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. :-)