January 1, 2021. Day twelve managed isolation

Southerlies from Antarctica find the crack in my window. I’m fortunate to be here.

I’m making plans to leave in 3 days, no mask, and find my way to Wellington.

I’ve been having lucid dreams of being back in my childhood school, being on a space mission from the garage of my home in New York. None of these places exist anymore, but they are rooms in my psyche that I visit often. Age 10-11 were good years, pre-hormones, but with lots of adventure and autonomy. We lived on the south coast of Long Island, and there were woods nearby to build forts, treehouses, and play out imaginary scenes. There was a small lake on which we skated in winter, and had a rowboat and sailfish in summer. Graced with alot of freedom (or perhaps neglect) we children were expected to be outside except for school and meals. One sister fairly moved in with a German family nearby, but I was always going places on my bike. I would get on a small Hobie cat with my friends and go out on the bay. Of course, nobody knew where I was. My favorite day was Sunday, because I would walk the one mile to church, sometimes with a sibling in tow. I loved that old Presbyterian church, and had a major crush on Jesus. I felt the presence of grace there.

Now once again hormone-free and fairly responsibility-free, I feel that ten year old wanting to get on my bike and explore. I can’t wait to walk on the beach daily, find a music and birding group, strike up some new friendships, and do good work. The feel of New Zealand is much like my childhood in the 1950s and 60s. There is a positive attitude, cooperation among the people, and hope.

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