Lockdown Day 277 - Musings of an adult child of an Alzheimer’s patient

There are some topics most people prefer not to engage with and this is one of them: not everyone has the capacity to take care of a parent with Alzheimer’s Disease.

They might understand if there’s a material reason, because that fits into their narrow definition of what is and isn’t acceptable, but if your reason is emotional, you’re unlikely to find much understanding. Assumptions, assumptions, assumptions – every step of the way.

We don’t talk about it, because in the process of our socialisation there are tacit messages, rules and practices that we are assumed into that keep us trapped forever, with very little space for a dissenting response, no matter how well thought out or articulated.  In the small circle of people I might discuss personal things with, there are probably fewer than five who would hear me out on this topic without judging or disapproving (by either stating their views clearly or, more commonly, not saying much, but showing by their facial expressions that they feel I have crossed the line, that I am a terrible person and that I’m going straight to Hell).

The truth is – nobody is prepared for a parent’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis. But somehow, what we default to is this set of one-size-fits-all rules that we grew up with that dictates how we should respond to this sad and devastating reality. In the society in which I grew up, you are expected to take care of your ageing parents, no matter what you are dealing with, and if you say you aren’t able to, there's something wrong with you. 

Because I’ve been grappling with this for eight and a half years, I’ve done a lot of reading on it. The truth is that every individual in every family responds differently. A healthy approach is for the family to sit down with a suitably qualified and sensitive counsellor, as early in the journey as possible, and to talk openly about whether and how each family member is able to contribute to the care of the parent. Central to the ongoing process is respect, for everyone involved – even when their views differ from yours. Also healthy would be regular review meetings by the family, to discuss what is and isn’t working and to agree on what has to change. In cases where the family can’t agree (this is common!), a session with a counsellor could provide clarity and guidance and help the family deal more compassionately with not just the loved one, but also each other.

The one thing you cannot be, when dealing with any kind of degenerative disease, is rigid. The disease changes, so the loved one changes, which means the caregivers have to be flexible. What pertained 8 years ago won’t pertain now.  

In my socialisation, the message was clear – you never put your ageing parent into a home.  All kinds of judgemental things were said, when people did this, which of course further entrenched it as a terrible thing, in my young, impressionable mind. However, when my mother was diagnosed with Amnestic Syndrome, in April 2012, and could no longer live on her own, I knew without a doubt that I could not take care of her in my home. (The Alzheimer’s diagnosis came a year later.)

I had been retrenched in October 2010, had been taking on short contract jobs, while looking for something more permanent, and was between jobs at that time. My biggest priority was finding a job, in order to support my children. I had had an acrimonious divorce in 2001, had won a terrible custody battle and for years had been dealing with my ex-husband’s successive attempts to derail all my efforts at stability and to have me declared an unfit mother. My biggest fear was having him succeed at this. Besides all of that, because I was (privately, on a daily basis) trying to process all the trauma experienced in my adult life, I did not have the emotional capacity to take care of someone with dementia. I knew that, without a doubt. This has not changed. 

There are so many aspects to this topic. For example, despite the strong messages I’d received from my community, as a child, about how unacceptable it was for people to put their parents into a home, my mother had always said the opposite – she would always say: “When I can’t live on my own, one day, please put me in a home.”  The subtext – often said in so many words – was that she didn’t want to be a burden to her children. So, when the time came (suddenly – with very little time for the family to process it) for a decision to be made around my mom’s living arrangements, I assumed we’d find a home for my mom, but my sister somehow knew that my mom’s spoken instructions had been more bravado than truth. I knew without a doubt that I could not be my mom’s primary caregiver (for many reasons) and my sister and her husband made the decision to bring her into their home. 

Initially, my mom spent occasional weekends with me, until my sister asked me to do it on a fortnightly basis – which I did, until March 2020, when the COVID-19 national lockdown started.  

I’ll get back to my personal journey, in a while, but there are a few other things I’d like to say:

1.       Families need to discuss these things and prepare for the possibility of a dementia diagnosis in an elderly relative. In my case, not only have my kids and I discussed it, but they know what my views are. I am busy putting it all in an official document.  

2.       One of the factors that contribute to families looking after their aged relatives themselves is the unaffordability of good alternative care. Old age homes in South Africa, like so many other things in our society, still show the huge disparity between facilities for the haves and the have-nots. State-owned facilities for ‘’white’’ people were more plentiful and of a much better quality than those for the rest of the population.

·         These days, anyone can live at any old age home, but the affordability factor is a significant deterrent. General residents at state owned old age homes hand over most of their state pensions, as far as I know, while Alzheimer’s care may cost 4 times that amount.

·         In private facilities (originally for “whites”only), which are better facilities, with more individualised care, Alzheimer’s care could cost anything from R12,000 a month. Very few families I know personally can come up with that kind of money.  

·         Another form of care is home-based care, where a qualified carer is hired to come into your home, at agreed hours, to care for the old person. This gives the primary carer relief and ensures the loved one is still cared for. There are women in many communities who undergo training and do this as a post-retirement job, to earn extra money. Of course, there are also younger people who do this kind of work. Carers can be accessed through various channels, including agencies and some NGOs.

