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

— @HaggardHawks

My baby-kitten is fourteen years old today! Happy Birthday, Mr Mozart. All day long, he has been his usual elusive self, but he came into the kitchen when I was preparing dinner and I gave him a special treat for his birthday.

This is his mom, Gienia, with Mozart’s sisters, Myszka and Anya (Mozart is the kitten on the right) soon after they were born. Myszka still lives with my Mom. Happy Birthday, Myszka! A few months after giving birth, Gienia decided to move in with the neighbours, and she still lives there, happily. My Mom and the neighbours became friends because of her resettlement.

Mozart and Anya came to live in Cape Town in September 2006. Anya was killed by a passing car on 27 January 2007. Mozart and she were extremely close (Myszka was the runt of the litter and would not have survived without my parents’ intervention). When Anya died, Mozart didn’t know what to do with himself. But then, Salieri and Glinka came to live with us and we are a family now. But I still miss beautiful Anya, and knowing Mozart’s incredible memory, I think he probably does too.

My heart melts looking at all the kitten photos that I have of them all…

~~~

Today, writers and readers took a stand for books to be delivered to our homes under the level four regulations.

I signed the letter wholeheartedly because of the delivery aspect. After everything that I have witnessed in food shops during lockdown, I think that we are already abusing the current shopping regulations under level five, and we will probably abuse them even more if more shops are allowed to open. But I happily support a professional and safe home delivery of any products, especially books. In this respect, my experience has been very encouraging. Even today, I received another coffee delivery and I never felt that I was threatening the safety of the delivery person or he mine during the brief (non)interaction. I will happily pay extra for this service: so much safer for both parties.

Otherwise, the day was quiet, filled for a while with good quiet work in the afternoon.

Morning

Afternoon

My back is still sore, but I now have a proper hot-water-bottle to make sitting at the computer bearable.

Evening

Dearest Sally, I did try to tune in to your launch on FB, even though after attending just one, I promised myself that I would not attend another virtual book launch, but the thing would not play on my cell phone and I couldn’t leave the fire unattended to try other options.

I never got beyond this point :( It just wouldn’t load…?

But I am certain that you were brilliant – you always are – and I have placed an order for a copy of the book. Such a beautiful cover and the story promises to be amazing! You are unequivocally the Queen of YA Fiction in this land and I can’t wait to read your latest.

Dear All, For an excerpt of Sally’s novel, click here: Sea Star Summer by Sally Partridge

Another drawing came to me while I was thinking about the open letter to the President today. I posted it on the Karavan Press Instagram and Twitter accounts, just adding “Still dreaming…”

I am not giving up hope that it will all work out somehow. How? I don’t know. But I believe in magic.

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

Good night.

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

— @HaggardHawks

Monday. The usual: Bin, orchid bath, watering of stoep plants, laundry & other household duties. On my way back from the great outdoors beyond my gate where I left the bin for collection this morning, I saw my bedside light illuminating a corner of my bed through the window, and the scene looked so cosy, I was overcome by gratitude for all the blessings in my life. (Just a pity about the burglar bars, but one can almost, almost, unsee them.)

Coffee, Wild Earth, a little bit of reading. Poor focus today.

27 April. I know exactly what I was doing on 27 April 1994: celebrating my best friend’s birthday in Austria. We were still in high school, having met two years earlier and becoming inseparable. One of the many traditions we started way back then was me delivering tulips from my Mom’s garden to Isabella on her birthday. There were always strawberries, too. I messaged her early this morning and she responded, saying she thinks of me. And when my Mom phoned a few days ago, she told me about the tulips in her garden and that she was so sorry I wouldn’t be taking them to Isi.

With Isi in Linz, 2014

Today is also Mary Wollstonecraft’s birthday. I love the fact that these two incredibly important women in my life share a birthday. Alles Liebe zum Geburtstag, liebe Isabella. And happy birthday, dear Ms Wollstonecraft. Where would I be without you two? Thank you for showing me the path.

