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

— @HaggardHawks

When life gives you lemons…

I might or I might not have broken the law. No matter; it’s done. I went to a farm stall on a wine farm that is located not exactly a few minutes away from where I live. Everything I bought there is classified as essential, and I got the most essential items for free: lemons. If you read about previous pandemics, every survivor will tell you about the importance of lemons in a pandemic. I now have many. And! I saw snow on the mountain peaks in the distance.

Before I embarked on this wonderful trip – not having left the vicinity of my home for three months, this felt like an expedition to the moon – I worked. I woke up before the alarm and was told by the catssistants that I would not be able to get up before a substantial amount of work had been done, notwithstanding the public holiday. Salieri even held me and the mouse hostage to make sure that our deadlines were met today.

16 June, forty-four years later. I wasn’t even born yet, but I have read and listened to the stories of this seismic event in South African history when the young people of this country decided that enough was enough. All day long, I thought of the way Thembi Mtshali-Jones remembered and Sindiwe Magona captured this day in their Theatre Road. I will never be able to thank them enough for bringing this inspiring and empowering biography to Karavan Press.

Thank you to two of South Africa’s living legends for this book! It has been such an honour to work with you.

In the afternoon, after my possibly ‘illicit’ trip, Mozart and Glinka took over the catssistant duties, and together we managed to complete the task set for today. The balmy weather allowed us to work on the stoep before it was time for a sundowner. What a gorgeous day this has been. Not exactly free from work, but relaxing nevertheless. And inspiring, as always. Forty-four years ago the youth of South Africa showed us all the way and the world has never been the same again – thank goodness.

When life gives you lemons, drink gin & tonic!

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

“Physical distancing remains one of the key strategies to curb this pandemic.”

— NICD

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

— @HaggardHawks

It is almost as if my body had known that it would need the rest to brace itself for a difficult beginning of the week: I slept. Deeply, uninterrupted, for something like nine hours. I dreamt good dreams. Waking up, I felt refreshed, my eyes no longer hurt (screen time), there was light outside, and I made it just in time to put out my bin to be collected. For some reason, while attending to other Monday morning duties, I took the above photograph (and no other today) of the owl my friend Charlotte gave me when she was visiting. I made coffee, settled back in bed to read and then … the windmills, real and imagined, began their approach.

I did not know Elsa Joubert well. Our paths crossed a few times. She had always been good to me. She phoned after André died and we had a soul-heartening conversation that day. The first time I met her, I fainted at her feet. It was at a memorial for Marjorie Wallace. I accompanied André to the occasion although I was recovering from the flu and, still quite weak, I fainted while he was paying tribute to his late friend. Right in the middle of his speech. When I opened my eyes, I saw Elsa’s face hovering above me. The incident made it to Die Burger‘s page three…

Ninety-seven is a respectable age, but I hate the idea that she passed away due to Covid-19 related causes. That as a community we cannot mourn her all together, gather by the hundreds to pay tribute to her life and work. Some young woman should have the opportunity to faint at a remarkable writer’s feet at Elsa’s memorial. Hopefully, we can still honour her when all the chaos is behind us.

Her words will carry us readers through this time of mourning. She will be missed.

The windmills kept attacking on all fronts throughout the day. “My skin is not thick enough for this world,” I wrote to my love. He phoned to remind me that the world needs thin-skinned people. I know, but feeling everything acutely is not easy.

A friend’s husband is in the hospital, his condition stable but complex and the road to recovery unpredictable. I cannot imagine what it must be like not to be allowed to rush to his side, to wait all day for phone calls with updates from the medical staff taking care of him.

The deluge of work-related matters descending into my inbox managed to overwhelm me in the context of the day. It was only in the early evening that I was able to make a fire and sit next to it at my laptop, and attend to the manuscript I’d promised to deliver to the author I am working with by tomorrow. If I get up early, I will make the deadline. And this work is the only thing that gave me joy today. Everything else was steeped in loss and sadness and, after all these years, my inability to accept that some people, when given a finger, will take your arm and try to chop it off for good measure. It is hard to protect one’s boundaries, especially when they are paper-thin and despairing. I feel and look like my owl, bewildered.