Ok, back to my journey. There’s still so much I feel I can’t say, even while trying to openly write about my struggle. The shackles cut deeply when we try to wrest ourselves from them.

I’ve found that another contributing factor in how people view the topic of caring for a family member with Alzheimer’s is religion. In my experience, many people who are religious seem so steeped in tradition, that they leave very little room for individual responses to anything. They hold themselves accountable to a set of rules in a holy book, and assume everyone else does, too. From what I’ve observed, people are a lot more accepting of someone openly coming out as gay than as an atheist.

Religion holds us accountable to rules and systems we had no part in drawing up and it passes on, from generation to generation, the harsh judgements that accompany non-compliance. Yes, religion gives people peace and a sense of community and purpose, but its adherents can be extremely harsh towards those who don’t comply. A woman at the church my sister attends said, soon after my mom’s diagnosis: “Whatever you do, don’t put your mother in a home. “ Firstly, she had no right to say that without knowing the family’s situation and secondly, why did she assume her words carried any authority? The thing is – they do, if you think they do.  And that one sentence can become a different kind of sentence, if you let it. But you have a choice. You always have a choice.  

So back to the few friends who don’t judge me when I tell them about how stressed and nervous I am about caring for mom, now that she has Alzheimer’s - the ones who don’t look at me with faces that suggest anything from deprecating clicks of the tongue to eternal damnation. These are the people who themselves have dared to make different choices to the ones they were expected to make and who boldly and courageously live authentic lives. They’re the ones who colour outside of the lines, who dress differently, who allow life to lead them down interesting side roads and who opened themselves to careers or relationships that weren’t standard, in their communities. They are the outcasts, the different ones, the ones whispered about at family gatherings.    

It’s easy to romanticise something you’ve never had to deal with, yourself. And even if you have dealt with it yourself, your circumstances and responses were yours – mine are mine. No two people are alike.

If you are someone for whom all the elements aligned perfectly, when your parent was diagnosed with Alzheimer's, and you found it the most beautiful privilege and blessing to be able to be the primary carer of that loved one, I am happy for you. And I mean that sincerely. If you had all the resources, including the mental health and capacity, as well as the financial stability, to adjust your household and take on this mammoth task, I am happy that that was how it played out for you. But remember that that was your choice, made from the place where you found yourself in life; you have no right to assume that just because that was the obvious course of action for you, it has to be the same for someone else.  This is what causes tension in most families. Unfortunately, what most adults do in this situation is default to the hierarchical roles afforded by birth order - or, to put it more bluntly, bullying. And when that doesn't work, some other form of punishment is meted out, like freezing the 'offender' out.     

What we should do is listen when someone expresses how they feel about something, and not make assumptions. And not judge. The more you invalidate someone's truth, the more you alienate that person. If you don't understand how a family member's journey has impacted on them, create a safe space for all involved to sit down and talk, and to listen. The most important thing families should do, when faced with any kind of crisis, including an Alzheimer's diagnosis, is communicate - lovingly and consistently, and with a view to arriving at a win-win solution for all. There's no other way. 

As Lemony Snicket said: “Just because you don’t understand it, doesn’t mean it isn’t so.”  

Two Blankets Later / Lockdown Day 219

I was surprised, when I read my last post, that it had been so long since I'd last blogged. The thing is, I think about blogging every day, but end up doing it so seldom. Life just happens, and you have to choose which things you're going to be disciplined about and which things you're going to indulge in when you can. It's about time, space and mood. My daily discipline includes journalling - by hand, in an actual book - and doing Mind Power exercises. I started training with a fitness group, four weeks ago, building up to a nice routine, but had some health issues this week, so skipped the training. Blogging ends up being a luxury I indulge in when there are no other demands on me. 

                                                 The field where we train (Constantia).

I was also surprised to see that my last blog was about The Yellow Blanket, because I've since completed a little boy's blanket (took 14 days) and am just about to complete an adult's blanket, The Blue Blanket, which I started on 11 September, 7 weeks ago. If my weekend goes my way, I'll complete it by tomorrow evening. 

                                                  Blanket for little Lukas, my niece's baby.

So much has happened, since I last wrote. It's just life - some really cool things, but also some really sad things. Staying on track, on your intended path, is not always easy.  You can plan, you can even find  the right words, to remain open and inviting, and not close doors, but you can't control how others respond to you. That's been my hardest lesson, since I last blogged. Someone else's mistaken version of who you are, with all the evidence they have to support their view, will live and grow if you're not given an opportunity to speak for yourself and present your side of the story. If attempts at communication, aimed at sorting out a misunderstanding, are shut down, that ugliness will persist and, in some cases, cause permanent damage. 

All I can say is that, at age 59 (oh, I also had a birthday, since my last post), I owe it to myself to regularly examine patterns in my life and be clear about what I do and don't want to continue with. I accept that we don't all express ourselves in the same way, that each of us has a context and a set of rules by which we live, as well as opinions about others. But if someone is asking for a dialogue, to address perceived misconceptions, the only way that can be resolved is if the two parties sit down and talk. If the two-way talk is not possible, then with a third person, preferably a skilled mediator - the desired outcome being a better understanding of each other's views, and a win-win solution for everyone involved. When I'm asking for that, and the person flatly refuses to meet, and is fine with leaving the relationship broken, I actually don't know how to proceed from there. In my opinion, it's a very short-sighted way of dealing with conflict and can only mean the person gets something out of  the relationship remaining broken. A rather disturbing thought.  