And, of course, Freedom Day. Happy Freedom Day, dear South Africans. Thank you for allowing me to know your stories, for making me feel at home in this remarkable country!

A dear friend sent me the 1994 video of Evita and Cyril going trout fishing this morning. It made my day!

And the ICU vibrators. Priceless. Still chuckling. They did use vibrators to treat hysteria in the olden days. Nothing like an orgasm to make one feel better. But the best ones are enjoyed together, and level one seems like a distant dream on hope’s horizon…

And so we bake bread.

I chose the easiest route and bought a half-prepared one last week from Ou Meul that waited patiently in the fridge until this morning when I baked it ready. I had the first slice with butter and honey, the best combination for freshly baked bread – the taste reminds me of childhood outings to a family friend’s farm, where they baked bread and made butter themselves, and they also had beehives. Good memories.

I survived the night on a colour-coordinated-home-concoction of medicine I applied to my poor body to heal the backache. Not sure what worked best, I suspect the hot muti, but I felt much better in the morning, and will apply again tonight.

I survived another shopping excursion today. I ran out of one major essential for the Furry Family and had to brave the shops. I meant to go to only one, but they did not have what I needed, so I had to go to another. While at it, I got some other ‘essential’ stuff like window cleaner, coconut cream (yes, I have rum…), and a hot-water-bottle (among many other more truly essential items). The beautiful wine bottle that has been serving as my temporary hot-water-bottle could not be easily applied to my back last night.

Heart-breaking observations during the excursion: beggars are everywhere & those who do not have to beg have turned shopping into a national sport (the number of people I saw buying only an item or two and the congestion in the aisles were frightening). During the past thirty-two days I have visited four shops, two of them today, during two shopping outings. Anyone who can do the same, please consider it. Please. On my way back home, I heard Africa Melane on CapeTalk discussing the infection clusters around supermarkets in Cape Town. We are so eager for level four, but at this rate, we will be back at level five before we can say a packet of cigarettes.

And then we can say goodbye to most bookshops in the country, among so many other businesses.

I got a copy of Getaway magazine today. I just love the irony of its main story. In the morning, I looked at all the photographs I took while my love and I travelled around Poland exactly two years ago. Reminiscing, I thought: I have no regrets concerning the way we’d embraced life before the lockdown. We travelled near and far at every opportunity we had; we went to the theatre, to festivals, exhibitions, book launches; we treated ourselves to restaurants, even when it was not always financially wise to do so; we entertained friends whenever possible; and we spent so many hours just being in each other’s presence, knowing that the other was near was enough. We lived fully and passionately. And we miss all these things, especially all the occasions that could be enjoyed with family and friends, but we miss them because we lived them and not because we regret not having lived them. And so I will allow the Getaway magazine to take me back to those times of lived possibilities and inspire dreams of the future. Everything will be different for a long time, if not forever, no doubt, but there are places we will go, near and far, again. And that makes me happy.

One of those places will be the bush. Because I have to see ‘greeblings’ (James Hendry of Wild Earth), and…

Until then, I will delight in my Furry Family. Today, Mozart came to visit me on the bed again.

And on my way to the car with all my shopping this afternoon, I found another coin. I did not blow on it for luck (face mask, etc.), but brought it home and disinfected it, then washed my hands a million times. And then I blew on it. We are going to need all the luck we can get.

Time for hot muti.

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

These two Wild Earth live safari screenshots encapsulate my life under lockdown. I want to crawl into my home and hide. And even if I do crawl out of my shell, everything is very slow. Carrying a heavy burden around might be the reason why my lower back is also gradually giving up on me. The pain began yesterday and it is getting worse by the hour… Ah, well!

The TV watched me all night long, uninterrupted, until about 5am. I usually have a small cup of coffee in the morning, but today my largest mug came out in support.

I must remember that unwashed, uncombed & unbrushed is the look that my Twitter followers like best. Over fifty little red hearts showing up in my notifications for this picture on my timeline. Or was it the mug?

I spent the early morning in my bedroom bed, reading and watching live safari. And then I fell asleep again, despite all that coffee. A deep, restful sleep.

