Deb Curreen Author

  My dear Dad. You  have now been gone for half of my life and I have now, outlived you, by four years, and I am probably going to live a whole lot longer than you did. But still I live my life, with you no longer in it. For all the years you lived, and all the years you never got to live, while I remain; the legacy that you left behind is something I am unlikely to outshine. And while I know I made you proud of me with my fumbling efforts, these days I see more of you in myself, than either of us would have imagined. What I was once embarrassed by, about you - I find that now it amuses me to see those identical, cringe-worthy traits in myself. When I am tailgating slow drivers on the road, I hear you coming out of my mouth, telling the dozy gits to get out of my bloody way. I break speed limits constantly for the satisfaction of being king of the road. Like you, I get up in the middle of the night, to answer calls from someone in need; then I drive off into the darkness to he...

 On Tuesday morning the team from Rongopai House in Kaitaia, Haley, Lucy, Roberta, Debby, Susan and a handful of loyal volunteers, were busily setting up the hall at St Saviours Anglican Church.          There was much excitement and anticipation for the Anti p Ministry were coming to share their stories and their kaupapa, giving koha of t-shirts and hoodies.  Arriving in their big yellow bus, the team led by Brendon was accompanied this time by Benny, Bex, Mohi and Jason.                            The big yellow, Anti p Ministry bus parked outside St Saviours. The visit was the brain child of Haley, a former meth user and dealer, now a one woman success story-her life is now a small anti-P ministry in itself. Haley had made contact with Brendon, found accommodation for the team and put together the major part of the organisation for the day, including the catering. Dino, director o...

Wow! So it’s taken over 50 years but finally, I have been grounded and I can’t go out on my birthday. Mind you, it took a Prime Minister to make this happen. Many have previously tried, all failed! This grounding is not going to stop me from having a party- a very small one that is, inside my social bubble of two, and I decided that maybe my dog can indeed come into the house for 5 minutes while I blow the candles out on my birthday pavlova. Just because we are in lockdown is every reason to put on my favorite dress and some makeup, a squirt or two of my favorite perfume and off I go, out to dinner in “The Kitchen”. Yes, this evening I am stepping out of my bedroom/study to dine with my son who is downing tools (putting down the controller and headset for his PS4) and traveling all the way across the house from the living room to have a birthday dinner with me in The Kitchen. Yesterday I dressed up and braved the supermarket to buy some goodies for my “party” - birthday candle...

LIVING THE LOCK DOWN LIFE IN AOTEAROA On March 25, New Zealand declared a nationwide lockdown effective from 11.59 pm that night. It was also my son’s 19th birthday. He packed his car and fled for the beach where he could stay in a family bach and he also took my dog, Ranger with him both for protection and company. It was a sad parting for me as that left only myself and my youngest, 17-year-old son in the house  plus my other dog, Pacino, securely chained to his kennel outside. The first day was a peculiar novelty as our normally suburban street was very quiet with only distant sounds of a few children playing on their back lawns. Now and then a neighbor’s stereo would strike up for a few songs before going quiet again. I would have to hazard a guess that the quiet was not a calm or a sleepy peace but rather a subdued and anxious wonderment of what was going to happen next. In this very uncertain of times, it would seem that our local community is treading cautiously t...

Saved on the steps of the poor house Each day the sun still shines, on the steps of the poor house but the dust never settles or touches the streets that lead, to the steps of the poor house, where the door, slightly ajar, let's in souls, searching, hungry and wishing for a day's escape. We all look and we all glance, sidelong and furtive, at the steps of the poor house, hoping in silence, daring against life, that our feet never touch, the steps of the poor house, that our eyes never see inside, that if life should fail, and our hand reaches out to push on the door of the poor house, we find rescue, refuge. But sometimes the sun hides, as the dust of the poor house settles around our feet, as we stand before the steps, and as our hearts fail a little bit inside our chest, humility trickles down our cheeks as we shade our eyes, bow our heads and knock on the door of the poor house. Shaking shame, greeting defeat, we let go of f...

"We mourn not for what we have lost but for we thought we should have had." - Millie Pariri Many years ago at the end of my second marriage, when I was feeling a bit sad, I realised that I wasn't sad because my marriage was over, I was sad because I had never really had a happy marriage to now mourn. In fact, I was mourning for something that I thought that I should have had and possibly all the wasted years that I had lost trying to get it. I mourned for the happy marriage that I had been denied, that I'd "missed" out on and now had lost all hope of having, at least with that person. I was in fact mourning a dead dream. A very big one and now a very dead one - the dream and the marriage. This year I have pondered and prayed, read, examined and wrestled over disappointment - it's causes and consequences. Disappointment is, to me and others, the root of all letdowns and tears. In recent times I haven't been too disappointed either by others...

I don't want to go to the cemetery, but I will, and stand by your grave in the cold, with dying flowers in my hand. It's lonely and cloudy with no one about, my flowers will die in the rain. just like hope did on a grey June day. I don't want to visit the cemetery, you're not there, and I can hum Green Day songs till I'm a basket case, but I will hope against hope, and pull you from my memories, till you laugh out loud, and all becomes well with my soul. I will put on some loud music, pour a drink while you tune your guitar, then you can play something fast, and my friends will all dance, together, with all of our hearts. We know you are just missing not gone, absent, unforgotten, a pearl of great price, carried in our hearts, precious cargo, waiting at another station. Resting, till we all arrive, glorious, loud and happy to be home, at last, with you, beloved boy, missing brother, loyal friend, and eternal companio...