Why?

Why?  This word has been both permeating and plaguing my psyche lately.

Why did my heater break?

Why did that Sallies grad shoot up LAX?

Why does a second checked bag on Air New Zealand cost $150?

Why am I doing this?

Why New Zealand?

That last one I've been asked a lot lately, right after the initial "holy shit." Why New Zealand?  My answer has consistently been "Why not?"  But I admit that is a bit of a cop out, so I'm going to attempt to embellish a bit....

I do believe that a picture is worth a thousand words.  So here are 100 pictures to equal 100,000 words:

The above video gives you a glimpse into life in New Zealand.  Matt and I went to New Zealand expecting breathtaking scenery, great food, and incredible adventure.  And we got it.  What we weren't ready for were the people, the trust, the safety, and the spiritual awakening that awaited us.

New Zealand is about as close to Utopia as you can get.  Sure, it has its dark side, its issues, its politicians, and its shortcomings.  It's not perfect.  But.....it's pretty damn great.

Even before we got to New Zealand, we met a Kiwi on the plane from San Francisco. Her name was Annabel, a cool chick with glasses, a pixie haircut and pretty smile. We were slightly caught off-guard by her willingness to actually hold a real conversation with another human being on an airplane (seriously, who does that?)  After chatting on and off for two hours, she said "So when we get coffee tomorrow, I can tell you of some good places to check out around Christchurch."

Coffee?  When did we make a coffee date?  Was I asleep during that part of the conversation?

(Flat White: the King of Coffee)

I brushed it off as a fluke.  But as we got off the plane, she gave us the name of a coffee shop overlooking the (once taller) city of Christchurch and said "See you tomorrow for coffee."  We were shocked. Did she  mean to murder us?

We went for coffee and had a smashing time.  She brought a friend along, and the morning was refreshingly authentic.  No insufferable banter about the weather. When we asked her friend "What do you do?" (meaning "What do you do for a job?") his reply was quick: "As little as possible." (We heard this statement several times during our stay from different people. I believe it really sums up the Kiwi philosophy of work-life balance, something Americans desperately lack).

We thought maybe the coffee date was a fluke. But nope: Annabel came out to my show that night at Cassel's Brewing Company and brought a friend.  I was incredibly touched.

We thought maybe Annabel was some sort of awesome alien creature who transcends humans in hospitality and social engagement.  Maybe she was an anomaly.  Surely there can't be more people like this.

Nope. Wrong.  As I was packing up my gear from my gig at Cassel's, a gentleman approached me. "Hi, I'm Al. I own this place.  Where you guys headed tomorrow?"  I tell him we are on our way to Akaroa, a picturesque French settlement harbour town 90 minutes east of Christchurch where miniature dolphins swim and you can see cows lounging on the grass from your sea kayak.

"Oh yeah, Akaroa. Beautiful," Al the bar owner says. "So you'll have to drive by my house to get there. Come by for coffee in the morning and we can sit and I can tell you the best way to get there and where to eat."

Okay.....here's where I need to explain something:  I have been playing in bars for almost 15 years.  Never, EVER have I been invited to coffee by the establishment owner, let alone by a bar owner who had the time to play tour guide.

(Above: cow overlooking Akaroa Harbour. The high road to Akaroa was scary to drive, but beautiful. Thanks to Al and his detour tips, I was able to get this awesome shot!)

Everywhere we went, we ran into more people like Annabel and Al:  the dude from Chicago who let me busk with him in Queenstown and who gave me some of his tips without me even asking; the musician at the Whare Flat Folk Festival in Dunedin who lent me his guitar for the weekend (it was too expensive to bring my own from the states); the photographers we "glamped" with in Milford Sound.  Humanity is more human in New Zealand, it seems.

Sure, you had the bad apples, the Scrooges, the teenage baristas with the bad attitudes.  But for every one of the sour heads, we met 20 incredibly generous, authentic, down-to-earth, chill people who would give you the shirts off their backs.  Their personalities, their values, their magnetism infects you.

