Deb Curreen Author

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...