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

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

— @HaggardHawks

We called him Chopin. In high school, a stalker followed me around for a few months. In the beginning, I did not understand why he was always on the same train as I (no matter when school ended), why I repeatedly spotted him around town, why he kept staring and smiling at me with cold eyes, and why, right from the start, I did not feel comfortable about any of it. He did look like Chopin, and in the beginning, my friends and I could still laugh him off. But when his constant shadow became unbearable, when I could no longer feel safe anywhere, with the help of a teacher and my parents I did report him to the police. That wasn’t the end of the story, but today I wasn’t reminded about how he finally disappeared from my life; today, I remembered what it felt like to know that you are constantly being watched.

It is a fear that crawls in your veins until you feel totally paralysed. Everything is out of focus and it is impossible to do anything right. This morning, it was so pervasive that it took me forever to leave the house, and even after I had left it, I had to return once because my anxiety was skyrocketing.

My pearl earrings were the reason I returned. I hadn’t worn them for a while, but decided this morning that I wanted to put them on again. Yet, in all the chaos of getting ready to go to the shops, I forgot the earrings. I went back because of a strange memory. The day of the first house break-in I have ever experienced (five years ago), before I left home, I put André’s wedding band, which had been next to the bed for weeks after his death, in a different – safe – place. An uncanny premonition. Almost everything else was taken that day, but I still have the precious ring. Something told me to hide the ring back then, and something told me today not to leave my earrings behind. Leaving the house, I remembered the creepy man we’d called Chopin.

I wasn’t even half an hour gone before ADT phoned. First alarm activation in months. I told them to please go investigate and rushed home myself. Those few minutes that felt like an eternity in the car on my way back were so tense with apprehension – and a sad kind of resignation – that I had to switch off the music, fearing that even the gentle sounds would distract me too much and I could, on top of everything else, cause an accident. Pure survival mode.

By the time I arrived back, the ADT guard was exiting the property. “It is all fine,” he said. He got there in time. Together, we investigated which of the security beams had been triggered and could reconstruct how the thief  had intended to access the house. These are all additional safety features I’d had installed after the second successful break-in last year. The alarm scared the thief away, this time. The system worked. It protected my property, and my sanity. The guard left with a truckload of my gratitude.

After making sure that The Cats were all unharmed and safe, I had to admit to myself that I had learned to live with this constant fear, need for vigilance, and a sixth sense for someone lurking and waiting to pounce. The thing is that you cannot really admit to yourself that this is what your life looks like; seen from the outside – with clear, objective eyes – it does not make sense. You have to hold all of this as close to your consciousness as you can, and simultaneously push it as far away as possible. It is a cruel balancing act: to know that you have a panic room in your home, to still be able to sleep peacefully, to leave the house to buy essentials. How fucked up is that?

The armed response guard’s eyes shone with kindness above his mask.

My pearl earrings have a beautiful story that is connected to writing (perhaps all writing is not about love, but about loss?). In my heart, they replaced the earrings that were stolen from me during the first break-in – they were a gift from my aunt, I had worn them for over twenty years before they were taken.

At a time of loss, every single disturbance of balance, no matter how seemingly insignificant, can be extremely triggering. All my alarms systems are going off and the panic room in my head is getting smaller and smaller.

Be kind to yourself. Be kind to others. Stay at home. (Right… Fuck.)

“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

This is Glinka at her most ‘graceful’ self, and Bobik and I, all watching television until two of us fell asleep on the couch and one of us had to relocate to her own bed again around midnight and could not fall asleep again.

Watching the news from the US last night, I was reminded of this passage from David Gillespie’s Taming Toxic People: The science of identifying & dealing with psychopaths at work & at home:

When I describe someone as a psychopath it is really just a shorthand way of saying a person who completely lacks empathy. I am not for a minute suggesting they are a serial killer or any other kind of criminal [although they could be]. I am being descriptive not derogatory. I could simply call them non-empaths but since nobody knows what that means and ‘psychopath’ is pretty close to the mark, I’ll go with that. Yes, there are negative connotations to the word ‘psychopath’ but I don’t think that it is a bad thing to use a word that suggests we should be careful around these types of people. This is one situation when it is definitely better to call a spade a bloody shovel.

A bloody shovel can be voted out of power.

A different kind of power struggle took place in the Kruger this morning: two male leopards vied for the attention of one female – a spectacle of note. In the end, one of them asserted his dominance and the magnificent feline couple walked away together.