So Why New Zealand?  For me, self-actualization is everything; becoming a better person with the goal of making the world a better place (through my music, my writing, my actions, my activism) is paramount in my life.  To that end, New Zealand seems like a pretty good place to meet and learn from some like-minded people.

Still not convinced? Go ask a New Zealander.  They'll take you out to coffee after you ask them.

~ Melissa

Stuff vs. Memories

NPR is always sending me messages from the Universe.

Yesterday I heard a story about short and long term memory loss.  The reporter posed the question "What would life be like without memory?"  

Cut to a man with brain trauma.  The reporter asks "What did you do this morning?"

Pause. "I honestly don't remember."

The reporter asks: "What did you do yesterday?"

Pause.  "I really, truly don't remember.  I wish I could tell you."

A doctor chimes in and talks about a past patient who suffered from short and long term memory loss. Despite her affliction, she could still play the viola and read sheet music. Put a piece of sheet music in front of her, and she could play it.  Give her the same sheet music 10 minutes later, and she would swear she's never seen it before, but she would, again, play it.  The doctor was testing muscle memory, looking to see if, despite not remembering the piece, she played it better over time.  She did.

"What would life be like without memory?"

As I clean out my house and sell nearly everything I own in preparation for the emigration, I realize that I am trading my stuff for memories, my tangible possessions for intangible experiences.  Most of the stuff is easy to give up: my Pier 1 artwork, my X-Files comic collection, pots and pans.

But by giving up some things, I am willfully surrendering the creation of future memories. Will I regret not feeling the warmth of my cat Amber next to me as I sleep?  Will I yearn for my own mattress as I sleep in the back of a station wagon on a camping trip?  Will I regret trading an egg per month for freedom in the short term, only to have time and age hijack my body and future happy memories in the long term?

"What will survive of me? A cardboard box with thoughts inside?" - Lunatic Soul

The physical act of cleaning out my house has made my brain go into defrag mode, making me process all of my memories, short and long term, all of the joy, the pain, the sorrow, the euphoria, the ugliness, the beauty, my own flaws.  And then there is that constant, nagging voice, always asking "Are you sure you're doing the right thing?"

"What would life be like without memory?" The question makes me wonder: "What if I couldn't think of my past?"  The very notion jolted me into appreciation tinged with guilt, because I realized just how much I have taken the gift of memory for granted.  Most of us do.  But for those souls who must endure short and long term memory loss, Alzheimer's, dementia and other illnesses that attack memory, it is a very hard reality for them and for their families.  It's a reality that did, and does, affect my family.

Tonight I sold my beautiful dining room set to a friend.  I traded it for a memory not yet made.  When that memory does finally come to greet me, I will close my eyes and savor it, just as I have savored every meal with Matt at my dining table.

Fear

Last night, the nightmare returned.  I am driving down a highway. I miss my exit. Frantically, I try to get my GPS to work on my phone, but the connection is lost.  I keep driving, trying to figure out how to get to where I am going, and quickly get lost.

Then I see it: a very high, very steep bridge.  My knuckles turn pale as I grip the wheel and mutter "shit."  Cars are whizzing by me, semis are barreling down on me. I have no choice but to catapult my car at 70 miles per hour onto this concrete tight rope before me.  I cringe in terror as I go up, up, up.... then I hear the alarm, and wake up.

(Oh HELL no! Why did the French build this crazy fucking thing?)

I have been having this same nightmare for years, though details change from dream to dream.  Once, I missed my exit and was forced to drive out of Delaware and into New Jersey (that is scary in real life).  Another time, I was forced up onto a drawbridge and stuck, nearly vertical, in the sky.

Two details remain the same across all the versions of this dream: I have to drive over a huge bridge unlike anything man has ever engineered on this earth, and I am lost.

In real life, I am terrified of driving over bridges.  Passes are even worse.  While Matt and I were living in Colorado, we took a day trip up to Breckenridge with his family.  Somehow we decided it would be fun to take Loveland Pass on the way back home.  While Matt and his family were enjoying the beautiful views at 11,000 feet, I was curled up in the fetal position in the back seat with tears running down my cheeks.