But life is multi-dimensional, and there are other parts of my life that are literally thriving. I developed a renewed interest in gardening, under lockdown, and recently planted a whole lot of seedlings with colourful flowers, turning our backyard into a pretty picture.  

                                                            Marigolds and pansies

My daughter's third year at college is almost at an end, with exams around the corner. My son got great news - his first short story submission was selected for publication in an Africa-wide anthology, being released in 2021.  

At work, I'm faced with the dilemma of having returned to the office, a few days a week, with all the pitfalls of exposure to others, using shared toilets, people not following COVID rules, etc. What lockdown has taught me is that there are some people for whom working from home was easy  - and preferable - and others for whom it just did not work. I think that two of the deciding factors are the infrastructure at home, and your  personality. Some people simply don't have a quiet space where they can shut out little children and work in peace. Some people might have that, but are so dependent on the hierarchical structure at work, that they can't actually self-manage. When different team members have different rates of success at working from home but all are told to return to the office, that's really tough to deal with. I'm really frustrated that this one-size-fits-all approach is being used.   

On a day that I was working from home, I had to take my daughter to college for two hours, so I sat down at a nearby coffee shop and just carried on working from there. 

On the music front, an exciting thing I've achieved since I last blogged was to compose a 30-second piece of music, which was accepted by the people who approached me. This will be the signature tune - called a 'sting'- used for a podcast series. Seven women (including me) were interviewed about their lives, and each interview will be aired as a twenty-minute podcast.  I think this will happen in November. I can't wait! 

As the COVID-19 pandemic goes through its scary second wave, in the northern hemisphere, it's become clear that there's a seasonal aspect to the spread of the virus. In addition, and we're seeing it in South Africa, as well, there's a recklessness to some people's behaviour that not only increases the infection stats, but will ultimately result in a return to tighter lockdown levels. 

I have no idea what November has in store, nor what Christmas 2020 will be like. At this stage, if we're all still healthy, I'd be happy to have a small family picnic in my garden. 

                              Lockdown picnic - homemade chicken & salad wraps, with iced tea.

The Yellow Blanket / Lockdown Day 148

After quite a few people commented on the pictures I posted on Facebook, I decided to share the story (including the pattern, which I made up – it’s very simple!) of The Yellow Blanket. I refer to it as though it were the title of a book, because there’s something about the journey of making a blanket that feels like writing a book. Not that I’ve done so. Yet.

The first blanket I made, during lockdown, was The Green Blanket – for my daughter. This one was for my son. I felt like working with blue, but when I gave him the choice, he chose the colours of a crest of one of the Harry Potter houses. The colours (yarn) I managed to find, that came closest to his choice were yellow, grey, black and white. I drew my little design on paper, bought the yarn and started. I started on 9 June and ended on 13 August. I could get really Virgoey and explain that there was a period when I stopped, because I’d run out of yellow, but that’s neither here nor there – the blanket took about 2 and a half months to complete, and the end result was really beautiful.

I have to say that I absolutely love making a blanket for someone. I love giving them the choice of colours and I love creating the blanket from that first bit to the very end, when I do the border.

I am a novice, when it comes to crocheting: the entire blanket uses two types of stitches – single crochet and double crochet. I’m putting the pattern down in my own way, and I hope it makes sense to you. Basically, if I can make a blanket, anyone can. I took pics throughout the process, so I’ll include them as well.

STEP ONE: I started with a chain of 272 stitches. This is for a double bed, but it doesn’t hang far down the sides. You could do a longer chain, if you want a wider blanket. Be careful not to work too tightly, because you need to crochet into each chain stitch for your first row.

                                I always start with a chain as long as the width of the blanket. 

STEP TWO: ROW 1: Once you’ve got your chain of 272 stiches, do one row of double crochet stitch, placing one stitch into each chain stitch. The end result will look like a long curly ladder, or a DNA strand. 😊

                                         Row one - when it really starts. 

STEP THREE:  ROW 2: two double crochet stitches into the first space, miss a space, then two double crochet stitches into every second space.

This is the equivalent pic of the green blanket. I hope you can see the first row and then the second row which has two stitches into one space. 

STEP FOUR: ROW 3 (and every row, for the rest of the blanket):  two double crochet stitches into each space between the pairs of two stitches.

      I love watching how the colours start to form what will eventually be a repeated sequence.

I will talk about the border later, but here’s something about the yarn I used. I bought Charity double knit in four colours: Banana (a pale yellow), School Grey, Black and White. I used about 24/25 balls.

                            For my son’s blanket, this was the way I worked the four colours:

                        Six rows Grey, two rows Black, six rows Banana and two rows White.

I prefer to have all the joins on one edge, so that when I tuck them in later, I need to work on just one edge, and not two.

STEP FIVE: BORDER

For this blanket, I did three rows to make the border:

Before starting with the first row, I tucked in all the loose bits (where I joined colours), using a darning needle and sometimes the crochet hook. I work the loose bits neatly along the long edge of the blanket, so that when I do the border, I crochet everything into the border.

Row 1: Using Black yarn, I did one row of single crochet, all around the blanket.

