In two weeks, I’ve attended three gatherings – not that I had to leave home for the second one. They’ve made me think deep, long, and hard about community, friends, support, life, and priorities. So I told her I was moving out to the shed – just kidding!
The first ‘garden party’ was a 50 years of hang-gliding reunion, limited to those of us who partook in the first decade: 1973–’83. Talk about a bunch of old renegades ageing disgracefully. Interestingly, several of us were still sporting long hair; yet these days I can walk the length of Dunedin’s main thoroughfare and be the only one. What was it about that echelon of people? We congregated on a lifestyle block near Rangiora – a sea of remembered and part-remembered faces; stories being told and retold; those no longer with us remembered.
Still doin’ it
The fellow who got the prize for oldest person present was 80. He still regularly flies his microlight, but chose to fly up from Southland with a 72-year-old mate in a four-seater. He explained – straight-faced – that when he arrived from Ireland