I prefer living in our feline matriarchy where Salieri calls the shots.

As she did when I tried to identify a bird that I saw while watching the Wild Earth live safari this morning. Salieri loves books, the bird book, though, is her absolute favourite.

After breakfast, we read some more and then it was time to get showered and dressed and spend the rest of the day at the computer, working and chatting briefly on Skype with my Mom and Krystian and then with my lovely, dear friend Sally. She had a brilliant literary idea and I have been thinking about a certain project involving her for quite a while now, so we needed to discuss both. It was so good to see her and exchange literary and feline news. Her Sea Star Summer will be the next book I read :)

Glinka arrives ready for work.

The Hoghouse meal I ordered was delivered today, so dinner was a simple, but absolutely delicious, feast. Prefect for a wintry evening.

Did you see the Strawberry Moon tonight? I went outside with Glinka shortly after nine p.m. and stood there hypnotised. So many memories in its cold light.

Today, Naas Steenkamp would have been eighty-seven, but he passed away in 2018. He was one of André’s life-long friends. He contributed the most important essay to Encounters with André Brink – it was the backbone of the book. He was also the author of Op ’n galop na Buckingham-paleis. Words, words, words – inscribed on paper, our hearts.

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

Don’t allow a bloody shovel to bury you. Vote.

“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

Jeanne Goosen, my dear friend.

13 July 1938 – 2 June 2020.

Tessa Louw posted this photograph and these words on her Twitter account (which I follow with interest). It was the first time I saw the news of Jeanne Goosen’s passing.

I did not know Jeanne Goosen, and even though I have been in the same room as Tessa Louw once (I know because she took a photograph of me that I will never forget), I have not met her personally either, but both women feature in my consciousness in a very positive way.

I have read only one of Jeanne Goosen’s books, the novel which André translated into English, We’re Not All Like That. It left a lasting impression. (Someone asked me for more book recommendations in my posts. Well, this is definitely one of them.)

RIP Jeanne Goosen. Thank you for all the stories.

I fear death. It might sound like a naive thing to say, especially now, but I mean it, wholeheartedly. I love my life, with all its treasures and losses; I want to live it, really live it. I remember sharing my fear with my best friend Isabella in high school, confessing to her that the thought of not existing beyond this life frightened me into numbness, and this at a time when my whole life seemed to lie ahead of me. I am still young, but the fear has not left me, nor has it become less terrifying. Everything is so brittle around us in comparison to this one solid reality of death and loss, that it is impossible to deny it. And when, like me, you have no ideology or faith to ground you, only people and art remain. Those traces we leave in others, who remember and hold us in their hearts and minds for as long as they continue. And art – through images, words, sounds, objects – continues beyond us, at least in possibility. For that I am grateful. This makes me less afraid.

For me, of course, words – my own and those written by others – carry that possibility, keep me sane in those moments when I feel so alone and frozen in my fears that I cannot breathe. All stories – books – are my manifestos, my holy scripts.

I also thought about stories when I went shopping at Caroline’s Fine Wine Cellar today. Every bottle I chose tells a story beyond its content. And for someone like me, who is not a wine connoisseur, the story is just as important as the wine. And each of these bottles will make me smile just because of a memory I connect with them… I could possibly tell my life story through these six bottles alone.

Cheesecake and other delights from the Alma Café and beer from the Hoghouse arrived on my doorstep today, too. And I enjoyed the rest of my tomato soup on the stoep at lunchtime – with Mozart, because he loves veggie soups. I had to get him his own bowl because he insisted sticking his whiskers into mine…

I worked today, had to send another rejection letter, did laundry, swept the stoep, took out the recycling, stared at the moon, heavy with its near-fullness, and, right in the middle of it all, had a wonderful Skype chat with my Mom. We laughed a lot together. And, as someone pointed out to me, ‘laughter is now, more than ever, important in our lives.’ Agreed.

And that is why, please forgive me, I will indulge in some joyful anticipation right now, and I have an idea that a few ladies – and gentlemen – might join me. I have been starved for live sports (not golf, though, which always makes me think of that German saying, “Spielen Sie schon Golf, oder haben Sie noch Sex?” – allow Google to translate for you, if needed… ;)), so I have been meaning to watch the NZ live rugby starting soon anyway, but when I heard that a certain player would be joining the competition, my heart skipped a beat, or two, or three, and I have been smiling every since. And it’s not because of the underwear… I mean, anyone would want to watch that ball in play. Right?