After the 9am news, Margie Orford co-presented a show on SAfm, speaking about the lockdown, or self-isolation, as “sheltering in place”. I love the concept. One of the guests Margie invited to the show, Daniel Canogar, a visual artist, spoke about “humility” and “surrender” and “compassion” in the time of the pandemic and the words resonated with me in so many ways.

It has become my habit to look out for Cathy Kelly’s daily Instagram posts about her life under lockdown. If I don’t see her update before I fall asleep, I check in the morning. Her voice is gentle, wise and full of compassion. Today, she also posted a brave and beautiful text on her blog: When Love Hurts in Lockdown. May all who need a crimson throw find one to keep them going, to guide them to safety.

Verushka Louw is also posting the most touching photographs and stories on Instagram now:

18 April: “My gran was a midwife in a small town, she raised 6 kids and this is the only drawing that I know of that she ever did. Weekends we would go to thrift stores or markets. Sometimes for inspiration, sometimes looking for specific thing, but always looking for treasure. Lockdown is at my mother’s house. So I thought, let me look here every day for treasure. Let me see things with new eyes. I’m going to try and post something each day. Join me. #krapindiekas Tag me if you find something.”

I look forward to the treasures she finds every day. My whole life can be mapped in objects and I find Verushka’s current adventure fascinating.

Three years ago, Verushka baked a cake that said YOU ARE LOVED for one of my launches. I have been known to show up on her doorstep when seeking refuge in my dreams.

The creativity of these women, among many others – the words, images, ideas, photographs they bring into the world during a difficult time – are sustaining in ways that no food or water can be. They form a lifeline.

I have been struggling to read in the past month (has it really been only a month?), but this afternoon and morning I got lost in two books, in the manuscript I am reading and in The Magpie Tree by Katherine Stansfield. It felt good to just turn the pages.

Raspberries marked my garden loop walk today. Whenever I walk, like so many other writers, I am inspired. With every raspberry disappearing, the idea I had yesterday while swimming developed further into a tangible plan.

This past month has been slow, it has had its really rough patches. More will surely come, but despite despair, insomnia, lethargy, tears, nightmares, sore cheeks and a broken back, there has been so much that kept me going. Especially words, those penned by others, and my own.

Looking over the past few weeks, I can’t help thinking of the great Toni Morrison.

This is precisely the time when artists go to work. There is no time for despair, no place for self-pity, no need for silence, no room for fear. We speak, we write, we do language. That is how civilizations heal.

I know the world is bruised and bleeding, and though it is important not to ignore its pain, it is also critical to refuse to succumb to its malevolence. Like failure, chaos contains information that can lead to knowledge — even wisdom. Like art.

— Toni Morrison

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

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

— @HaggardHawks

A migratory night. Fell asleep in front of the TV, moved to the bedroom, woke up at 3am (don’t know why) and could NOT go back to sleep, so moved back in front of the TV, watched one of my favourite series until close to 6am, and fell asleep again. Basically, exercise for the weekend done.

Wild Earth live safari kept me company while I had coffee and an almond croissant – fresh and hot from the oven. I ordered a few things from the Ou Meul Bakkery yesterday, delivered to my gate by Mr Delivery within thirty minutes. Simple. Delicious.

I loved every second of the safari, but I was most happy to identify the birds on the buffalo’s back in my bird book.

After the safari and some reading in the morning, it was time for another official address, clarifying level four. A few phrases stuck with me.

“The things are in our hands.” Indeed. And how!

“Touching is a thing of the past.” Sadly.

“We need to move towards a blue map; blue is good.” I am all blue in other ways, but blue has always been my favourite colour, so I like the idea of moving towards a blue territory.

“Collective challenge; individual sacrifices.”

Yes. And then, of course, the thing about books. Educational books. Education is essential, no doubt. Educational books are level four essential – also no argument. But…

Many years ago, one of my plays was published in an educational book.

