Grey is the New Blond

I have never been captured by the value of visiting a grave-site or memorial garden. Very old ones can be charming or have historical interest, but I have never felt the presence of a loved one in such a place. In any case, today is not the day to visit a grave yard.

Even so, I did lose almost the whole of myself on this day 23 years ago with the sudden passing of my husband, Michael. It had been a summer and a day much like this, with not a cloud in the sky. Laura was visiting her cousin in Brisbane, and Amy and I had been shopping for new bed linen and refurbishing Laura’s bedroom ahead of her return. Michael had been back at work that day, and was planning a dawn round of golf with his office team the next morning. But there was no next morning. The three of us ate dinner together, settled down to watch television, and then it was all over. Not everyone has a warning heart attack. Sometimes they just die.

What followed was horror and numbness, hardwork and loneliness. For the girls, I can barely say. They continued on with school and friends but their lives were changed in ways that I can only guess at now. To be honest, we seldom talk about it. They prefer other less subjective confidantes, and I understand that.

It has occurred to me many times over the years that I never really paid tribute to Michael. The funeral and the period leading up to it was my worst nightmare. I did not want to reflect and socialise. I wanted to get it over and be left alone with the children. I did not speak at the funeral because I feared I could not. I arrived at the moment the service was due to start and left immediately afterwards without talking to anyone. Only back at home, where most mourners followed me, could I breath enough to make conversation. But by then the time for speeches was past.

And in the days and weeks that followed, while I sat surrounded by flowers (in vases, buckets, pots, jam jars, whatever) and sifted through a mountain of cards and letters, I could not find the power to respond. All I could bring myself to focus on was what I had to do next – find a job, sell the house, buy a home closer to town (12 acres at Whitford was no longer manageable), get the house and garden up to scratch for marketing, suspend mortgage repayments, find a job, find a job, find a job.

I was doing Michael, and the many others who also lost him, a disservice.

Not only did his loss leave me shaken and numb and joyless – it also impacted the lives of many other people. His daughters, it goes without saying. His widowed mother and his family, who relied on him for support in a variety of ways. His peers and professional friends who lost a colleague. His work team that he had lead into unprecedented new territories, and especially those he had cajoled and pushed to take on new challenges in education and management roles. My father, who cried for perhaps the first time in his adult life when Michael died. My wider family, who lost a brother-in-law and uncle that took up a big space at the heart of our family.

We all lost the generous, expansive, straight-shooting, relentless achiever who never said an unkind word about anyone, and whose mantra was, “Let’s do it.”

He is gone, long gone, but never forgotten.

It is impossible to forget the man who hid behind a pillar to leap out and invite you to the school ball, and who could finish every sentence for you as you could for him. Michael always got what he wanted because he simply went out and got it. Once upon a time he must have wanted me. I am so glad, and now I am so sad just remembering.

I went on to work in a top six law firm, become a partner in another firm, and I am still practising law. I hope he would have been proud. His daughters have grown up beautiful and clever and as determined as him. I know he would have been proud. He has the most wonderful grandson ever. He would have been over the moon!

We survived, moved on, and eventually thrived. I know he would be happy for us because he loved us.

RIP Michael – we love you still.

“Around and around and around and around we gooooooooooo….”

That is what Chuck Berry sang back in 1958, on the ‘B’ side of the vastly better single, Johnny B Goode. But it is what is stuck on the loop track in my head at the moment as we tumble head-first into a new year.

Last night we went out to a party at the home of my sister, Jacqui. It was a bit of a waifs and strays evening, since all the smart people are off on holiday somewhere that is not Auckland. Indeed, of the adults there (half the gathering was my niece’s friends – ‘young adults’ you might say) Johan and I were the only couple not planning to take off elsewhere in the next few days. The grownups, as I like to call us, consisted of five couples, all of whom were closer to the century than not, but that is detail enough.

