Don’t Dream It’s Over

I’m sitting upstairs in my small apartment on a Saturday morning, eating brunch at the formica table that sits just off the kitchen. The view from the window is sunny and clear, and I’m enjoying the Spring warmth. There’s a knock on my door, which is down the narrow wooden stairs, and I go to answer it. My mother and her friend Pinky bustle in, looking excited and pleased to be there.

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My Brother the Ocean

Last Saturday was two years since my brother-the-human died. So Apollo and I went out to visit him, in his new form as the ocean. He’s been the ocean ever since we scattered his ashes there, on the date of his birthday in 2011.

Auckland is on an isthmus, so we’re surrounded by ocean on all sides – I can get to the sea in under five minutes from where I live, driving down to the local wharf. But that’s not where my brother-the-ocean is. He’s at Bethell’s Beach, or Te Henga. While the ocean stretches around Auckland, and from there around the country and the world, he is, I believe, content to explore the great West Coast beaches area, basing himself at Te Henga.

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Gold Coat of Memories

When I was a young girl – and when I was a teenager – every winter my mother would put on her big golden coat before heading out the door to work. It was a glorious coat, in a rich colour that evoked the summer sun. Woolen on the outside, satin-lined on the inside, double-breasted and with pockets big enough for gloves, it had a collar you could put up to keep your neck warm, and a belt for extra tightness. It didn’t skimp on length, either – on my mother, who was just five foot five, it reached nearly to her ankles.

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Peaceful places

Sometimes you’ll find a peaceful place when you’re not expecting it. On road-trip down to Wellington late last year we found such a treasure. Hylas, Kiana and I had been having fun looking out for spots to take Scavenger Hunt photos – we did the public toilets in Otorohanga, and later found the Ruakawa Falls Lookout as well. But what we had really been hoping to find was a good old New Zealand cemetery. The kind you see on the roadside, full of old headstones and tottering rails. Not an in-use cemetery, but an old one. An interesting one.

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Ocean hugs

So my brother died a year ago today. I’ve spend most of the week feeling very up and down – but by the time today came around, it went great, because I got the best hugs I could ask for: his.

I drove out to Te Henga (aka Bethell’s Beach) this morning, which is where we scattered his ashes. It’s mid-Spring here, and west coast beaches are known for being blustery and wild at the best of times. Today was no exception. Didn’t stop me getting right out into the water in my togs and saying hi. Granted, I only went in a very little way and knelt in the surf – but the greeting was strong enough to knock me over more than once!

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“You Get What Everyone Gets; You Get a Lifetime.”

I’m off to a wake this afternoon. And somewhat appropriately, my latest Express column is all about grief and, slowly, moving on.

I wrote it before Kiana’s partner died last week. It wasn’t written for anyone other than me, really. But there is always someone dying (trite and sad, but very true), and always someone who will need those words.

I had one line that kept repeating itself the Wednesday night before. It was a very late evening as Hylas and I went with Kiana to her partner’s house, as we gave our condolences to his wife and (adult) children, as we took Kiana off to Takapuna Beach and hugged her and walked with her past midnight along the surf. And that long late evening Death strolled through my head reminding me that “you get what everyone gets; yet a lifetime”. She’s right. You do. He did. Alas, that doesn’t make it easier for those still living theirs.

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Musings on Curvitude

Today is 11 years since my mother’s suicide. I don’t feel up to saying anything new, but I did want to repost something I wrote a few years back.

I miss my mother’s body.

In our household skin was normal, and it wasn’t the slightest bit unusual to pee with the toilet door open, or to amble naked from bedroom to bathroom – not to mention from bedroom to the kitchen for a drink and back again! As a child, waking up in the morning the first thing I’d do would be to throw myself into bed with mum and dad, and they’d both be naked. (Sleeping without clothes always seemed perfectly sensible to me, and was something I took up myself after I turned fourteen. Pyjamas and nighties always felt right when I was younger, however. But never knickers… knickers were for daytime only!)

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In the shadows

I’ve been hiding in the shadows recently. Some of it’s been here, online – my postings have temporarily dwindled to my weekly HNT, with very little writing. But it’s been in person as well. I’ve slept a lot, done a lot of reading, done not a lot of wanking, and generally spent time at home, the cats and me.

*click*

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Entangled

So many things tie us to this world we live in, and to the people in it. Some are ties of gossamer, some are string, some rope, and some unbreakable chain.

Many ties can be removed, with time and patience, the links severed and the connection lost. Others, though, are deliberately strengthened, tested, and made hard and fast.

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Musings on Curvitude

I miss my mother’s body.

About Dee

Exhibitionist with words, skin and sex. Free with kisses, compliments, and friendship. Open with heart, passion, and laughter.
Labels I choose for myself: pansexual, polyamorous, fat, kinky, New Zealander, writer.
You can keep my partners and close friends not-mixed-up by reading more about them here.
I write fortnightly for GLBTI magazine Express, for whom I am also the sub-editor. I also write upon occasion for other publications!
If you want to get in touch, send me an email: curvaceous.dee@gmail.com.