The winner included was my play, A Change of Mind. The award was a lot of money (R7500), for which I was extremely grateful. Up to that point it was the single largest amount of money I’d earned from my writing. I paid a few bills with it and bought myself one thing that always reminds me of this wonderful win: a quilt. Every time I wrap myself in it, I remember that feeling. I also remember my first royalty statement a year after the book was published. When it arrived, I thought that I wasn’t opening the file properly, so I sent it to my IT brother to examine. He opened it on his computer and phoned: “No, you did get it right, it does say R4.63…” It was actually transferred into my account! The following year it was about ten times as much. The year after, I manged to buy a bottle of cheap bubbly with the royalties to celebrate the statement passing the R100 mark for the first time. The statements stopped coming after that…

It’s not easy being a writer, not even if you contribute to educational books.

And yet: are books essential? To me, yes. They are my bones, my flesh, my blood, my soul, the air I breathe. But in general? Not to many people. I live in a bubble of readers and writers, but I understand that books are not important in any way to many, many people. And this will always be my deepest literary sorrow. But I get how reality works and how privileged I am (even with all the battles that had to be fought by my parents and by me to arrive at where I am today).

I can think of many creative ways of how to get books, any books, SAFELY to readers desperate to have them during level five or four of lockdown, but in the greater scheme of things, I know that the logistics of it cannot be a priority at a time when people are hungry and have no roofs over their heads. Books should not be a luxury item, but in our economy they are, and the reality of it is what it is. We still need to find ways of supporting each other as writers and readers and of looking after the networks that allows us to share books. We are creative people, so let’s be creative. I hope that we won’t have to wait until level three after all, but if we do, let us be patient, suspend our disbelief, and do whatever we can to keep up our spirits and to keep the booksellers, distributors and publishers we depend on alive. Donations, vouchers, pre-orders. Whatever it takes. And in the meantime, let’s look at the treasures of our libraries and keep reading. Reading is allowed at any level. And so is writing.

By staying at home, we limit the movement and interaction of people. For now, that’s the only way we can keep the infection rate low and not overwhelm the fragile health care system.

Today, we have reached 86 confirmed Covid-19 related deaths. If we don’t follow the regulations, this number will explode and we will not know how to live with ourselves for having been responsible. If we survive ourselves, that is…

After the official address and a small lunch, I read and sunbathed and watched birds in my garden and thought about the different levels and what they mean for the future. All warm from the sun, I managed to get into the pool and had the longest swim of the lockdown yet. It cleared my mind and soul and, as it often happens when I am immersed in water, I had an idea. I will be channelling two great women writers I admire to make it happen. We just need to get to level four, so that I can get a few missing essentials… Watch this space.

Mozart came to say hello and to cuddle a bit and then settled in his nest next to the pool while I was swimming.

Once I was finished and had my shower and made myself a drink, Mozart visited again on the stoep to see what I was having and what new books I was about to open.

I started reading Katherine Stansfield a few years ago when a friend I met during my year in Wales sent me her debut novel. She also studied in Aberyswyth and became a writer. Her debut, The Visitor, was exquisite, and I have been a fan ever since – of her fiction and her poetry. I have had her latest two novels for a while, but they were on that much loved, always growing, to-read pile, the one that will keep me going for a long, long time now, if necessary, and I am so pleased to have them.

My drink of the afternoon was an experiment. I have quite a few bottles of alcohol in the house (don’t hate me) and I am not a heavy drinker so the booze will last forever, but I thought that maybe I should start trying out new recipes. This one was based on the one I tried out on my poor literary salon crowd last year: “Surfer on Acid”. I didn’t have one of the main ingredients, but I improvised with lemon cordial (which was a gift from a writer who attends the literary salon). The result was “Surfer on Lemon Acid” and it was absolutely delicious. Better than the original, to be honest… Tom Cruise, move over!

I tuned in to Wild Earth only for a little while in the afternoon, but was rewarded with this beyond-cute sighting. Baby hyenas. Irresistible.

I will leave you with a quote from the book I finished reading today. I first heard Garth Greenwell speak at the Open Book Festival and loved his debut novel, What Belongs to You. Cleanness is his second book. I hope to review it properly soon; for now, I will share the quote that moved me the most.