It was a pleasant evening, notwithstanding that we largely stuck to our tribes. That is to say the junior contingent took over one half of the courtyard, hoarded their drinks in chilli bins, and treated us with exaggerated politeness when forced to pass through our territory. We elders were also divided into the women’s group (seated, gossiping) and the men’s group (standing, drink in one hand, the other in a pocket, and discussing we know not what). If you are from NZ and have ever been to a party, I am pretty sure you can picture it perfectly.

The meld comes of course when food is served. Everyone wants food, and will mix and mingle to some extent to get it. That is the part of the evening where I get to exchange vaguely professional gossip with the men. I don’t know what they talk to the other women about. Maybe they flirt. Last night one young lady, on her way up the professional ladder, was kind enough to engage a couple of us in conversation where we felt vaguely like we may have been passing on useful information. I am pretty sure that she was in fact smarter than the lawyer, merchant banker and financier put together, but it was kind of her to talk to us. And I will look her up when I finally get to build a kitchen up at Pohuehue.

Crowds like that tend to fade early. I was shocked to hear that some of the people I was with have been known to sleep through the witching hour on NYE. Not me. I have often seen the new year in alone, but I have never failed to see it in. Anyway, it was getting on, and as we are getting on too, we were looking forward to singing Auld Lang Syne and buggering off home to bed. But in fact, we barely noticed the clock ticking over for the drama in the bathroom. Yes, the bathroom.

One of our number had a call of nature a little before midnight. Perhaps she anticipated there might be dancing and thought an empty bladder was called for. In any event, having done the necessary, she discovered that she could not open the bathroom door from the inside. Mind you, this should not entirely have been a surprise since the kitchen designer had been temporarily trapped in the same room earlier, and there was a large notice on the door suggesting the use of one of the other two bathrooms in the house. Even so, she was trapped. The door could not be opened from the outside either, and the minutes to midnight were ticking away.

This damsel, being a competent mature woman, was not distressed. She called for a glass of wine and a screwdriver to be passed to her through the bathroom window. Fortunately on the ground floor, but with one of those opening limiters to foil burghlers, and middle-aged women trying to get out of the bathroom. She then spent the next 10 minutes, including the Auld Lang Syne moment, chipping the pins out of the door hinges, until the door could be removed in its entirety. The youngsters, stunned at her ability to solve her own problems, were lined up in a half circle to applaud her escape. Well done that woman! She emerged with a smile and got on with her glass of wine. I can think of worse ways to end one year and start another.

At midnight I texted “happy new year” to my girls, and added that I had a pavlova, berries and cream if one of them wanted to have lunch or dinner today. Turns out they do – dinner at my place apparently. I was hoping to lounge about sipping champagne in one or the other’s garden while the male folk cooked on the barbecue. I do not have a garden, only a little deck. Johan will have to go out there and barbecue, and I have had to clean the house, shop for and prepare food. Not quite what I had in mind, but still nice to celebrate with my family.

Happy new year one and all!

Oh, and the loop? Well the thing is, something pretty much like this happens every year. And on we go. A week or two of long days in and out of the sun, then back to work. Same old, same old. Maybe – if we are lucky.

What a year of joy and sorrow. Of pleasure and pain. Of fear and relief. Of coming to terms with life yet again.

In a couple of weeks we will celebrate my mother’s 90th birthday. Ninety years is a long time and worthy of commemoration. Who knows, she might make 100 at this rate? But that is next year.

In the meantime, as 2021 closes, we can have no certainty as to what the next decade will bring. I fear for myself as old age creeps up on me in a chaotic world, but I fear even more for the future of my children and grandchildren. I was a child in a world still profoundly affected by WWII and in the shadow of the Cold War, but with my fellow baby-boomers in the west I experienced a prolonged period of peace and prosperity. After the fall of the Berlin Wall and the parting of the bamboo curtain it was tempting to think that would last forever, or at least for our lifetimes.

That is not the case.

The signs were there all along. How many pandemic doco’s and dramas did you actually watch before we had a pandemic? How badly did Putin have to threaten before we believed he might act? And what was Tianamen Square and the upturn of all that Hong Kong represented if not a warning that China was just biding its time? Not to mention Rachel Carsen’s “Silent Spring” and the countless warnings we have had about the state of the planet. And should not Reagan, Thatcher, the Bush father and son, and their followers here and elsewhere have alerted the liberal west that its days were numbered?

