OYSTERHOOD is reclusiveness or solitude, or an overwhelming desire to stay at home.

— @HaggardHawks

Even the standards that I didn’t have are slipping. I hardly got out of bed. I didn’t get out of my PJs. I did, however, brush my teeth.

One gets used to it. I know. One can get used to almost anything. And one can survive a lot. And I am one of the very lucky ones. I’ve survived a lot. Not war, or famine, or fire. But a lot. Sometimes I wonder how come that I am still standing, smiling (most of the time). My cheeks are not too sore, so stress level are nearly imperceptible, and I’ve actually had a very good day. Lazy, slow, full of being. But I thought a lot about how we adjust, get used to anything, survive, keep moving. Or keep still.

It rained in the morning. And for most of the day the sky threatened to seep some more, but without much success. ‘Not even the rain’ … could get out of bed.

Salieri and I started reading an uplifting book. Written just before the present crisis, so no reflection on what is happening to us NOW, but still applicable in a more general way, especially when, like me, you want to see the positive side in most things.

After a painkiller-induced sleep and endless cups of coffee, I did not feel like much food. But I did make an effort with the first meal of the day: fresh tomatoes from my latest home delivery and divine smoked duck prosciutto from the Richard Bosman delivery in the beginning of the lockdown. Then the culinary standards started slipping, too.

But there was a glass of wine in the late afternoon, enjoyed in Mozart’s company and in the presence of the last of the sunshine roses.

He hardly ever comes up on the bed any longer, so this was a truly special treat. Highlight of my Sunday.

Natalie Rae’s inspiring outfit for ‘taking out the trash’ nearly got me into my princess dress, but it was too late in the day to make an effort and I decided to prepare my bin for tomorrow’s (or Wednesday’s) collection just as I was.

btfmdn

But I think I will have a shower and change into fresh PJs before getting back to bed and watching the next recorded episode of The Brokenwood Mysteries.

Good night.

Be kind to yourself. Be kind to others. Stay at home.

OYSTERHOOD is reclusiveness or solitude, or an overwhelming desire to stay at home.

— @HaggardHawks

I have been worried about this since the declaration of the state of disaster: online predators. Not even the real thing, the ruthless psychopath that will target you when you are at your most vulnerable and drop a nuclear bomb in the centre of your life (those too, but they ALWAYS pose a threat). I am specifically thinking of the seemingly benign kind, the ones just looking for a bit of a thrill because, you know, life under lockdown is suddenly too boring for them.

An example. At the beginning of the lockdown, I wrote online that I was anxious (understandably so). Someone who had tried his luck a few times before, but always understood when to back off, suddenly offered his ear (via DM, of course), in case I needed to talk. Still giving him the benefit of the doubt, I politely said thank you, but did not make use of the offer and did not engage further. Two days later, out of the blue, a blatant attempt at flirting followed (via DM again). I shut it down immediately. But if I didn’t? What if I had fallen for the lame compliments and the fake sudden interest in my well-being?

Then the real offer of help: Two days ago, I wrote something online that could have been interpreted as me feeling ill. A woman, on the open timeline, for everyone to see, offered her assistance and her ear if I needed to chat via DM. When I sent her a DM saying thank you and explaining that I was actually fine, she said she was relieved to hear, and that she understood I lived on my own, and she gave me her phone number just in case, wishing me well. And that was that. A genuine offer of assistance, all done in the open. She was fine with me dialling the number she gave me at any moment, obviously knowing that she would not have to hide the fact from anyone around her. No weirdness, no secrecy, no threat.

Many of us are anxious right now, many of us are open about it online; there is nothing wrong with that. There are many kind, beautiful people out there who are willing to interact, exchange, have fun together without ulterior motives. They won’t slide into your DMs with lame excuses, so that they can have a little bit of fun with you at your cost and drop you like a hot potato when they feel like it. They will have no problem with engaging with you openly for all to see. There is no reason not to express interest or delight in what others are doing, but if you really mean it, and if you have nothing to hide, do it openly. If an exchange via private messages is needed, that’s also fine. But if you truly care, keep it appropriate, say what you really mean. Otherwise: fuck off.

I hate to think how many people are signaling distress right now and are going to be targeted by predators who don’t have any scruples. And I understand that there are many lonely, bored people out there. And they might be fine with some online flirting, but there are appropriate and respectful ways of initiating such exchanges.

With that preamble out of the way, let me signal some more distress and not have to worry about some creep initiating inappropriate advances… I warn you, I am protected by lionesses!

Salieri is a wonderful nurse. She spent most of the morning purring on my cramping, sore tummy. We had a terrible night, had to take painkillers sometime after midnight, but did not want to continue with them before breakfast. And breakfast was sweet delight. My freshly delivered strawberries with a little bit of leftover cream and condensed milk in the company of Vincent.