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

“Physical distancing remains one of the key strategies to curb this pandemic.”

— NICD

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

— @HaggardHawks

Last night was THE NIGHT: a bath. No ice-cold beer, but I did feel peckish, so cheese and olives and bread, a candle, and the brilliant Recollections of My Non-Existence by Rebecca Solnit. I no longer recall how I discovered her writing, but may that day when it happened be blessed. The insight, empathy and kindness in her work are everything that a non-fiction writer could aspire to. I do.

It wasn’t difficult to fall asleep after the warm bath. But I was still awake enough to receive an unexpected text message from someone who’d thought of me because of seeing a frog… I changed phones a few months ago (held on to my vintage Nokia for as long as I could) and have not transferred all the old numbers to the new one, so it was a lovely surprise to find out before sleep who was behind the message.

Even though I am usually an early riser (at least I have become one in the last few years), I did set the alarm for 5:28 (if you are reading me for the first time, you should know that I have a thing for numbers and would NEVER set my alarm for 5:30) to watch the Blues/Hurricanes game live. But I woke up before the alarm because I was freezing! Winter in Cape Town…

My rugby buddies and coffee warmed me up and we began the ‘highly anticipated’ live tweeting of the match, focusing on rugby players’ calves, as requested by Nadia Goetham. What else do women in publishing have to tweet about at 5:35 a.m. (kickoff) on a Sunday morning? Nothing. And Nadia did not even show up on time (wise woman!), but I had enough material to amuse myself throughout the two tense halves – or was it calves? – of the match.

I give you the winning Blues captain, Patrick Tuipolotu:

PRETORIA, SOUTH AFRICA – OCTOBER 05: Patrick Tuipulotu of the New Zealand (All Blacks) during the Rugby Championship New Zealand All Blacks captain’s run at St Davids Marist Inanda 36 Rivonia Rd, Sandown, Sandton,on October 5, 2018 in Pretoria, South Africa. (Photo by Steve Haag/Getty Images)

As you can see, hardly anyone can resist those calves, especially not the opposition. Once she was awake, Nadia agreed that the captain was the (calves) winner of the match.

I am keeping my favourite calves (not to be found on any rugby field, but occasionally on the theatre stages of Cape Town…) to myself. And there is the Frog Prince, of course.

Once I returned to bed, the Cat Ladies were in a fighting mood that resulted in a stand-off, with Glinka simply turning her offended back to Salieri. Eventually we all fell asleep and I woke up with Salieri sleeping under my arm. Bless her.

She was very possessive about the book I wanted to read. Short stories by Sifiso Mzobe. It has been a decade since his award-winning debut novel, Young Blood, but anyone who read it at the time will be excited about this latest publication. No wonder Salieri wants to have the book all to herself.

When I returned to it in the afternoon next to the fire, she showed up after a page and I had to read with her on my lap…

Glinka arrived for some literary work, too. She loves having her favourite blanket close to the fire.

But before we settled next to the fireplace in the afternoon, I was out in the world and went for a long walk along a path with a distant view of the ocean. I miss walking on a beach, especially my favourite beach in Noordhoek, but just seeing the ocean in the distance was soothing. On the way home, I stopped at a fishmonger to get us some fresh fish for dinner. Fresh fish is the only guarantee that I can have dinner with the entire family.

I don’t know how they know, but they do, ALWAYS. The moment that fish hits the pan, three Cats arrive in the kitchen and sit quietly satellite-like around me, waiting. I asked the fishmonger for “a very generous portion for one”, not wanting to explain who I would be sharing my dinner with. It all disappeared within minutes of being served. (I also like my fish.) It has been raining heavily this evening, so all three Cats are in the house and now sleeping after “a very generous” dinner for four. I am about to join them. Will catch up on the news and read a bit and fall into Morpheus’s arms.

