. How is he? Is he back at home yet? How are you doing?
I am so worried for Grandpa. Thanks so much for letting me know. I will be back in July – not sure if I’ll have to do 2 weeks of quarantine or not, but I’ll let you know as soon as I can see you and Grandpa. I just can’t believe it – Grandpa is supposed to be strong forever.
My thoughts and prayers are with you. Much love to you both, X.
On June 13, 2020, 2:39am, Ex-mother-in-law wrote:
No he is in nursing home for now. Could be a few weeks. I hate that I can’t go see him. We can do phone calls and visit at his window. You stay safe and let me know the minute you are home.
On June 12, 2020, at 9:59am, I wrote:
Will do! It really sucks that you can’t visit him properly. Hope he’s starting to get better. Take care of yourself, too.
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