When I was a child I thought the world might end in a nuclear holocaust. It still might. But what is apparently more likely is that it will drag on in an ever descending pattern of deprivation and misery unless we wake up and make some drastic changes.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light. It seems the world will end not with a bang but a whimper.

It also seems this piece has gotten away from me. I had meant to focus on the personal, not the global. You will think me alarmist, possibly insane, and grandiose. But ask me if the above is what I really think, and I will answer, “yes”. It is what I fear and yet it is my optimism that prevails. Perhaps we will repent, reform, re-group – and survive for another decade or century or millennium. Who knows? Not me – I probably will not be around to see it. Not God – he/she/or it does not exist. Not our leaders and politicians. Not scientists, who can only predict based on what has gone before. And not our children, although they might yet be able to save us.

So to the personal. I have always been attracted to that variously attributed and expressed piece of wisdom – “Life is shit, and then we die.” It keeps me grounded when things go wrong, but does not prevent me celebrating what goes right.

This second year of COVID has been so much harder than the first. This time last year in NZ we were celebrating our freedoms and giving thanks to be living here. Now, thanks to Delta and Omicron, we know better. Life has been changed forever and people have changed too. They might not realise it yet, but our innocence and wilful ignorance can never be restored. We are better or worse people for it, but no one can not have changed. Never again can we assume bad things only happen to other people who live somewhere else. We are part of a global community and we are all in this together. When a river delta dries up in south east Asia or 800,000+ people die of COVID in the USA, we are all affected.

My year has been like that of so many others I suspect. Two lockdowns this year, coming on top of 2020, has severely damaged my will to travel or socialise. There is something so temptingly relaxing about not being able to go out for anything but exercise and groceries. I have not had to feel bad about not inviting people to dinner, cooking for crowds, going to events or movies, or getting up early in the morning. Seasons and days have rolled unthreateningly into each other, and the introvert in me has not complained.

Even so, things have happened over this last year. Good and bad.

My children have made life changes. A new home for one, and all the stress and joy that brings. My grandson, unleashed into his own copious space for the first time, has grown in stature and boldness. Like a seedling planted in fertile soil, he has flourished. For the other an evolving relationship has brought new challenges and personal growth. We end the year in good form I think, as a family.

For Johan there has been a frightening health scare with ongoing consequences. A bout of vertigo, probably caused by a virus, saw him rushed to hospital in the middle of the night a week into the Level 4 lockdown. The vertigo ended after a scary couple of days, but he is permanently deaf in one ear, with consequences for his balance (improving) and spatial awareness. Partial deafness, it turns out, is more than just annoying. It is a serious disability.

On the positive site, an annoying gastric issue has proved not to be a return of colon cancer (he wanted to retain what is left of that organ) and seems likely to need to be managed through diet. Not an easy solution, but better than the alternative.

For myself, being in lockdown did not send me into an orgy of walking or cycling, or indeed any form of exercise. Quite the reverse. As a consequence I am feeling my years more than I should, and will need to mend my ways in the new year. Johan has bought a brand new, super-flash e-bike and is enthusiastically cycling around town. I have walked to the bus stop and caught the bus to work twice. Perhaps I can improve on that.

I started the year as a partner in a law firm with no firm idea of what I wanted to do other than an awareness change was needed. After some thought I retired from the partnership intending to stay on as a consultant. But such things can take unaccountable turns, and this one did. So I have a new start as special counsel in a new firm, and retirement has receded into the distance for now. It was perhaps the most tumultuous event of my professional life and left me adrift in the middle of winter even before lockdown cut off our oxygen. I have learnt …… I don’t really know what I have learnt!

I am dispensable, but I am valuable. I am liked, but I am not trusted. People are fearful, suspicious. People are willing to take risks, appreciative of skills. I am right, I am wrong – I have to listen to and trust my own inner voice.