Row 2: Still using Black, I did one row of double crochet, all around the blanket.

Row 3: I decided to be a little quirky and do the final row in Banana – just because. For this row, I found a Youtube tutorial on how to make the shell/scalloped border stitch, and that’s what I did. This is how it goes: One single crochet stitch. Skip two spaces and do five double crochet stitches into the third space. Skip two spaces and do one single crochet stitch. And keep going, all around the blanket.

                                For the first time, I tried the shell (aka scalloped) border. Easy! 

And that’s it.

I have a little ritual, when I make blankets: the night that I complete the blanket, which I’ve been working on for weeks and weeks (and being covered by while working), I sleep under it, as a sort of goodbye. The next day, I wash it in the washing machine, make sure it gets lots of fabric softener so that it smells nice, then I hang it on the line to dry.

I hope you get as much joy out of the process as I do. There is something really calming and quite magical about crocheting. If you’re reading this and thinking, “Yup – she’s crazy!”, then I assume you won’t be trying to make one yourself.   

What’s next for me? I’m working on three beanies (knitting), then it’s one blanket for the tiniest person in our family (7 months old) and then an adult’s blanket ordered by a friend. Hmmmm, I wonder what colours she’ll choose.     

Happy me!

Other People (Day 119 of lockdown)

An exchange in our home, recently, after we'd cooked one of our new dishes :
Daughter: Ooh, this tastes like other people's food.
Me: We are other people.

We looked at each other, realising how unintentionally profound that had been. Knowing my daughter, she probably high-fived me.

I love the fact that, under lockdown, I'm not obliged to interact face-to-face with too many people. It turns out, the virtual world has distinct benefits - especially for introverts. But I also love checking in with my friends, either on the phone, texting on WhatsApp or e-mailing, to hear how each one is handling this time of life. 

I'm very aware that not everyone is going through lockdown comfortably, and that for many people lockdown has been the harshest blow. I'm exceptionally lucky to be employed, to be able to keep up with my overheads, and to have wifi and all that it enables. I'm also lucky that the nature of my job lends itself to working remotely. I can't believe it took a global pandemic for us to see how ridiculous it was to continue working the way we had been - especially sitting in air-conditioned offices and crawling along in insane peak traffic, twice a day.

Almost overnight, the world changed. It changed how it went about its business. It changed how we worked, how we communicated, how we taught, how we shopped, how we connected with loved ones, how we entertained ourselves, how entertainers found audiences, how we exercised, how we channelled our creativity, how we held meetings, conferences, launches and concerts - and so much more.

And, in the process, as the world changed and people started using the term, "the new normal", we changed. We spent more time in our gardens or backyards, we slowed down and read more, we put effort into cooking more interesting meals, we took up hobbies, we started new forms of exercise, we watched different movies, we learnt new skills - all the time evolving, shifting, learning to go where the current took us, because that's what we needed to do, to survive.

Physically, many of us have changed. Some have gained weight, most have longer hair. Many men now wear beards, simply out of necessity. People talk about how they wear slouchy clothes all the time, and some women say they've ditched wearing bras.

I'm more interested in the other changes - the invisible ones. I know for a fact that I'm undergoing major changes in how I view life - and my life, in particular. I'll be 59 in 7 weeks' time, which is an age at which we think about what we've achieved, what our legacies will be, and what else we could possibly achieve, to leave a better legacy. We look back at our choices, celebrate the ones that worked out well and try to forgive ourselves for the ones that didn't.

Today is Day 119 of lockdown, in South Africa. They say it takes 21 days to form a habit. I know I've forged a whole new set of habits, under lockdown, and I know I'm not the same person I was 120 days ago. Do I like this Trudy? Ja - I actually do. She's used the time to do a lot of introspection and has sorted through some clutter, both physical and emotional. She's learnt to relinquish control over certain parts of her life and to embrace change, like never before. She knows it's a journey and that there'll be detours along the way, but she's keeping an open mind.

Most importantly, she's living every day to the fullest - exploring, learning, immersing herself in what she loves, and understanding, more than ever before, that pouring yourself into a few things that bring you true joy is far more meaningful than anything money could ever buy. 

 
    

Lockdown Day 108

What’s the biggest irresistible urge you’ve ever had?

For me, it was the urge to push, during childbirth. Despite all the reading I’d done, I was shocked at the intensity of the sensation. It’s like you’re not in control of your body - like something else is making decisions for you and you have no choice but to follow. To a far lesser degree, I feel that way about writing: if I feel the urge to write, I need to write.

When my children were younger, writing was generally something I’d do late at night, after all my duties were done. I’d also write whenever they were doing Saturday activities and I needed to wait for them.  I remember creating time to write by taking them down to a restaurant that had a kids’ play area; I’d sit in the parents’ area with my journal, keeping an eye on them and writing at the same time. In the many years that my children lived with each parent every alternate week, my routines were based on one week of being a single mother, and one of being a single woman, living alone.  Absolutely free to do my own thing when alone, I’d journal a lot more then.

Come to think of it, even now my writing happens either late at night, or on weekends during the day. But the urge hits me throughout the day. It’s just that my duties pull me in another direction. This is a constant source of frustration, to me.