Two priceless animal videos on Twitter today. One just heartwarming about Honk, the Goose and the human he found to hang out with. The other one is not strictly about animals, but it features The Tangerine Troll and a voice-over by Sir David Attenborough. I know that if it was someone else being made fun of in such a way, I would probably have a problem with it, but when it comes to this vile tangerine creature, I have no qualms whatsoever. Please – PLEASE! – vote him out of power!

Apart from such gems, social media nowadays delivers a lot of rage, confusion, hatred, sorrow… A lot of it understandably so, but there is also a policing (!) aspect to it all that feels completely out of control, and, as always, it comes primarily from the people who consider themselves in power, thus invincible. People are throwing first stones like there is no tomorrow. What frightens me is how mere cheap gestures and empty words are being thrown right after the stones. There is no reflection. No proper engagement. Just an awkward kind of posturing that will probably do more damage in the long run than we anticipate. Personally, I know very little about everything, but I constantly question my integrity to make sure that my heart is in the right place. I cannot stop thinking about consent and complicity. But above all, there is one thing I do know: kindness. Flowing out of an honest heart, it will guide the way. And when it manifests in gestures and words that are filled with compassion, we will all be better off. All of it takes time and work to accomplish. Before the systems, laws and habits can be changed, focusing on the mundane kindness of the everyday is already a step in the proper direction…

Be kind to yourself. Be kind to others. Stay at home. Think about the stones in your hands.

“Physical distancing remains one of the key strategies to curb this pandemic.”

— NICD

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

— @HaggardHawks

Reading Rebecca Solnit with Glinka.

LIVE RUGBY! #SuperRugbyAotearoa

The sports minister of New Zealand spoke about the Team of Five Millions before the broadcast and I looked at all the players and the fans in the stadium and the essential workers they were honouring just before kickoff, and I envied them all. Imagine living in a country where you can gather, touch, celebrate together without fearing that you might get infected with Covid-19. As Duncan commented on Twitter, “I’m an ardent fan…of their captain.” When self-islanding, we should all want to be New Zealand.

To hear rugby commentary in the house on a Saturday morning felt like the best of the ‘good’ old days. Glinka, Bobik and I watched together, me hanging on to a hot water bottle and a quilt for dear life. A long, long time ago, I had a rugby ‘crush’ on Richard Kahui at a time when he played for the Chiefs, so I kind of wanted them to win, but it was not to be. They lost by one point in the last minutes of the game. But I didn’t care; I was just smiling from ear to ear that I could actually watch live sport I enjoy again. Thank you, New Zealand!

I ordered lunch from the Fire Monkey, a restaurant a very dear friend took us out to in March before the lockdown to celebrate my love’s birthday. The place was so crowded that night that we could hardly hear each other shout inside the restaurant, but they found us a table outside. The evening was balmy and the company and food and wine were gorgeous, so the delivery brought back delicious memories. Salieri took one look at the menu they sent with the food and demanded her share.

In the afternoon, I decided to clean up the garden path after the storms and found beautiful signs of new life on the property. The pool was also a mess, so I did some maintenance and discovered that my Frog Prince missed me so much that he came out to parade his swimming strokes for my adoration and was not shy about photographs.

Look at those eyes, and the delicious legs! I think Mozart got jealous because he arrived next to the pool and wanted to cuddle, so after finishing all the work, I sat down with him on the stoep and we had a lovely sundowner cuddle. But then Salieri arrived and, after hissing at her, Mozart decided that it was time to venture off to do whatever he does when he is pursuing his independent feline adventures.

In the evening, I had a wonderful Skype conversation with an author who is writing a memoir and wanted to pick my brains about structure and voice. Most of the story takes place at sea and it is simply incredible. I can’t wait for the next installment to be written.

Tonight, there will be a bath and hopefully another deep, long sleep. I went to bed earlier than usual last night and slept almost immediately, waking up only at seven this morning. It has been a long, busy week. Rest was needed. Tomorrow, there is more rugby and I will be tweeting live commentary about rugby players’ calves. Yep, I have had a request on Twitter… One of many ways of conquering the lockdown blues & hurricanes.

My wild Saturday nights during lockdown…

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

“Physical distancing remains one of the key strategies to curb this pandemic.”