The Road to Hana in Maui was another terrifying experience. Try hugging a sheer cliff in a torrential downpour at night as you navigate a one-way road plagued with blind spots and minimal guard rails while locals pass you going 40 mph in their pickup trucks.

(Aerial view of Hana Highway on Maui)

While my recurring nightmare is rooted in my fear of bridges, it goes deeper than that. I usually have this nightmare when I feel out of control in my life, when I am very stressed, or when I am concerned about my future. I am about to embark on a two year walkabout to New Zealand. Though I am excited and happy, I am also terrified. When we land in Auckland, we will have no jobs, no car, no permanent residence, no friends. We won't even have a frying pan to call our own. We'll have our instruments, a suitcase of clothes, and our courage.

If I analyze my fear of bridges, I realize that it's not a fear of heights, but a fear that if something were to go wrong, a bridge would be the worst place for it to happen.  Another driver could hit me, sending me careening over the edge. Or a gust of wind could cause me to lose control of my car, sending me careening over the edge. Or lack of funding could cause the bridge to fall out from under me, sending me careening over the edge. (Or, God forbid, I get stuck on an example of failed engineering.)

This move to New Zealand is the largest bridge I will ever cross. While I am excited about the new heights I will reach and the beauty I will see before me, I am terrified. All I can do is close my eyes, hold on tight, and let fate carry me over to the other side......

(Mt. Cook Village, New Zealand, 4 hours north of Queenstown - we were there!)

Visa...it's everywhere I want to be.

Melissa:  New Zealand approved my visa in less than 3 days.  SCORE.  Kudos to their very efficient immigration system. Lessons learned about the NZ immigration process:

Getting a 12-month work holiday visa to NZ is so easy a caveman could do it...and free for U.S. citizens!

I'm convinced the New Zealand Embassy front desk receptionist is Murray from Flight of the Concords.

Unless you are willing to pay a small fortune, chop through red tape and get to know your vet better than you would have preferred, getting a cat or dog into New Zealand is virtually impossible.... which is good for the endangered kiwi and other birds.

We're due to land in NZ sometime in mid-December.  We're going to visit Amber at Happy Cat Sanctuary one more time in November - pictures to follow. Cheers!

Amber is safe and happy

Melissa:  We are very happy (and sad) to report that we have found a great temporary home for Amber while we're overseas! She is now safe and secure at the Happy Cat Sanctuary on Long Island, NY  Here's my beautiful baby at the sanctuary!

Happy Cat is a free-roaming, cage-free, no-kill sanctuary that specializes in the rescue, rehabilitation, and shelter of at-risk cats, including cats who have been targeted by mean people who wish to poison them, shoot them, or use them as bait in gang dog-fighting rings. Cats ill with FIV (aka, cat AIDS), blind cats, deaf cats, cats missing limbs....they all come here to live out their days climbing trees, lounging in the sun, being brushed by founder Chris Arsenault and volunteer Linda, and fed yummy meals and treats.  

Happy Cat is a 501(c)3 non-profit that runs entirely on donations by individual people who want to make a difference in the lives of sick and forgotten cats. Please make a tax-deductible donation by mailing a check to PO Box 688, Coram, NY 11727.  Please make check payable to "Happy Cat, Inc."

I want to thank Chris Arsenault, founder of the sanctuary, and Linda for their amazing support, generosity, and love.  Amber is in excellent hands and has all the food, shelter, medical attention and love she could ever need.  And she's learning a thing or two about becoming an outdoor cat and making new friends, which is awesome!  I still cry when I think about her, but I know she's in an awesome place and safe. We will see her in a few years!!

More pictures of my darling baby with Chris Arsenault, the founder and primary caregiver of the cats:

Please note that we paid a considerable fee to board Amber temporarily at the sanctuary.  Happy Cat is otherwise full and is not taking in any more cats.  Please don't contact them about taking cats. The sanctuary made an exception for us.  If you would like to help the sanctuary expand so they can take more cats in the future, please make a donation, thank you!