Lost and found Pt 2

Most dreams are forgotten somewhere in those few hours after we wake up, but then there are those dreams which you can still remember years later.

I have dreams that I dreamed as early as 5 years old which I can still remember, but the memory of a dream is different to the memory of something that really happened in your waking world. With the memory of a dream, there are parts that you remember with crystal clarity, and then other parts that are scattered and foggy.

Dream recall can often seem like watching a movie in which odd parts have been edited out, so you may find yourself in a field in one moment, and then all of a sudden you are in that house you used to live in when you were 10 years old and there is no bridge in your memory to connect  the field to that house. It chops and changes and sometimes makes no sense at all…

Lost and found Pt 1

I cannot find the beginning to this story. Every time I think I have found it, I realise that there was something that preceded that moment, which preceded another moment, and the further back I go, the more history seems to light up, and as I sit here, I realise that if I were to truly tell this story and give it any real justice, I would have to write a book, and a book will come, but not today, so I will have to pick the part of the story which I love the most, and make that the beginning.

And so, the part of this story that I love the most, was the night he kissed me, and that, I suppose, really was the beginning of a story that would span over 10 years, and not end in happily ever after.

A very scary story Pt 2

You don’t want to reckon with a Dutch man. Well, you don’t really want to reckon with a Dutch person full stop. But one night, we not only reckoned with a Dutch man, but we brought him to his knees in quivering fear. And this is how we did it….

A very scary story Pt 1

The story I am about to tell you cannot truly be understood, or visualized unless you can imagine the scene in which it is set. I have set this scene as well as I possibly can in my previous story: “After living in a hospital, we moved to paradise’

If you have not read that story, I suggest you do so first, so that when I begin explaining the strange and scary series of events that takes place in this story, you can see the scenery in your mind, and ‘remember’ it almost as well as I do.

The story I am about to share with you, as all my previous tales, is 100% true and unembellished. Our stories need no embellishment. They are strange enough and scary enough and curious enough as they occurred.

I call this: A very scary story.

Remember those long summers I told you of, where we ran free through mountains, and bush land and swam in oceans so deep and blue and warm under full summer sun?….well, there is something I left out.

After living in a hospital, we moved to paradise.

On December  30^th 1994 we left behind the caravans and house buses and house boats and abandoned hospitals and general gypsie lifestyle and moved over the hills and far away to a place called Helena Bay

Helena Bay (Te Mimiha Bay)

Helena Bay, also known in the Maori translation as being Te Mimiha Bay, sits on the cusp of the Bay of Islands in New Zealand.

Our new home was purchased with the money we made when we sold The House (which you can imagine was substantial because as you remember Annie had sold it to us for only a few thousand clams as revenge on her bastard husband)
Our new home was the colour of lime milk; rather unsightly but better than the colour of hospital.
A hedge ran the full length of the property as did Pohutokawas. In the back yard: Fejoia tress, Paw Paw, Lemons, Mandarines, Apples.

Also in the backyard: a heavy red gate framed with more hedge led to a vast farm belonging to our neighbors which we adopted as our own land. A river ran through the property opening its large mouth into water holes where we would spend long summer days skinny dipping and lounging in the grass with fruit picked as we dashed bare foot past the fruit trees. We would drag pup tents to the waters edge and camp under the trees and make little fires on the shore of the large water holes and though we were young our parents let us go because we had permission to seek adventure.
Oh, and I must tell you about the wasps.

The baby named Baby Pt 2

So where was I? Oh yes. We had just finished living at the quarry, and then we were moving.

Do you know anyone who has lived on a farm? Yes? How about someone who lived on a farm, but in a bus? Yes? Ok, well then do you know anybody who lived on a farm, in a bus, with circus performers? No? Well let me tell you the next part of this story so that you can finally say that you do in fact know someone who lived on a farm, in a bus, with circus performers.
I don’t know why we moved from the quarry I really don’t remember. I wonder who initiated the move?
My mother? Did she get tired of pulling her kids down from precarious cliff faces? Was the dust getting to her?
Or was it my father? Did he grow bored of living in that quarry? Was it too unoriginal? Did he want a more curious address?
Well for whatever the reason was, all I know is that the next chapter of our life was… interesting.

The baby named Baby Pt 1

I thought I would tell you the very strange and curious story of the baby named Baby. Some of the things you are about to read will sound too strange to be true, but it is this story that will prove that sometimes truth can indeed be stranger than fiction, and I know that everything in this story is true, as the baby is me, and the story is mine.

I call this tale, “The baby named Baby.”

Follow your dreams

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Remember how in Day one I wrote of the little boyfriend I had when I was 6 years old. Remember how I wrote of the kissing we secretly did on his trampoline and how we would then go eat the doggy biscuits?
Well guess who just got in touch with me.
Ah, life is a funny little thing…

Torn

Its just gone 2am and I had no intention of writing this story right now, as I was in the middle of writing another story for you, you know, a funny one, a nice one, an easy read. But I am sitting here, torn. And I have to write about it, because its all I can think about.

Oh my goodness, tears already….