Yes, I am blushing. And smiling.

(Wait until Rafa is back on court and I bring you those underwear ads, or that Shakira video…!)

No, I am not ready for golf yet. I am still a gypsy at heart.

Seventy.

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

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

— NICD

Image: Tessa Louw

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

— @HaggardHawks

My copy of Sea Star Summer by Sally Partridge has arrived, delivered today by courier just before I went out for a walk. Anyone who knows how much I adore Sally’s writing will be able to imagine the smile I had on my lips while walking around the Rondebosch Common. People who saw me walking also had to imagine my smile, as it was hiding behind a mask, a new one that I was testing out today.

Light, easily reusable and wonderful to breathe in. But looking at the photograph, I have the same reaction I have whenever I see people in their masks: disbelief. Throughout the years, I had heard the warnings, read the books and watched the movies, but I’d never truly believed that I would end up living in such a reality. And here we are. And I am aware that one day soon it will all become ordinary, this chaos and loss and sadness. The possibility scares me.

In a way, Sally’s Sea Star Summer, and all the books being published during this period of precariousness, are pandemic survivors. These books are appearing against all odds and every one of them should be cherished and applauded. And read. I am so looking forward to this one. I am still at snail-reading-pace when it comes to books (essays, articles, short stories are easier to focus on and process), but I am patient and forge ahead. Slowly.

Today, Glinka was my catssistant throughout the afternoon of admin and editing and preparing something really lovely for Karavan Press. We have received good news about one of our titles and this added a spring to my step today. Patience, kindness, hard work and hope. Sometimes it all works out in the end after all.

I am continuing with my slow reading of In a Time of Plague: Memories of the ‘Spanish’ Flu Epidemic of 1918 in South Africa by Howard Philips. One of the testimonies reminded me of this:

I read Mhudi quite a while ago and, of course, did not remember this detail. Plaatje’s daughter Olive contracted the flu in 1918 “and probably died of its lingering after-effects in 1921, aged 16.”

Such dedications will be written during our pandemic, but in my secular way I pray to all literary gods and goddesses that I don’t have to write one of them for one of my books.

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

Goodbye lockdown. Hello herd immunity! That’s what I was thinking while walking along the Liesbeek River this afternoon. In my neighbourhood, I saw workers returning to building sites, only a few wearing masks; child carers talking to one another on the playground without any attempt at physical distancing; children playing in the park; homeless people everywhere; beggars and hawkers on every intersection. Walking might have been a good idea for the body, but my soul despaired. My walking path was mostly empty though… Sigh.

I couldn’t fall asleep last night and read and was online until around midnight when I just forced myself to turn off the light and eventually drifted off. Searching for warmth, this morning The Cats decided to embark on an Occupy Karina campaign and made it nearly impossible for me to do what I needed to on my laptop. Luckily, I could enlarge the texts I was reading and could type with one hand. What we do for (feline) love…

My neighbours phoned and said that they had a delivery for me…! I think I did mention already why I love these people. They are the best neighbours one could possibly wish for. And this is what they gave me today…

Straight from my beloved Elgin Valley. Late in the afternoon, when I was cooking tomato soup for tomorrow and sausages for tonight, Salieri decided to join me on the kitchen table and urged me to open the wine. It was all her doing, I swear.

Love the cork!

I placed a different kind of order online today: from The Hoghouse Brewery. Delivery on Friday for me, and a much more important daily delivery for the MAITLAND SOUP KICHENS. It’s super-easy to donate when you place your order with The Hoghouse Brewery, just add some cash to the cart for pots and pots of soup to be cooked.

SOUP SHARE

We are supporting the local Community Area Network in Maitland with fresh soup. 100% of your donation contributes directly to the ingredients. Each donation of R50 covers the ingredients for 5 litres which feeds 12 hungry humans a warm, tasty and nutritious meal. We provide the hands, the facilities, the fuel.

I know the people behind the initiative and admire their dedication and care, to their co-workers and their communities.

And I remember the Hoghouse feasts, the fantastic food and the beer. May these days when we gather to celebrate friendship return as soon as possible. The world can be a very lonely place nowadays. I don’t feel it as much when I am alone at home. I feel it when I see my neighbour in a mask, grieving for his friend who died much too young because of Covid-19.