The beautiful spoon was a gift from my love when we travelled together two years ago. We both love museum shops.

I did not get out of bed until around 1pm again. Read most of the time, on paper and online. Eventually, hunger called, so I got up, ate a simple lunch, showered, washed my hair and decided to dry it while doing my garden loop walk. This time the reward was a Smartie after every three rounds. The small packet of Smarties contained seventeen, so fifty-one loops, with four steps up and four steps down at the two ends of the stoep, and a knee bend after each Smartie.

I did some laundry, cleaned up in the kitchen and then contemplated opening a bottle of rosé and a new book, but decided that despite feeling really sorry for myself for most of the day, I actually needed to do some work again.

So I did a gentle edit (Salieri assisting) of a short story left in my care and sent it to the author for comment. In the meantime, I had a small dinner (the rest of the bratwurst, this time ‘brat’ed in the pan) outside on the step with Mozart. I watched the sun setting and the sky doing its colour thing, and Mozart offered me his ears to scratch and rubbed against my legs as he always does when he is pleased to sense me in the garden.

Today, one could watch sleeping lions on Wild Earth.

And the Emily Dickinson Museum is offering virtual tours of Emily’s bedroom. I have been there in person, and nothing will ever be able to replace the experience, but this is not a bad second. The beautiful scarf on her bed, the small desk on which she wrote her poetry…

I spent some time in this virtual space and felt inspired, calmed, more human.

Be kind to yourself. Be kind to others. Stay at home. Don’t let the online predators get you!

OYSTERHOOD is reclusiveness or solitude, or an overwhelming desire to stay at home.

— @HaggardHawks

No, I am not bragging. Not. At. All.

MARK HAMILL LIKED MY TWEET!

I have been a Star Wars fan since my birth; Star Wars and I both arrived on this planet in 1977. And Luke Skywalker has ALWAYS been my favourite character. There might have been a bit of a crush involved at some stage – when I was thirteen or thirty or something – and NOW this happened! It was the first thing that I saw on my phone this morning. Despite mostly having a shitty day, I am still smiling when I see it. Thank you, Mr Hamill. When I was thirteen, I did not understand the difference between actor and role, and I promised myself one day to travel across the galaxy and marry you, or rather Luke Skywalker. In a galaxy far, far away…

The little Twitter like-heart is a happy-enough ending to this story for me. Yay!

On days like today, I should not be driving. Not that I am driving anywhere nowadays. I haven’t been anywhere since 26 March. Topolino is all lonely and sad in the garage. But a few years ago, on a day like today – a day of monstruosity of note – I caused a small accident. No one got hurt, there wasn’t much damage, the other party was super-nice about it, but I knew: no driving on days like these. Actually: nothing on days like this. But, of course, I usually take mountains of painkillers and carry on (no driving though). Today, I decided for the first time ever that I will just do nothing that does not ease my monstrual misery.

So I lay around, had more leftovers for lunch, walked a few garden loops (without counting), swam a lot (great against cramping), read, listened to the radio, watched Wild Earth’s live safari for a while (hyenas, spiders and elephants – a herd with little ones bathing – bliss), and received another food delivery, this time of fresh fruit and veggies from SHOP2YOU. I placed my order on Wednesday and voila, everything arrived fresh and beautiful today.

The sun was soothing, the sky blue, the water balm for the body and soul. A day of being and waiting. I am writing earlier than usual because I will have a very early night tonight, but before I get into bed, I am going to sit on my stoep with a glass of nice wine and watch birds in my garden. I can identify quite a few by now, so this gives me great pleasure.

Be kind to yourself. Be kind to others. Stay at home.

OYSTERHOOD is reclusiveness or solitude, or an overwhelming desire to stay at home.

— @HaggardHawks

What is it with all this policing? As if the official lockdown did not impose enough regulations on us. Let’s stick to those: STAY AT HOME. That’s all that is required of most of us right now. Keep as healthy and as sane as you can. That’s it. But why all this advice along the lines ‘write this, don’t write that’, ‘post this on social media, don’t post that’, ‘follow this protocol, don’t follow that’, ‘reply to this email along these instructions, and forward to these people’, etc… In one way or another, the present is tough on all of us who are taking the global situation seriously. Staying at home has its own individual challenges, whoever and wherever you are. If baking banana bread is what makes you happy right now, and sharing the success of your efforts on social media gives you a moment of joy, please do. Whatever works. If it doesn’t work for others, they don’t have to look, like, read or reply. (The unfollow button is an option we are all free to exercise.) And if a banana bread picture works for someone, great! Any positive energy we can generate right now is encouraging. And I am saying this while being allergic to bananas, so I really mean it! Processing change via creativity – including baking (see the Toilet Chocolate Cake by Kate Pritchett!), sewing, gardening, and, and, and – is human nature and we are undergoing a seismic global change right now, so let us just indulge in whatever activities make this bearable, banana bread included. And all that exercise. And diary writing. And whatever.