— NICD

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

— @HaggardHawks

A witch at work.

Fourteen degrees in my kitchen. I don’t expect more before mid-August. Hello, Winter! Last night, it was so cold inside and still so miserable outside that I made myself some grzane piwo (hot beer) according to an old family recipe. Although I suspected it, I wasn’t entirely sure whether this crazy drink had Polish origins. It does. We have been brewing and drinking this stuff for centuries, it seems. It is very healthy, my research has assured me.

It definitely made me warm and sleepy. And it will be enjoyed again! My Hoghouse beer stash is going to keep me warm, falling asleep and healthy for a while.

Being cold brings with it many memories from our migratory years when we were often so poor and desperate that we lived in unlivable places and suffered quite a lot in the process. Our parents tried what they could to keep us safe and going, but it wasn’t always easy. I remember cutting up and folding discarded boxes, which Vatko brought from work, into improvised ‘bricks’. We burned them through the nights in a small wood stove Vatko installed in the main room of the ancient, damp ruin of a house we were renting back then. We could afford the rent because there was no central heating in the house, a standard in most Austrian homes. During the first two winters, we all slept on mattresses around the small stove until Vatko finally installed central heating (he did it all by himself, from scratch, after studying manuals!).

I could never afford to heat the ancient Victorian house I live in with central heating, even if I had it. These gorgeous, spacious houses with their high ceilings were made for the Cape summers; they keep the heat out even at the height of the warm season. In winter, they turn into fridges with fireplaces. And straying away from a fireplace is only recommended on sunny winter days when you can be all warm and cosy outside the house – something that is very difficult to explain to people from elsewhere.

There was a brief break in the rainy, cloudy day this morning and I was lucky enough to have ventured out for my walk at exactly the right time. It was the only thing I did other than work today, with Glinka joining me next to the fire again in the afternoon. My polar bear suit is a lifesaver right now.

I only slept until five a.m. this morning, so coffee was my companion through most of the day. It is nice to be able to make it in the bedroom. Apart from watching TV (Carter tonight and NZ rugby in the morning – YAY!), I only leave the room for cooking in the kitchen. I had to do some admin work at my desktop computer earlier tonight and nearly froze my nose off. It’s the combination of sitting still and the cold. But: one gets used to it!

I heard yesterday about someone I know – he was in a small town in the Western Cape for the lockdown, had been super careful about masks, hand washing and social distancing, but when he had to do the Covid-19 test for professional reasons, it turned out to be positive. No symptoms yet, perhaps none at all ever – hopefully. But he got infected despite serious precautions!

I sometimes wonder about those moments of inattention that happen to us no matter how careful we are. It’s so easy to slip. You can’t be vigilant at all times. I think of all the runners who passed me today without masks and hope that at least my mask and navigating skills have protected me from their carelessness.

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

“Physical distancing remains one of the key strategies to curb this pandemic.”

— NICD

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

— @HaggardHawks

Home office.

At seventy-seven days, South Africa’s lockdown is officially the longest in the world. I have a soft spot for the number 77 for personal reasons, but otherwise I am not sure whether this is something to be proud of, especially with infection rates still rising and no end or any good news in sight.

A day of endless rains. Also hail, but I did not notice it in this part of Cape Town. The dams must be filling up and that is a good thing. I might even have a bath this weekend and won’t feel too guilty about it. A hot bath and a cold beer. Mmmmm. Bliss. But not tonight. Tonight, I just need to get into my warm bed and fall asleep with the fire singing lullabies long into the stormy night.

I made the fire only in the afternoon today. In the morning, we just stayed and worked in bed, Salieri catssisting and finally falling asleep on the job. She was cross with me that I did not want to share the mouse with her.

Once I moved next to the fireplace, Glinka moved with me and I placed her favourite blanket under my small desk for her. She is still settled here as I write, her body glowing with warmth on the side of the fire.

A day of rain and continued work on the text I started proofreading yesterday, with admin emails in between and some fun on Twitter. When I am not online, I play cards on my computer to air my brain. Online, I tweet. I always need these little breaks to focus better throughout a long day’s work.