I started blogging in mid-2009, after being strongly encouraged to do so by two people, 8 years apart  – a dear friend, as far back as 1998, and a life coach, in about 2006. I’ll always be grateful to them for getting me to start this journey. 11 years later, technology has changed so much but I seem to be stuck in my original style of blogging: lots of paragraphs of writing off the cuff and from the heart, with a photo or two, taken by me, related to either the content or my mood while writing.

I don’t always read my friends’ blog posts when they share them on Fb, but when I do, I find myself reading a few of their posts in one sitting.   I don’t know how important the number of views is to them, but to me, I’d continue writing even if no-one read my blog. Having said as much, I do check my stats occasionally.

This was a significant fortnight, for me. On 1 July, I went to my doctor, with flu symptoms. I was examined in the Isolation Ward and sent for a COVID-19 test. TEN days later, I received the official result: Negative. Only when I saw that word in the SMS did I realise how tense I’d been about the outcome. I hadn’t felt anything more than my usual winter symptoms, but because there are so many variations of how COVID-19 presents, I wasn’t entirely sure whether I’d contracted it or not. I was VERY happy to have tested negative, for many reasons.  

                                           The drive-through testing place I went to.

I’m sitting with my usual love-hate relationship with Facebook. I love keeping in touch with friends and acquaintances, near and far, and I particularly love seeing what creative people are doing. During lockdown, I’ve been buoyed by how others have coped, and been inspired to start little creative projects to reduce my anxiety and to just get through this unbelievable period of lockdown aimed at reducing the spread of a virus of global pandemic proportions. (I had to write that out in full, because there’s still something unbelievable about it all!) I love reading about interesting things around the world, often flagged in the form of links posted on Fb.  What distresses me are the awful comments people make, spewing hatred and showing the ugly underbelly of social media. For example, someone shared a post by a woman who’d been in an abusive relationship. She’d chosen to write very openly about the violence and to include graphic, bloody photos of herself after being beaten. To my horror, there were quite a number of misogynistic comments - people openly saying that she shouldn’t have back-chatted her husband, that men don’t like it when women talk back….. ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?!!!

That kind of thing affects me SO deeply, that I want to disconnect from all social media platforms and crawl into a safe space, away from the ugliness and violence, the cruelty, the misogyny – that persistent entitlement that men feel, despite everything that’s out there in the public domain. It breaks my heart that the patriarchal system we live in gives men permission to boldly write that kind of thing on social media without fear of censure or reprisal. It hurts me that practically every social network (not an internet reference) we form part of maintains the status quo of the patriarchy, and that women are still regarded as a minority, and othered – our voices indulgently listened to in board meetings, while the real decisions are made by men, some of whose only power lies in their being male. How’s that for privilege?

I’ve become sad again.  Don’t even get me started on how women support the patriarchy and oppress other women. Facebook is full of it.

And so I continue to go through life, controlling what I can, creating things that have meaning to me, speaking out wherever I can, knowing all the time that society has many other seemingly benign institutions that effectively keep women in check. Knowing that even in some of my circles of friends, there are certain topics I could never raise. 

                                    Been knitting beanies, recently, to pass the time creatively. 

My daughter asked me what I missed most, during lockdown. Besides my family, I couldn’t think of anything other than the freedom to go where I wanted to, when I wanted to.

Other than that, lockdown suits me to a T.

                          Yet another sunset I've been lucky to observe - Sat 11 July 2020 

Lockdown Day 93

I’ve realised something about the journaling and blogging I do: at the time of writing, the content may seem pedestrian, even irrelevant, but it’s in the time period that follows that the relevance becomes clear. It’s in looking back, when new dynamics have emerged and a new reality exists, that previous utterances and occurrences take on a special relevance. 

For example, someone says something quite ordinary, but then it turns out to be the last thing they ever say – it’s hard not to ascribe extra layers of meaning to the utterance. We yearn for meaning, for depth, for something spiritual, something beyond the mundane. I know I do. Always have, always will.

I’ve thought a lot about writing a book. I’ve blogged about this before. When I read about the process writers go through, with their publishers, it all seems like homework that you have to hand in, and I lose interest. Maybe I want everything to be easy. No it’s not that. I enjoy writing in this style – like I’m journaling, or chatting. It's how I write, how I record the everyday that will one day become profound - when what could once be expressed in the present perfect can be expressed only in the past.

Day 93 of lockdown – what does that even mean? For a few years, I’ve had this feeling of time units being externally imposed, and not something felt inside of me. When I wake up, all I know is it is a new day. It could be a Tuesday or a Sunday – there’s no difference, is there? The only difference is that Tuesday needs me to get up at a certain time and show up for work (even under lockdown, working from home) and Sunday means I can lie in bed as late as I like. So, yes, I’ve decided to manage my time and my productivity, during lockdown, because the passage of time is something I can’t control. I’m left with having to control what I can. And if I ever thought of not compartmentalising, not separating my days into work days and weekend days, I would be a mess – literally and figuratively. I’m starting to understand why people struggle when they are newly retired, after decades of working.  