Just brilliant!

Last night, I visited Jenny and Nick in Edinburgh. That was a good dream. But I did not get to meet their new puppy (you can see pictures of the new addition to the family here: Jenny’s and Nick’s adorable puppy on Instagram).

To see my Furry Family, you just have to follow me.

Morning coffee with Glinka.

The skin on my fingers has finally healed and is not peeling off. Three weeks ago, I helped build a fence for a large goat enclosure (a long story) and despite wearing good gloves, ruined my hands, especially the tips of my fingers while working with wire etc. All the constant hand-washing before the lockdown did not help the recovery, but now it is all behind me and my fingertips are all smooth and smiling again.

I am sinking into nearly intolerable laziness. One of my friends said: “This is a blessing, you have been working too hard.” I am not sure, but I do remember working myself into a month-long illness publishing a book last year, and I simply refuse to feel guilty about resting, or “momentary resting”, something I have read about recently in South African Writing in Transition (my review of the book appeared on LitNet today).

I watched TV all morning, read for a while, and, inspired by two Twitter posts, got busy with spine book poetry (see above) and ‘recreating famous paintings with stuff that could be found at home’. In my case, I asked one of the Felines to pose with me and recreated my favourite Egon Schiele: Seated woman with bent knee, and cat

Lunch was braaied bratwurst leftovers. Still a delicious mouthful. Then I had a swim and a reading session in the sun. I am getting a proper suntan for the first time in years and it feels good. Long chat with my Mom on the phone. She is doing great, thank goodness! She left the house today to say hello (from a distance) to the new postman, a young man from the Ukraine, who is as happy living in Austria as she is, he told her. Then it was time for emails and admin again. And I washed the floor in the passage. Dinner, and now, with Glinka on my lap, I am typing this, my way of chronicling our bizarre time, coping, exercising the writing muscles in a gentle way without performance pressure…

There is one rule/command/directive/regulation/law – whatever you want to call it – that I would like to see enforced like no other, now and always: DON’T FUCKING RAISE YOUR HAND AGAINST WOMEN AND CHILDREN! DON’T. AN ABSOLUTE NO TO VIOLENCE OF ANY KIND, PSYCHOLOGICAL AND/OR PHYSICAL. I heard Pippa Hudson talk to representatives of Rape Crisis and the Saartjie Baartman Centre for Women and Children today on CapeTalk and it broke my heart. I couldn’t help myself and I cried. It’s bad enough to experience lockdown, but to have to survive it in the same space as your abuser…? Rage. Tears. Helplessness. And I am safe. However, from the safety of our homes, we can do something: donate to these institutions which are performing incredible work. Every bit helps.

Please be kind to others. Be kind to yourself. Stay at home or seek shelter at a place of safety, if you can. Here is a list of all vital institutions and numbers compiled by Drs and Helen Moffett and Tlaleng Mofokeng: FACING THE MONSTER: DOMESTIC AND CHILD ABUSE DURING LOCKDOWN

Good night. (I hope.)

OYSTERHOOD is reclusiveness or solitude, or an overwhelming desire to stay at home.

— @HaggardHawks

I don’t have a personal Instagram account, but I run the one for Karavan Press. And via that account I follow a few accounts that are not strictly literary, but rather food-related. One of them is the account of Richard Bosman, or “Foodie, charcutier, Jedi knight, frustrated musician, personal chef of Commander J”. A while back, I attended one of Richard’s meat curing courses and was astounded what quality of bacon I could cure myself at home, but now… Unless pigs start roaming the streets of Rosebank like the goats of Llandudno, and my hunting instincts awaken, the chances for self-prepared cured bacon look slim. So, when I saw this post on Richard’s Instagram account on Friday just after the lockdown, I smiled from ear to ear and placed my order immediately. My cured meats and bratwurst were delivered – very professionally, tailored for our times – yesterday. Thank you, Richard and Patrick! You saved this meat-eater’s bacon, that’s for sure!

When he was here in February, my brother decided to give me a new frying pan (his sole comment on the state of my kitchen), and this morning I could fry my newly acquired bacon in my gorgeous new pan. Salieri, watching all of this, was very fussy about her own breakfast, and I ended up sharing both my bacon and the yolk of my egg with her. She doesn’t understand the concept of limited resources and that I won’t be able to share her food with her at crunch time… I can always explain to myself why there is only a sixteen-year-old vodka bottle (a gift for my twenty-seventh … no comment!) and mustard in the fridge; it’s impossible to explain the lack of food to Salieri.