“They could make a whole life, I thought, surprised to think it, these moments that filled me up with sweetness, that had changed the texture of existence for me. I had never thought anything like it before.” — Garth Greenwell

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

Waking up with Glinka. In our bed, in the bedroom. A small achievements of lockdown life.

So: level five. A new definition of our reality of the past twenty-nine days. Other new phrases in our vocabulary since last night: different ‘levels’ of hope, the endearing ‘face mask fumble’, the laugh-out-loud funny ‘imbleach him’. The latter aimed at the Tangerine Troll, of course. Our President is exemplary, endearing fumbles and all. I cannot imagine how he copes with the demands of his job during the pandemic, how exhausted he must be, and yet, he shows up, and when he does, we all marvel at his leadership. Especially when we watch that ruthless egomaniac across the Atlantic for comparison. Imbleach him, please. Do it for the people of the US, and for the rest of the world.

Level four from 1 May. I understand the necessity of it and will support the measures in any way I can, yet I cannot help thinking of another 1 May a long time ago when I marched in the streets of Jelenia Góra, Poland, as part of a festive parade celebrating Workers’ Day. The authorities let us, even encouraged it. In 1986. A few days after 26 April 1986.

On 1 May 2020, we will all be aware of the dangers involved in exposing ourselves to the world outside, but I can’t help worrying of the possible consequences. This time the authorities will guide us well, but I have my doubts about our ability to listen to and obey the new level four regulations that will be put in place to protect our health and lives…

Highlights of level five day twenty-nine? Speaking on a clear phone line to my Mom for nearly an hour, cooking with one of the lemons from my garden, continuing with the manuscript I was asked to endorse if I like it (I do, a lot), working on my own manuscript, receiving two beautiful emails from a friend, also an author, who recognised why I struggle with the lockdown and not only saw me, but showed me that she cares. Kindness wrapped up in words. And the light of highlights: a big fire for a little braai in the evening.

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 love owls, so this was the highlight of the Wild Earth live safari for me this morning.

Another night in my own bed. Another morning in bed with Cats, coffee and books. Tried to phone my Mom, but she was busy bringing her recycling to the newly reopened recycling centre near her home. Apparently only one person is allowed in at a time, which results in hours-long queues. But a lot of people have nothing else to do, so… I spoke to my brother on Skype instead and told him about the letter Lara Foot sent out this morning, asking people for support for the Baxter. I refuse to write about any other donations/support I am offering to good causes during lockdown (this is not the time to brag about doing good, but just doing it). However, I make an exception for the arts, especially books, because I hope that people feel a tiny bit inspired and, if they can, help too. Most artists are so horrifically underpaid, if paid at all, that any support for them – for us – must be shouted from the rooftops. I love books, I love the theatre. The Arts. I will do anything I can to support them.

My brother and I had a good conversation about what is happening to the arts in Austria and South Africa in the time of the pandemic. He was with me the last time I visited the Baxter Theatre and a certain tennis player made an appearance – not surprisingly: theatres are places of dreams, magic and possibilities! And theatre lovers will return to the stage and the audience when they reopen and we can delight in all that they have to offer again.

I ‘attended’ my first virtual book launch today. It was easy to register, the conversation was fascinating, and I think I will read the book. But I am not so sure about attending another virtual book launch again… And it wasn’t even the fact that for a few minutes all the speakers disappeared from my computer screen (some technical problem on the host’s platform). It was the fact that I couldn’t page through the physical book, could not have it signed and say thank you to the authors in person afterwards. It just isn’t the same as sitting in a bookshop with other eager readers and engaging live, and I just don’t want it. I am happy to wait until the real thing again, even if it takes months.