Reading Rebecca Solnit’s Recollections of My Non-Existence makes me want to crawl into an oyster shell and wait until all my imperfections turn into a gleaming treasure while the world outside comes to its senses. As a woman, I have lived, more or less consciously, in fear for most of my life. Like Solnit, I have not been raped, mutilated or killed, but the violations of my psyche and body over the years have left so many open wounds and scars behind, that sometimes it feels like I will never heal fully again. And I refuse to count myself lucky that no man had hung my stabbed, lifeless body up on a tree in a veld. No one – no one – should suffer such a fate. Not when they are eight months pregnant. Not ever. No one should have to live with constant fear that the integrity of their being could be violated at any moment, in unimaginable ways. But that is the world we live in. And there is no luck in that.

All this violence, and so little healing, hope.

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

“Physical distancing remains one of the key strategies to curb this pandemic.”

— NICD

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

— @HaggardHawks

It’s late. Another dark, stormy night ahead. When the thunder came, Salieri hid under the bed. The trees have suffered outside, but I haven’t detected any roof leaks – yet.

Before bed last night, I did move the coffee machine to the bedroom. And this morning, I made coffee without leaving the room, showered, washed my hair, put on my PJs again, made a fire and returned to my bed to start on the day’s work. Some of it admin, some of it the sheer pleasure of working with a text that tells a remarkable story. A story of transcending and of kindness. Part of the pleasure of working on it was the help I received from my wonderful friend and Afrikaans translator, Erika. All day long, I sent her Afrikaans passages, sentences and phrases from the predominantly English text via Twitter’s DMs and she kindly responded with corrections. As we all know, social media can be anything but social, but sometimes they can deliver help, a connection, kindness, smiles, solace, surprises and other beautiful gifts. And they allow us to stay in touch even during the age of isolation and physical distancing.

Home office.

After lunch I decided to get out of bed! I made the bed, though, only in the evening when Salieri, freaked out by thunder, abandoned ship and disappeared underneath. She is still not back, so who knows what the storms might bring in the night. Cats know stuff.

It is a great comfort to be able to work next to a fireplace, especially on a day like today. I ate my dinner here, too. The lemon meringue pie disappeared when I was still in bed… No comment.

It seems that we can’t rely on test and infection numbers much at the moment, although there is no doubt that they are rising, but the numbers of Covid-19 related deaths are much more difficult to contemplate. Every day they are moving upward. As predicted. But…

I can’t help wishing for miracles.

Joanne Harris posted this picture of a cat today on Twitter: “Safety bubble.”

Like I said, cats know stuff. The world out there is harsh, not only because of the pandemic.

As the wave of infections rises to its peak, I am considering stocking up for another three weeks of sheltering in place. To leave the house only to walk. I know this thing will most probably not kill me, but I don’t want any further permanent damage to my health, and no one can guarantee that I would get through a Covid-19 infection and be totally okay again. The risk, the consequences, are frightening. And I try to imagine even a relatively mild infection while living alone and having to take care of myself while sick – no, thank you. Even when you have a silly cold, after three days it is difficult to imagine what it feels like to be healthy again. And Covid-19 is not being described as a silly cold.

I don’t want it.

What I want is a whispering fire and kindness.

My love made me aware of a video by Kimberly Latrice Jones which Trevor Noah posted on his Twitter account a few days ago. I encourage all to watch it. I wept by the end of it.

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

“Physical distancing remains one of the key strategies to curb this pandemic.”

— NICD

I am tired.

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

— @HaggardHawks

Our local police station is back at work and the latest crime statistics for our area came through for May. One burglary and one robbery in our street alone (it’s not a long street). The list is long, and scary. Crime-wise, lockdown is truly over.

Deep sigh. We soldier on.

Home office.