I’ve become increasingly aware, under lockdown, of the importance of immersing oneself in activities that soothe. The danger is that some of those things, done in excess, could actually be harmful, so the idea is to find pleasurable things that are also harmless. Obviously there are the eating and drinking versions of things that soothe, as well as the physical activities, the creative activities, the socialising-from-a-distance activities, the solitary activities, the feeding one’s mind activities and the zoning out activities. There are so many variations, I’m sure I’ve left something out.

Right now, I’m sitting in bed, in my peejays, just finished a cup of coffee and a Jungle Oats energy bar (peanut butter), laptop propped up on my knees, typing away to my heart’s content, with a track by James Grace – brilliant South African guitarist – playing: Asturias Leyenda.  

My daughter commented, recently, that I seldom listened to music. It occurred to me that I used to do most of my music listening in the car, while driving, especially when alone. Since that observation, I’ve made a point of listening to music while doing other activities.

I must be honest. I’d fallen into the trap of binge watching a rather mindless series: Chicago Fire. I think I’ve watched all 8 existing seasons once, and some seasons twice. I’m happy to report that I’m finally over that obsession. I actually feel embarrassed that it gripped me for so long. I’m looking for something else, now. Every evening, after my day’s office work, household chores and dance workout are done, I shower and settle down in my room, watch something and work on the blanket I’m crocheting. I’m about halfway through the second lockdown blanket. That’s a very satisfying feeling – having created something beautiful during a time like this. Especially something functional that someone I love will use. Makes my heart sing. 😊

James Grace now playing Granada Serenata. Beautiful. I have never watched him perform live, and I hope to get the opportunity to do so, after lockdown. Yes, I think I’ll start a list of things I want to do after lockdown.

So - back to the evening ritual of crocheting. I’ve decided that I want to listen to audio books, and ditch the series watching. I want something that touches my soul, that takes my breath away. I’ve started re-reading Women Who Run With The Wolves (by Clarissa Pinkola Estes), my all-time favourite book. But I can’t crochet and read at the same time.

James Grace now playing Cadiz Saeta. Deep sigh….. such beautiful music, played with so much feeling.       

Outside, it’s storming. There’s a gale force wind threatening to break trees and lift roofs. Every now and then, I hear something rattling outside, as it’s blown across the yard.

I have a small dilemma – in my attempt to stay home and avoid social contact, I’ve started doing online grocery shopping. I’ve got used to having my groceries delivered to my house once a week. Well, two days ago, we realised we’d run out of our most-used items, so we placed an order, which was accepted and scheduled for delivery yesterday morning. However, we were later informed that our order had been cancelled (can’t remember the reason) and we’re now about to run out of quite a few important items. And here’s the dilemma – it’s not just Coronavirus and the weather making me want to avoid going out to the shop myself: the shopping centre I usually go to had an armed robbery recently, and feels like the last place I want to be!  My daughter reckons it’s probably the safest one to go to, right now.

James Grace now playing Cavatina. Aah!!! Sublime.    

WhatsApp groups getting chatty – I’m completely distracted.

What can I leave you with? This has been a profound week for me. I’ll write about all of that when I’m ready. For now – let the journey-within-a-journey simply unfold.

Can’t believe it’s Day 93 of lockdown – something I never could have imagined. But here we are, somehow adapting, somehow shifting, somehow reassessing, somehow reconfiguring who we are and who we'll be, when this is over.

In a strange way, this has been exactly what the world has needed – an enforced time of reflection.

May we learn the lessons we were meant to.  

                                   Breathtaking sunset sky, from my kitchen window (June 2020)

Lockdown Day 87

It's Sunday. It's lockdown. It's raining. The gift of today is that I don't have any appointments (these days, all online/virtual) and, if I could get myself to ignore those never-ending domestic chores, I could quite easily stay in bed all day and just emerge, occasionally, to forage for food.

In fact, I'll do just that.

Funny how one's mind works, especially as a mother. One of the hardest things about giving myself permission to stay in bed all day is that I feel I'm letting people down. This is something I need to actively work on. Everyone's life moves along just fine, without me, so why don't I give myself a break more often?

Actually, I'm getting much better at it. Just before lockdown, I took my first-ever solo holiday. I booked into a cute little AirBnB, close to the ocean,  54km from where I lived. I stayed there for three nights. I can't remember what the catalyst was, but from the moment the thought entered my mind, I couldn't shake it. I think it was a colleague planning her next family getaway and telling me what AirBnB places cost. I realised it was much cheaper than I'd thought, and I started thinking about going away. Oh, now I remember the main impetus - I'd been asked to contribute to a short story anthology, and my deadline was looming, so I thought I'd go away and spend a few days near the sea, just writing. The novelty of it became increasingly seductive. 

I'd been doing some beach walking with a friend, in Bloubergstrand and Melkbosstrand, so when it came to choosing an area to take my writer's retreat, I naturally thought of that coastline. But I also liked the idea of Scarborough, a seaside area with a Bohemian vibe. Online, I found cute places in both areas, but when I thought about actually walking on the beach, it was clear that Melkbos was the safer. I'd also have the iconic view of Table Mountain, from that coast.   

(Just took a look at my 2020 blog posts and I'm surprised I haven't written about this yet.)