At the beginning of the state of disaster, I proposed the idea for a literary festival on Twitter. The response was overwhelmingly positive, and I almost had a whole plan ready how to pull it off. But then I started watching how other people in the industry took to social media to promote books and engage with writers and readers and I tried to follow the different developments and soon discovered exactly the same as above: it’s just not the same. One might be reaching larger audiences across the globe and selling more ebooks right now, but this is not what I wish for in the future. As long as it is not possible for me to visit a real bookshop or attend a real literary festival and speak in person to other readers and writers, and to TOUCH real books, I will exercise my patience. To all who were hoping for me to get the Twitter literary festival off the ground, please forgive me. I had second thoughts. But I love Twitter and use it to promote books all the time. We can do it together without any formal arrangements. The platform can do with more book love (love in general too). And when the time is right, we will meet in a bookshop or at a literary festival and smile and bury our noses in real books, and all will be well in the book world again. The screens can help us keep in touch, but they will never be able to replace touch.

After lunch, a few chores were waiting for me, but my heart wasn’t in house cleaning today, and I must admit that for most of the afternoon I just listened to the radio. It felt good. I grew up with the radio and it will always be a medium I turn to for comfort. Why is it different to the internet? I don’t know. Perhaps because it does not attempt to simulate something that it isn’t, it just is itself. The internet’s brilliance and strength lie in its ability to assist with tasks that nothing and no one else can perform. I would not want to live without it. But I want it to be an additional tool, making our lives better; I do not want it to replace most of our reality.

On the radio, I heard about this award-winning short documentary: Scenes from a Dry City.

I heated up a can of really delicious chickpea and chicken soup for dinner and watched the documentary (these are moments where I am super grateful to have access to the internet, because I doubt that I would go to see a ten-minute documentary in a cinema). Loved it.

Now, the evening is young, and the President is going to address us again at 20:30. The latest figures are sobering: 318 new confirmed cases (I think the highest daily increase recorded in SA until now), total 3953, and we have recorded 75 deaths. I know death comes knocking on our doors every single day for all kinds of reasons, but these deaths occurred specifically because of this virus or with its help. Seventy-five families whose lives will never be the same again because of an invisible virus. All these people died only because they spoke to, or served, or sat around the table with, or hugged, or were present in the same space as an infected person. It’s horrifying.

You don’t have to go out of your way to be infected, but you can do one simple thing to avoid spreading this lethal virus: stay at home. And if you can’t, practice physical distancing, wear a suitable mask, wash your hands, think carefully.

Be kind to yourself. Be kind to others. Stay at home. Buy the Baxter a cup of coffee. And when the theatre reopens its doors again, I will see you there for a glass of wine to celebrate.

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

— @HaggardHawks

The mystery is no more: Coriander. Sorry, Cats! Yay, Karina :) I LOVE coriander.

Second night in my own bed. A nightmare (I woke up shouting, “Help, help!”), but otherwise a long, good sleep. The morning spent with Salieri and coffee, reading.

Cats are the best reading companions, ever! And Salieri knows a good book when she sees it.

We got up just in time for a delivery from Richard Bosman. I ordered online yesterday, and everything was delivery today by noon. Products of the highest quality. I cut up one of the dry sausages into slices as my reward for every three loops of my garden walk this afternoon. The moment I put one slice into my mouth, I was in France, in a small, crowded restaurant, sipping my wine and waiting for my order to arrive. Anyone who has been to France, will know what I mean. And if you haven’t been, I wish it for you one day!

Earlier this morning, while I was ironing, the Southern Boubous in my garden delivered a duet of note. And during my walk, Mozart made an appearance and I found a pretty flower and a lonely little clover in an otherwise empty pot (the resident bulbs will be hibernating until spring).

After the walk, Glinka and I had a cider on the stoep. I bought six bottles before the lockdown. We are now down to three. I think we are doing well. It was a balmy, gorgeous afternoon and it felt good to just sit and relax before some work.

The rest of the afternoon was spent with manuscripts. My own and another author’s (I was asked for a shout if I like it – I am loving it so far). Ordinary is proving everything that I remembered it to be. It is a novel about witches, sort of, so I wore my hat for the writing. Progress has been made.

One of my reviews was published on LitNet today: J.M. Coetzee – Photographs from Boyhood, edited and introduced by Herman Wittenberg (Protea Book House, 2020).

Now, I just want to watch TV and sleep. Perhaps in my own bed again…

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