The day began with reading and computer work in bed. The Cats, of course, right in the middle of the action. No one offered to make me coffee. But I have been thinking about moving the coffee machine to the bedroom, especially in winter, when getting out of the bed is becoming more difficult as the days go by. And by tomorrow, a storm is supposed to reach us. I might light a fire…

Big day today. On the way to town, I had to park next to the road to take a phone call; the view was spectacular, as always. Ah, Cape Town! I went to pick up some books and my book vouchers (including a gift from my love, who knows that “when I have a little money, I buy books; when there is some left, I buy food”) from Clarke’s and the Book Lounge. First time in a bookshop since around mid-March. I was very impressed with the health safety precautions in both shops, and felt physically as safe as one possibly can nowadays. But emotionally, I was overcome by a sense of nostalgia that I haven’t experienced anywhere else during lockdown.

I decided to use my book vouchers for Christmas when, hopefully, the market picks up again and bookshops don’t have to fight as hard for survival, and I paid for my books today. Every little bit helps. Salieri approved of my choices. She thinks that it is very good for me to read feminist texts; it makes her life as the matriarch of our household easier.

Apart from the book excursion and a Skype call with Mom and Krystian over lunch, the day was devoted to work. At the end of the afternoon, I phoned a friend; I had missed her voice and laughter.

Dinner was from the Alma Café. There is a lemon meringue pie in my house again, one-third of it already missing… And I can’t blame that on The Cats.

Today’s drawing was inspired by a roughly 700-year-old flying cat, posted on Twitter by the medieval monster hunter – well, in this case, the medieval flying cat hunter – Damien Kempf, whose latest book continues to delight my family and their friends in Austria. The second edition of Medieval Monster Hunter is being prepared for publication, so grab a copy while you can.

My flying creature is, naturally, a flying rat. This was long before SpaceX, when we could only explore the universe by imagination…

Tonight, I am going to bed with Ms Rebecca Solnit. I know I will be in the best of intellectual hands.

Good night.

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

“Physical distancing remains one of the key strategies to curb this pandemic.”

— NICD

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

— @HaggardHawks

Sally Partridge’s Sea Star Summer reminded me of what it feels like to read, just read. I completely lost myself in the story. First book since the lockdown that I managed to devour; just like that. It made me remember what it feels like to be an outsider trying to fit it (god knows what for), to fall in love for the first time, to find solace in a seascape. It also made me think of my first – awful, I must say (just like Naomi’s) – kiss, and of the second one that still makes me smile whenever I reach for it in my memory. (You will never read this, but thank you, L.) It made me think about consent and friendship, and of the importance of being who you are, deep down inside – no matter what others think you should be. It is the kind of book I want all young people to read to understand that it is okay to be different, and all adults to read to remember that incredible, beautiful, unforgettable falling in love for the first time. Thank you, Sally! I knew that this was going to be a difficult week and Sea Star Summer was the heart-warming reminded of all things precious that I needed to hold on to before facing the windmills.

I had another intruder on the property last night, but the alarm system clearly scared away whoever it was. I managed to sleep through the night (all completely sober!). Tonight might be different, though. I already had to take a painkiller for the horrible headache which had descended on me in the afternoon, without mercy. Apart from the lovely morning in a warm bed with a great story to keep me dreaming, and remembering, the rest of the day was quite rough. There were some highlights but, in general, it is hard not to despair. I can’t help feeling naive when I keep asking for a little bit of integrity, and kindness. Especially now. Like my friend Debbie wrote on Twitter today:

“My life is filled with anxiety I never anticipated at this stage of my life. In these troubled times we are all going through some level of personal hell. The love and support from friends is overwhelming. Every single gesture of kindness is a hug and a comfort. Thank you…”

Even if one has only a grain of compassion in one’s being, it’s nearly impossible not to be overwhelmed by the layered, collective trauma we are experiencing. And its repercussions play out in all kinds of ways on many personal levels contributing to the “hell” Debbie writes about.

I think of two things people I deeply respect said to me once. One is: “power is rotten”. The other: “being kind means giving up power”. What many do not understand is that kindness magics a togetherness into being that is stronger and more resilient than power ever could be. And no one has to suffer.

I also survive on gestures of kindness, even if they are as simple as a tiny red heart popping up in my online notifications or a dear friend’s smile I haven’t seen in what seems like forever appearing on my computer screen. Without the love and support of my Loved Ones, I would never come out of my panic room ever again.