I went away on 18 March and returned three days later. By then, we were all aware of the global pandemic, and social distancing was being strongly encouraged. Shops had started spraying shoppers with hand sanitiser, and there was growing insecurity about what lay ahead. I went, anyway, and I'm glad I did. It was tonic for my soul, and definitely the start of something new for me.  (When our  president announced, on 23 March, that South Africa was entering lockdown on 27 March, I realised just how precious that getaway had been.)    

I loved being away. I wasn't alone all the time, although I have no doubt I could be. I met my friend for daily beach walks and on one of the days we drove to Philadelphia, a quaint inland town, 22km from the AirBnB. I bought crystals and cards at a delightful shop, called Magic Minerals, after which we had a lovely, rustic lunch at Pepper Tree. 

In Bloubergstrand, eating supper at a seaside restaurant, while watching the sun set, made me feel a world away from my normal routines and responsibilities. I completely understand why people who can afford it, travel for leisure. It's like your whole being is different and you somehow attain a different perspective on your normal life. 

I'd had my previous car for 16 years, and everything that could go wrong with a car, had gone wrong. One day, I got so sick of it breaking down, that I parked it in my yard and refused to drive it.  I lived without a car for two years and three months, in which time I sold my old one to a neighbour. Just before starting a new job, I bought my current car, which was a demo model and the nicest car I'd ever owned. Entry level for some, but a dream for me. It fulfilled all my criteria: a five-seater, a spacious boot, four doors, a CD player, aircon and electric windows. 

When we were without a car, we fantasised about what we'd do when we eventually bought one. We put a list up on the kitchen wall. One of the plans was to travel within our province and then to other provinces. I'm ashamed to say that, after four years, I haven't even driven through Sir Lowry's Pass with this car, let alone to Scarborough, a mere 34km from home!   

And now that we're under lockdown, I crave the ocean. I crave getting into my car and just driving on  a long stretch of road. The closest I came to that was a few days ago, when I had to take my laptop to the IT department at work. It was the first time I'd been in that building since 23 March, my last day at the office.

Life has become so weird. I've always been someone who's nostalgically enjoyed looking at photos, and now it's so much more intense. I'd be lying if I said I missed everything about pre-lockdown life, because, as an introvert, I don't miss being around people. For a long time, I've preferred being with one person at a time, or, at most, in small groups. Big gatherings freak me out. Going to the annual Cape Town International Jazz Festival is a huge leap, for me. And even when I'm there, I prefer the sit-down venues to the big open outside spaces where people smoke and squash up against you. 

Yesterday, I read an article that addressed how serious the next 100 days of lockdown would be, and it hit me that this wasn't going away for some time and that I needed to set some important goals, in different areas of my life.

100 more days......! Quite intimidating, but also the perfect number for setting goals - wouldn't you agree?

I'm going to end this post with some pics of my little getaway. One day I hope to take trips further afield, as I experience the beauty of the Western Cape - a place that people from all over the world marvel at.  

                                    My little escape - an AirBnB in Melkbosstrand.

                                 Walking on this beach, with that view - so satisfying!

                                        There's just something about a sunset.

                                          And it kept getting more magical.

                                        Sea, sand, sky - the perfect place to unwind.

                                            I love my city, Cape Town.

                                                A great little find. Definitely going back again.

Lockdown Day 68

Yesterday, on 1 June, South Africa moved to Level 3 of lockdown, which allowed for a lot more movement. The virus is no less contagious or present in our country. No - this is about “opening up the economy”. More like playing Russian Roulette with citizens’ lives.

To call the level-related guidelines confusing would be the understatement of the year. Especially around the reopening of schools – needless to say, an extremely controversial issue.

First we heard schools were reopening, then we heard they weren't. This went on for a while - back and forth. Then it’s the 1^st of June, then it’s a week later. Then it’s only certain grades, then it’s no-one. Then there’s a nation-wide rule, and then the Western Cape is declaring a provincial back-to-school order, declaring (inaccurately) that all WC schools were ready. I don’t think so.   Confusing, as well as stressful for everyone involved - managers of schools, teachers, support staff, after-school-care staff, school transport providers, and of course, pupils and their parents/guardians. Some people who were due to return to work on 1 June were expecting their children to go to school that same day. 

Imagine the dilemma: Do I send my child to school, knowing he/she could become infected with the virus, or do I leave him/her at home, unsupervised? And we all know that across the population of South Africa there are extremes of wealth and poverty, making the situation in the leafy suburbs very different to that in rural areas or impoverished townships. I was interested to see a new hashtag emerging: “EducationForAllOrEducationForNone”. I'm sad to say that, like all other hashtags, it will not have 100% buy-in. South Africa has one of the biggest gaps between the rich and poor in the world, with the gap in empathy even bigger.  

Last night, I was overcome with sadness. Its source lay in a few areas of concern and consternation, for me – some personal, but most related to other people and what they’re going through.  I struggled to fall asleep. I was just dozing, when a series of WhatsApp messages roused me. It was a work-related situation that needed an urgent conversation, so I chatted with the person who’d messaged me. The conversation lasted quite long, after which I was wide awake, with one more thing to worry about. Even now, hours after having got up, I’m exhausted. I know for a fact that expending emotional energy can be as draining as - if not more so than - expending physical energy.

I struggled to work, today. I struggled to focus on my office work, which required me to sit still and concentrate for a long time, on a relatively uncomfortable chair, in a cold kitchen. On days that I do sit for hours at the laptop, I have such sore back muscles, that I have to go to bed with a warm beanbag, to ease my muscles.