Last night, I had a bizarre dream: I was in my early twenties and still living with my parents, but the dream had me at a party, socialising with Mirka and Roger Federer, and then going with my boyfriend (a complete stranger in reality), doing voice-overs for Star Trek, to his place and feeling super-cool. Dr Freud is turning in his grave.

At this stage, I had given up on the garbage bin. Someone had gone through it yesterday despite lockdown. I’d decided to try my luck next week again.

After my bacon-and-egg breakfast, I made a few attempts to read in bed, but my mind wasn’t obliging. Luckily, my wonderful friend Debbie phoned to discuss the artworks that she will be doing for one of Karavan Press’s titles later this year. She is reading the manuscript and coming up with brilliant ideas. I love her work, so this was exciting to dream about together. One day, when books can be printed again…

Talking to Debbie, I realised that I hadn’t brushed my teeth yet. The fact that I was still in my PJs wasn’t that unusual. But the teeth non-brushing was unacceptable. After years of neglect in other countries, under South African oral hygiene standards, I was finally taught at my dentist’s here how to take care of my teeth and I haven’t had a single issue with my teeth for about a decade. This is not the time to go back to the old bad habits of dental neglect. It was around 1pm, so high time to get going. I brushed my teeth and was ready for the day. I looked at my stepper, then at the sunshine outside, and went for a swim. I am getting high doses of vitamin D nowadays.

It’s the first of the month, so time for flea repellent for The Cats. They all watched me swim (one of their favourite pastimes). Then, one by one, they were subjected to the flea repellent application. The Ladies HATE it with a passion, and they usually take out all their frustrations on poor Mozart, the only one who doesn’t care about the application whatsoever, but because of The Ladies’ puffing and hissing in his direction, eventually, I didn’t have a single friend in the house – the entire property! During lockdown, this was rough.

But lunch was being served in the kitchen, so I was forgiven my flea trespasses.

In the afternoon, I did some ironing, one of my favourite pastimes. The phone rang: my lovely neighbours alerting me to the refuse truck tumbling down the neighbourhood’s streets – yay! At least I did not have to run half-naked in my nighty after them, hair flying, slippers falling off my feet (yes, it has sadly happened before).

Satisfied with some kind of normality returning to my weekly schedule, I touched up a beautiful, moving piece of writing that Sue Brown had sent to me on Monday evening. I asked her whether I could put it up on the Karavan Press website and she kindly agreed. Do yourself a favour and take a few minutes of “being still” to read it:

“BEING STILL” by SUE BROWN

Twitter highlight of the day: the EMILY DICKINSON MUSEUM followed me back!!! Yes, it deserves three exclamation marks. I have loved this account for as long as I can remember. Needless to say I am a huge fan of Ms Dickinson, have visited the Museum in 2011, and hope to return one day… Until then, I am happy to delight in the virtual engagement.

My brother was there when we visited Ms D’s home in 2011. When he visited me in 2018, he left behind three sweet potatoes. Now, I am not fussy about food. I am probably the easiest person to feed. I am only allergic to bananas, and I cannot – CANNOT – eat licorice. Otherwise, I am easy. But, I can do without sweet potato. In the end, after a few months of staring at me, the poor sweet potatoes started sprouting in my kitchen, and I finally decided to plant them a few weeks ago, just before Krystian’s most recent visit. They have turned into this remarkably beautiful treasure in my garden:

Who would have thought?

But: I was somehow disheartened when I found two new sweet potatoes abandoned by Krystian in my kitchen cupboard at the end of February. This time, I decided to eat them. Tonight was the night. I had bratwurst (also part of yesterday’s meat delivery) in my fridge. No charcoal, no firelighters, but some firewood and old candle stumps – a trick I was taught by Bill of Oudrif – they are celebrating their twentieth anniversary of existence today! HAPPY TWENTIETH, dear OUDRIF! To think that we were supposed to spend Easter 2020 together… Sigh!

Anyway, sigh, “I have made a fire!” (all Tom-Hanks-Castaway-style), and braaied bratwurst (now, that’s a mouthful: braaied bratwurst) for dinner, and thought of Oudrif and the day when we will be able to travel and celebrate together again…

Listening to my favourite Austrian radio station tonight, I finally discovered which song the dancing friars (#friarswhodance) used for their video. Soundtrack for my own attempts sorted.

Glinka has been waiting for me in bed for something like three hours now. A positive day. I got almost nothing of substance done, but at least there won’t be any sweet potatoes begging to be eaten for a year in my kitchen. The small successes of a lockdown.

Be kind to yourself. Be kind to others. Stay at home.

PS Floss and brush your teeth.