(As a complete aside: someone who has not actively posted or commented on their social media account since September last year – please let that sink in: September 2019, nine months ago! – deemed it necessary to comment on one of my light, furry posts about cats this morning with a viciousness I would expect of a bitter enemy, not a complete stranger. Why? What’s the point? I have never, ever interacted with this person before. But out of the blue, they come out of their social media hibernation to try to make me feel bad about wanting to lighten my own spirits and hopefully those of others I actually do interact with and care about. What is wrong with people? Sigh. Block. Forget. What none of us needs right now is carelessness.)

Anyway. The good news is that I am starting a new project that has something to do with animals, another one that is all about a particular landscape, and Karavan Press seems to be on the road again – we are taking it slow, but we are going to make it. And we also have gestures of kindness to thank for it.

Another day at the computer, with some ironing post-dinner to relax. I forgot to eat lunch today. Time for bed and a new book.

Be kind to yourself. Be kind to others. Stay at home. The first patients are arriving at the CTICC. May they all return healthy and safe to their families and friends.

“Physical distancing remains one of the key strategies to curb this pandemic.”

— NICD

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

— @HaggardHawks

How to heal invisible hurts: love – human and feline – music, books, walks, coffee, food, and, if all else fails, a Hoghouse porter at midnight to make you sleep.

I know it is just a matter of time, not even a long time; a few days at most. Life returns to ‘normal’, whatever that is nowadays. Yes, the neighbours’ dog barking at passing strangers and every weird sound on the property had me freaking out last night, but only a day later, the world is beginning to feel slightly more familiar, calmer. It doesn’t feel safe, because it isn’t. Neither at home, nor outside of it. But it is losing its sharp edges.

Glinka on Karina watch, night and day.

By today, we are at nearly fifty thousand confirmed Covid-19 positive cases (thousands unconfirmed, I suspect) and nearly one thousand people dead. And I keep reminding myself that each one of them is a family and circle of friends shattered and trying to grasp the ungraspable. Yet, I see people everywhere without masks, hear about people getting together for birthday parties, listen to a discussion on the radio where some woman insists that having her hair washed and blow-dried by a hairdresser should be considered an essential service. Perhaps these people think that dying should be an essential service, too, because it feels to me as if they are begging for it.

I mostly stayed off social media this weekend. Sjoe, it’s rough and ugly out there, and my skin is paper-thin right now.

I have three book recommendations for today. The first is highly topical:

It’s Only Blood by Anna Dahlqvist. This book changed my life and I think of it every month when I menstruate. I reviewed it for LitNet in 2018.

The second is a pure comfort read, wise and wonderful about relationships: Joanna Trollope’s Mum & Dad. Also, the way it describes a vineyard in Spain made me dream about another visit. One day…

The third is Sea Star Summer by Sally Partridge. I started reading it this afternoon and just want to move into the world of Naomi and Elize and their budding friendship, with the sea as their constant companion. Sally, if you are reading this: thank you! Another gem. For me, you are the Queen of YA in South Africa. Love your work!

And you might be happy to hear that The Potluck Club is making home deliveries (or you can pick up your feast at the restaurant). Their food was the best possible Sunday treat. Especially on the stoep, in loving company. Mozart insisted on having his share of the special lunch :)

My love sent me a link to a wonderful article today: Mysterious and mischievous medieval doodles. I still find it difficult to understand how any of these incredible images were possible hundreds of years ago, but they are simply delightful. Although snails are cool, for obvious reasons, I have been on the lookout for szczureks in these medieval drawings.

The one ancient book replica I have, The Sarajevo Haggadah, features quite a few fantastical and real animals, but not a single rat. So, inspired by an original image, I decided to draw a rat myself. In a way it portrays exactly how I have been feeling this weekend, trying to shelter in an unsafe place:

No midnight beers to make me sleep tonight, I hope. I am just going to dive back into Sea Star Summer and allow it to carry me into my dreams.

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

“Physical distancing remains one of the key strategies to curb this pandemic.”

— NICD