We returned to New Zealand this year for the first time since the pandemic struck in March of 2020. We were in Auckland at the time, planning a trip to Japan before going home.

My sister had warned me before we left the U.S. what might be coming. I dismissed it as an example of spending too much time on social media. When our trip to Japan fell through, I looked into booking a short stop in Tahiti on our way to Los Angeles. A few days later the Tahiti airport shut down. In the end, we felt fortunate to get one of the last flights out of New Zealand to Los Angeles.

Now, five years later, New Zealand is as lovely as I remember. We’re only spending two weeks here this time instead of our usual four. The first week is almost over. Already we’ve spent two gorgeous days in the village of Devonport, where we resided for over three months in 2003, our first time here. In the past, we only rented a car occasionally for specific purposes. This year we decided to keep one the entire stay, hoping it would prove a bit easier on knees, hips, and backs as we age.

This year we flew into Burbank, California, on February 23, planning to spend three nights with our son Clay and his family. However, our granddaughter Frankie was recovering from a virus, and Silas (age 3) was in the throes of it. Clay had started running a fever of 103 degrees around the time we arrived, and his symptoms worsened throughout our stay. We booked a cheap hotel about half an hour from his house, still hoping to them a bit. But, as Clay’s symptoms persisted, we decided not to chance catching a virus right before we flew again.

Our first night in Los Angeles proved miserable, as we were tired, jet-lagged, and irritable. The room had no working air, and we were very hot. We asked to be moved. The second room had a bathtub with no plug. Finally, we settled into a room nearby with two double beds and a working bathtub and air.

After that, our spirits improved, despite our disappointment at spending no time with Clay’s family. Several restaurants were within easy walking distance, including a Mexican restaurant practically next door. We savored the taquitos and chile rellenos, so much more flavorful than the Tennessee version of Mexican food.

Our next stop was Fiji, an old favorite. The weather, however, was the worst we’ve experienced in many trips to the islands. We expected a driver to be waiting at the Nadi airport with a sign. When no one showed, we hired a taxi to the port where the boat was scheduled to transport us to Serenity Island Resort. Our flight had arrived quite early in the morning, so we had several hours to wait.

Eventually the red boat arrived. The water was extremely choppy, and I feared motion sickness. However, the trip was quite short, and I breathed a sigh of relief when we saw land.

Because of the tumultuous waves, we docked on the opposite side of the island from the resort. As we trekked through the jungle, a small black insect bit my hand near the knuckles. Over the next several hours, the bite spread to about four pinpoints on my left hand. It reddened, itched, and burned. Hypochondriac that I am, I looked out at the tumultuous waters and wondered what I’d do if it spread throughout my body.

Fortunately, it did not.

We spent only two nights at Serenity. The people were extremely friendly and helpful, but the waters remained turbulent, the sky overcast, and the rain hard and frequent. During one lull, I located the shack with snorkel gear and found some fins in my size, one red and one yellow.

Norm went into the water with me, to my surprise as he’d not been feeling well. The water was warm but murky. Nonetheless, I saw a number of bright purple starfish, a beautiful branch of vivid purple coral, scores of tiny blue fish, a couple schools of large white fish, and a number of black and white striped fish. Although I saw no turtles while snorkeling, I did spot one from our beachfront bure one morning. I pointed it out to Norm, and we watched together as its head and flippers bobbed in and out of the water near shore.

Our breakfasts were included, and I always enjoy the fresh fruit, especially papaya and pineapple. I tried an omelet one morning and sunny-side-up eggs at the egg station the next. Our boat ride back to Nadi was nearly as turbulent as the first one, but again blessedly short. I covered my arms and legs, and pulled my sleeves over my hands as far as possible to dodge insects. My bite was healing by now and no more stings.

We spent one night in Nadi, since our flight to Auckland was an early AM flight. We’ve stayed at the Gateway Hotel across from the airport on multiple occasions. The rain slowed not long after we arrived, and I donned my swimsuit to take advantage of the large, warm-water pool. Other guests were coming out of the woodworks, and a number of them slid down the huge slide into the water. I resisted the temptation for once, not wanting to risk messing up my back just before New Zealand.

Our flight to Auckland went smoothly. I had pancakes, and they tasted delicious. When we got to the Quest Hotel in Parnell, the receptionist who greet me was so familiar I wanted to hug her. Her assistant guided us to a spot in the car garage, marked with my name.

Having not been here in so long, I began to question whether New Zealand is really as beautiful as I remembered. It is. You’re never far from water, and the colors of the inlets, the sea, the rivers are all spectacular. It helps, of course, that the weather has been divine so far. Gorgeous blue skies with a smattering of fluffy white clouds, sunshine most of the day every day. It rained once, but I didn’t realize it until I looked out the window of our apartment and saw a few puddles. 

I messaged my colleagues at the University of Auckland, and they said I could use my usual “visitor” office during my stay. I haven’t as yet, since we’ve been busy visiting old favorite haunts just about every day, or recovering from the previous day’s exercise and drive. Because of the time difference between here and home, I get confused sometimes about days of the week or month. I’m going to try to keep this straight as I write.

On Wednesday, March 5, we drove to Devonport. We used to catch the ferry every day when we lived there, but now we have a car. In preparation for the excursion, I called the Esplanade, a hotel restaurant directly across from the ferry station, to ask about tea. They no longer do a full high tea with all the trimmings, but assured me we could have scones with jam and clotted cream and a choice of teas or coffees.