Anyway, we move on.

Perhaps I end this year more aware of my scars than usual. But scar tissue is strong and I have a lot to be grateful for. My friends, some of whom are beginning to face their own health issues. The continuing tenacity of my mother in the face of extreme old age. My family, including my grandson who transfixes me with wonder and joy every time I see him. The little dog who shares my apartment and despite my lack of pet connection follows me everywhere I go, even to the toilet. And Johan, who senses my every mood, backs off when he needs to, and supports me as if I were a world champion.

Will I make new year resolutions? Perhaps. Or maybe just stick to the one enduring principle that has always carried me through life. “Do unto others as you would have others do unto you.” I do not always serve it faithfully, but I believe it is all I really need so I do my best.

Oh dear, the optimism is creeping in again. Here we go 2022 – hoping and trying for the best.

Living with the Dutchman brings me into contact with a lot of Dutch cuisine, not all of it wonderful. There is also quite a lot of wistful remembrance and licking of lips at the thought of long-lost favourite foods. Not to mention those associated with particular Dutch holidays and festivals.

Strangely enough, apart from my Dutch neighbours Terry (a trained chef) and Tina (a capable woman), no one seems able or willing to produce any of this food on feast days. This is a bit of a shame since the baked goods at least are quite nice. One of the first, indeed one of the only Dutch words I know is, “lekker”. What Johan offers instead is the mass manufactured version of baking, which comes from the Dutch shop at Henderson or the one at Orewa. The ladies there know Johan by name, and have his repeat orders recorded in a little notebook.

But now I am ahead of the game. I have discovered and joined a FaceBook group called Dutch Recipes in English. Those of Dutch descent living in the USA, Canada, Australia, and even NZ, nostalgic for half-remembered tastes of home, ask for the obscure recipes their grandmothers used to make. Never mind that many of these recipes date from the famine of WWII or its aftermath and feature the most basic of ingredients. Or that others of more fulsome flavour are stolen from far flung former Dutch colonies. If you ask for it – even if you cannot remember or properly spell the name – someone will provide the recipe.

Now I am fully armed. I refuse to cook the sausage and mash-ups, or the dishes that feature canned kale or brown beans, but I can bake. I have been baking since I was a toddler when my grandmother set me up on the kitchen bench and taught me to cream butter and sugar by hand.

Case in point. See the photo. Perfect fresh krentenbollen. Johan ate two with his lunch and admitted they were the real thing.

Challenge on!

I have had so many of my friends comment on the havoc COVID lockdown is having on their grooming routines. Some are happy with the situation. Those are the ones for whom lipstick is a pain in the proverbial. And I get that, I do. You have to be colour confident and take the time to apply in a manner that will ensure it stays on your lips and not elsewhere. Many do not care for the look anyway, so an excuse not to bother is welcome.

But – and readers should know this by now – I am not one of those people.

Today I had occasion to take stock of my grooming. The law firm I start with on Monday wanted a full body shot that they could adapt for their website. Since I am forced to start work from home as an Auckland captive, I had to supply my own photograph. Unsurprisingly none of my casual shots would do, and I had to don professional attire and put my friendly home photographer to work.

Well – how long is it since you wore a dress or a skirt? I mostly wear trousers in the office, but they will not do for a marketing shot. My legs are pastie white and unwaxed. I chose a longish dress. A bright colour for impact, but toned down with a navy blazer. I felt like a fraud. Then I squeezed my feet into court shoes. My feet have been treated to nothing but slippers and sneakers for months. They immediately protested.

I could not do the dress up. Not because it was too tight, but because I have forgotten how to contort myself to pull up a centre back zipper. That is to say, I am now unable to dress myself without assistance.

But getting dressed was the easy part. Make-up was not a problem. I wear make-up every day, even if I never leave the house. It makes me feel better to look good, or at least presentable. Choosing a bright red lipstick in place of the usual subdued tones gave my face a bit of a shock. But the real problem was hair.