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

I cannot tell you how excited I am about this book. I love the title, the cover, and I can’t wait to get a copy later this year. To read an interview with the author, click here: BARBARA BOSWELL on her AND WROTE MY STORY ANYWAY.

Barbara Boswell followed Toni Morrison’s advice:

If there is a book that you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, you must be the one to write it.

Thank you! As a reader and a scholar of South African literature, I have been longing for this book for many, many years.

This excitement can be rivalled for me personally only by the upcoming publication of the Afrikaans translation of Die vyfde Mevrou Brink, vertaal deur ERIKA VILJOEN. The book is at the printers! The fact that it exists now in the language of André’s soul puts my literary soul at peace. The memoir could never feel complete without this translation and I hope that readers will welcome it into their hearts. Baie dankie, Erika, Danél & Protea Boekhuis!

I had no intention of facing the booze queues today, so it was a quiet morning in bed, working with my faithful catssistants. No real literary work can happen without their input.

Today is International Children’s Day and my Mom still insists on celebrating with us, so we had a Skype meeting with her in the morning and laughed a lot together to begin the day, week and new month. Two happy children! And we owe so much of that happiness to her. Thank you, Miś!

The view of the Mountain from my walk AT NOON today. Every time I look up at the “little pebble”, as a friend once called it, I have these lines from Four Seasonal Observations of Table Mountain by Antjie Krog echoing in my head:

I did not have to navigate crowds while walking, but the carelessness of people does not cease to astound me. Most were behaving kindly and thoughtfully, but why not every single one? I am not asking that everyone performs a somersault when encountering another human being. It is just a mask. Why is it soooo difficult to wear a mask properly, over your mouth and nose, and to keep a safe distance to other walkers passing you? WHY?

The other day I saw someone I usually admire advertising face masks and praising their loose fit. I could only shake my head. The whole point of a mask is that it fits tightly and doesn’t have to be fiddled with all the time…

Breathe, Karina. Breathe (in your masks).

Heard on the radio today that when Covid-19 takes away your sense of smell, you even can’t smell coffee. NOT SMELL COFFEE!

Photo by Yongqing Bao.

I am writing a bit earlier today than usual, because I want to cook myself a nice dinner and relax tonight by watching recorded TV dramas.

Another drawing. Inspired by an image of a kite.

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

As long as it is not 666, I suppose, although no one can predict the future; we might get to Day Six Hundred and Sixty-Six and devil knows what it will unleash…

Tomorrow’s future is written in liquid. I have an idea that those not returning to work and/or not worried about their children returning to school will be on one single mission: booze! In all its manifestations… After reading a New York Times article about how a wine lover lost his ability to taste and smell after being infected with Covid-19, I am thinking that if we don’t go about alcohol shopping wisely in the next few days, we might not be able to enjoy the loot even if we do manage to bring it back home… Something to consider, me thinks. Food and drink remain two of the few simple pleasures that we can still delight in daily. But even a relatively mild Covid-19 infection can take away your sense of smell and taste and with them these basic quotidian joys.

NO, thank you.

My mission for tomorrow is a walk – during the day. Just like that! It is nearly unimaginable. Bliss awaits.

A rather quiet Sunday of work in the morning and the afternoon and laziness in the middle. A long Skype conversation with an Austrian friend in the evening. It reminded me of the Polish saying “Families are best in photographs.” Sometimes. Often. There are lovely exceptions, though.

The afternoon warmth and light were so soothing today that I decided to work on my laptop on the stoep. Mozart and I have developed a new routine: whenever I sit down at the table on the stoep in the late afternoons, he comes to join me and settles on my lap for a while before he ventures out into the garden again, back to his independent, elusive ways.

Usually, one or both of the Cat Ladies join(s) us on the stoep, but Mozart is the only one who wants to sit on my lap. But today, eventually, Glinka gave us this look…

…and I immediately wanted to grow another lap. Being a cat mother can be tricky. Thank goodness I don’t have to send any of them to school tomorrow… (and Glinka reclaimed my lap while I have been typing this post :)).

Lockdown level three is nearly upon us. But our local infection rates keep rising.

And the world across the ocean is burning with an ancient injustice, anger and heartache.

I often think of the title of the late Dr. Paul Kalanithi‘s memoir, When Air Becomes Breath. The ability, the right, the joy of air to become breath – that greatest of treasures – may it be granted to all of us, equally.

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

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

— NICD