I remember sharing high tea with my friend Caroline the last time I was there, so I knew I’d be thinking of her at the Esplanade. She’s British and has been living living in England again since around the start of the pandemic (after many years in New Zealand), if I remember correctly. Caroline was my student the first year I went to New Zealand, and a few years later, she began teaching and supervising the introductory accounting sections at the University of Auckland.
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The old Victoria theater, which was closed when we lived in Devonport, is back in service. We took in an 11AM movie in a tiny theater there. Bird, directed by Academy Award winner (female too!) Andrea Arnold, was hard to understand at times because of strong accents, but the storyline was easy to follow. I liked it a lot. After the movie we walked around the shops and purchased some books for the grandkids. PART II COMING SOON

My parents are in their nineties. My dad’s growing old with grace, my mom with humor. I can only hope that if I live to be their age, I’ll master at least one of the two.

When I call my dad, he’ll tell me how blessed he feels to be alive and to have kids, grandkids, and great grandkids, all of whom he loves so dearly. He names us one by one. My mom is almost always ready to laugh at herself even when she does the most outrageous things.

Recently we were trying to help them identify themselves with the Social Security folks in order to complete their income tax return, after they had lost their 1099s. We had to log in, go through a string of identification steps, and wait for a phone call.

It came at last. After a series of questions repeated a few times due to hearing issues, the caller at the other end asked my mother, “Did anyone text or email you to tell you to do this?”

“What?” she said.

He repeated the question.

“No!” she exclaimed. “Everyone I know is dead!”

The caller laughed, my husband and I laughed, and my mother laughed. Ah, the fun memories, the fun times…amidst the dark.

One day she tells me, “You and I are getting a little sag under here.” She pats her chin. Another day she says, “I think you and I look pretty good for our age.”

Does she think we’re the same age, I wonder. She’s wearing her teeth on this day at least.

I’m working on a trilogy about my parents, grandparents, and myself. I hope to publish it soon.

In The Past Ever Present, my father recalls his childhood. Although he grew up during the Great Depression and his family was far from wealthy, his memories radiate joy. When I talk to him these days, he says, “Enjoy life while you’re young.”
https://www.amazon.com/Past-Present-Debra-Coleman-Jeter/dp/1425745555
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Audio books: https://www.audible.com/author/Debra-Coleman-Jeter/B00UDTPPC6

When my son Clay was about nine, he landed the role of Creed Allen in the TV series Christy, being filmed in the mountains of east Tennessee. As the series progressed, so did his role in the show. We saved most of the money he earned working at this young age to apply toward his college fund.

We did, however, allow him one significant purchase. An older boy not far from our neighborhood in Clarksville wanted to sell his go kart, and Clay wanted to buy it. After some debate and a lot of rules, we allowed the purchase of the go kart, Sunny.

The previous owner had painted Sunny a few times, and you could still see some red paint bleeding through the topcoat of blue. This only added to his charm. The brakes were worn out, and the connecting rod missing. This did not keep Clay off the machine, but it added to the rules! It also provided opportunities for Clay and his dad to expand their mechanical skills.

Clay and his best friend Brian soon graduated from driving it in the grass to begging to take it on the road. Reluctantly we agreed, and soon they were taking turns zipping around our neighborhood.

One day a policeman appears at our front door in Clarksville. A sheepish Clay and Sunny watched from our driveway.

“Is this your son?”

I nodded.

“Did you know it’s against the law for him to take his go kart on the street?”

I wasn’t actually familiar with the laws about go karts, and the internet had not yet become my source of information. I shook my head.

“Well, it is. So, keep it off the street in the future, son.” He patted Clay on the shoulder.

We also took Sunny to our lake cottage, where both Clay and Sunny loved the scenic maze of roads.

Although Sunny spent more time alone after Clay entered high school, he was still a beloved member of our family. When Clay graduated from film school at USC and embarked on his first project, he wanted Sunny to be in it.

Austin Vickers, cast as Jimmy in Clay’s short film, “Five Dollars,” was about the age Clay had been when he met Sunny. Austen loved Sunny almost as much as Clay did.
In the film, Jimmy wanted nothing more than to get his beloved go kart in running condition with a full tank of gas. But money was short for Jimmy and his daddy. When Jimmy’s daddy finally got Sunny running, he treated himself to the first ride and wrecked Sunny before Jimmy got his turn.

In one of the scenes in “Five Dollars,” Jimmy’s sitting on Sunny watching an older boy zoom past on a motorcycle. Because Sunny is not in working order, Jimmy can only fantasize and improvise his ride, his riding gloves, the sounds, and the speed, which he does with great pizzazz.

Now, several years later, Sunny has been passed to Clay’s nephew Finn. Finn can hardly wait to get on Sunny when he gets home from school each day. He and his dad have given Sunny a new heart (i.e. motor) and replaced the rotted seat with soft new clothes.

Finn wakes each morning thinking of Sunny. “I can’t wait…”

“You’ll have to,” his mother says. “And if you give me any grief about getting up and ready for school, there will be no Sunny when you get home either.”

Who knew Sunny would work like a charm for bribery? Oh, well, a little bribe now and then makes for good parenting. Don’t you think?

To read more about Clay’s exploits on the set of Christy, see my book, The Past Ever Present.