But it’s so much more than physical. I think we carry a lot of tension in our necks, shoulders and backs. My shoulders are like rocks, they’re so tense. What we expose ourselves to, during lockdown, affects us deeply. Every time I read about the dramatic rise in COVID-positive cases in our country, it affects me. Every time I read about another death, I feel sadder than I thought possible for people I didn’t even know. But that’s the scariest part – soon they will be people we know. And, by implication, soon it could be us.

It’s a lot to deal with. And some people are dealing with all of that sadness and anxiety, on top of a myriad of pre-COVID challenges, like caring for an aged relative or a baby, without support, or  unemployment, hunger, domestic abuse. Even loneliness, or mental illness. It’s hard for me not to think about all of that.

About a week ago, our winter season suddenly arrived, bringing the cold, the wind, the rain, the hail, the darkness. For people who are vulnerably housed, there’s the draughtiness, the damp, the leaks, the discomfort, the insecurity. In some areas with poor drainage, there’s the flooding that takes place every winter. In many informal settlements, winter brings an increase in the number of domestic fires, which often result in loss of life.

Poverty is not just having little to no money – it’s so much more. It’s being kicked while you’re down; it’s being sentenced to the worst struggles imaginable, every day of your life. And when a crisis (like this pandemic) hits, you have nothing to fall back on - no rainy-day savings, no overdraft, no access to a bank loan that you can pay off from your monthly salary and no wealthy relatives to help you through your rough patch. Life is one endless, relentless, humiliating rough patch.  I firmly believe that, without the refuge and sense of hope (of a problem-free, perfect life after death) that religion brings, poor people would be a lot more ready to rise up against the system keeping them poor and voiceless. No surprise, then, that places of worship were also given permission to hold services with up to 50 people, under Level 3. It’s like giving a crying baby a dummy. To my relief, many religious groups stated publicly that they would not risk people’s lives by resuming gatherings yet.   

Yes, I am capable of immersing myself in activities that take my mind off those things, but for only a little while.  And then the chaos and the feeling of helplessness start again. 

I know I’m not the only one going through this, but I’m obviously writing from my personal perspective.

All I can do is control what I can, and do my best with what I can’t; I go to bed every night believing that tomorrow could be a better day, and hoping that people who have expectations of me realise that what we’re living through demands a lot more flexibility than ever before. 

                                                Signs of new life, after recent rains. 

   

Unfinished lockdown blog posts - May 2020

The 1st of May: Day 1 of COVID-19 Lockdown Level 4                                      1 May 2020

Day 36 of our national lockdown, and I’m still struggling to wrap my head around this global pandemic. Most people started out thinking 21 days of lockdown was a big sacrifice, and promised ourselves we’d get through it, because we understood the enormity of the situation. Or so we thought. Even though we anticipated the extension, by the time it was confirmed, we had learnt so much about the virus, that we knew that this lockdown would last not for weeks, but months.

Knowing that, intellectually, is very different from finding your peace with it.   Today is Day 1 of Lockdown Level 4, where the restrictions have been relaxed, allowing people more freedom of movement. As much as one feels like celebrating the end of Level 5 (the most severe level), there is a very real possibility that should the numbers of positive cases spike, we will be right back at 5.

                     Social distancing enforced in a lift at Cavendish Square, a shopping mall. 

Lockdown Day 44                                                                                                 9 May 2020

Like so many people around the world, I’m working my way through life in lockdown. Despite having been told we were going into a 21-day lockdown, today is Day 44. And most of us understand why.

As I’ve written in previous blog posts, I’ve become acutely aware that my situation, relative to the majority of South Africans, is, in fact, privileged. This is not to say that I am anywhere near the top 1% (or even 10%) of the earners in our country. The awful, undeniable truth is that the majority of South Africans live in abject poverty, crippled by the myriad of related realities. I know I’ve written about this before, but to me it’s the most profound, unavoidable truth that has not only emerged, during this lockdown, but has put everything else into perspective.   

You know how you can think that something is a big deal (an unsatisfactory haircut), and then something that’s really a big, serious deal happens (someone you know dies) that makes you realise the first thing was in fact nonsense? This is what lockdown is doing. It’s showing us what really matters and what’s not worth bothering about. At all.

Something that occurred to me recently, especially after being exposed to some bizarre right-wing stuff on social media, was that this global pandemic has become a magnifying glass – everything seems to have become an exaggerated version of itself. Closed-minded people seem more so. Historically-privileged people who’ve been blind to the suffering of others seem to be even more concerned with preserving their privilege and more oblivious to the dire needs of the poor.

One of the radio stations I listen to is a talk radio station, called Cape Talk Radio. Every now and then, however, and more so during lockdown, I can’t bear to listen to the kinds of things people phone in about and I just switch off. Literally. I switch off the radio. Judging by the calls and messages, it seems a large percentage of Cape Talk listeners are older, white, privileged people.  While closed-mindedness and intolerance are by no means peculiar to that demographic, there seems to be a fairly significant proportion of the listenership that articulate those kinds of views that are.  

        When coffee shops were not actually allowed to be open, but deliveries were possible. :-)