The hair on my head has not been cut for over three months. It is long and lank and shapeless, and there is little I can do about it. At least it was freshly washed. The hair of my eyebrows is even more of a problem. Did you know how important is the manner in which your eyebrows frame your face? My eyebrows do not so much frame my face as threaten to take it over. And worse, they are going rapidly grey! Acceptable on my head but not on my face. Then there is the fact that since I now wear glasses full-time I have given up my life-time mascara addition to avoid permanently grubby lenses. But I compensate by getting my eye lashes dyed, and of course that has not happened either.

Ruby Wax I never realised how important you were to me!

Johan was busy and I was not in the mood, so we scrambled through the compulsory photo shoot and hoped for the best. I am sending this photo off to a marketing women who has never met me, and who will on the basis of my current state probably wonder why they are hiring me at all. Hopefully she will apply PhotoShop, but unfortunately when I go out the door it is just me people see.

I don’t have a garden. We live in an apartment with a 8 sq m covered deck. There are a few pots containing a lemon and a lime tree, various herbs, a geranium, and a jade tree. But they are all lovingly tended and critical to the enjoyment of our outdoor view (of the identical apartments on the other side of the lane) and space.

As an aside, I should tell you that there is no possibility of using planters to screen out the neighbours. Some have tried and others are still trying, but it is a waste of time. You may somewhat block the people exactly opposite, but there are others who can look down on you, or on almost any other angle that is not a direct line of sight. A former penthouse resident – actually the developer of the complex – tried, but the trees got so heavy they had to be removed.

Providing a screen is not the point. I just like plants and have periodic bouts of liking the actual gardening. Now is such a time. Perhaps I can smell spring in the air. Not only do I want to plant outdoors, I also want to give my single indoor plant some company. I have potting mix. I have containers to plant in. I bet you can guess the problem. I do not have plants. Level 4 has created a frustrated gardener who lacks impulse control. That is to say, when it occurs to me that I want to do something, I want to do it now. Planning and waiting, ordering plants on line, does not cut it for me.

It is not like I am fussy about what I plant. While I draw the line at transcantia and ivy, I will give almost anything else a go. If its green and you do it right, you can produce something useful or beautiful or both. So what do I have going on at present? Well, when all the useful bits of those supermarket pots of herbs are used up, I trim them up and replant. Many succumb to the shock of the outdoors, but others survive. My avocado pits can be saved an planted. While not sure I have the space for an avocado tree, they make a nice little shrub. Rotting tomatoes can simply be left lying in an already planted pot and many little seedlings will sprout.

However, resources are short at present, and I have reverted to a childhood habit. Stealing cuttings.

Lockdown walks provide the perfect opportunity, but you have to be careful as there are many other walkers about watching for foul play. I do not actually desecrate other peoples gardens, but there are wild seedlings that sprout between footpath and fence, neglected commercial gardens, and those of clubs that planted 50 + years ago and have not done a lick of gardening since. Because I am semi-honest, the pickings are slight at present. So far I have scored some rosemary, bits of calendula, a small seedling tree of unknown origin, and a bit of a grape vine that grows over a backyard fence into the pedestrian walkway down the road. There is only a small chance that any of this may take root, but it is worth a try. I am considering varying my route to get more opportunities, but Grey Lynn folks are notoriously righteous and I am afraid to be caught pilfering.

My other bug-bear at present is time management. There is no shortage of things for me to do, but unfortunately the more appealing things cannot be done without leaving the house. Level 4 has caught me out. Ok, ok, me and everybody else! My particular frustration is circumstantial. Since mid to late July I have theoretically had time to spare. But bearing in mind there are two of us to cater for, it actually panned out something like this: a couple of weeks working from home while Johan was not; a couple of weeks on leave while Johan was working; two days where Johan and I were both on leave, one of which involved going to a funeral out of town; a couple of weeks both of us on leave in lockdown; the last couple of days on leave in lockdown with Johan in hospital. Two more weeks minimum of Auckland in Level 4 lockdown. Predicted, another couple of weeks in lockdown Level 3.5 to 3. Start work again. Probably just as well after all this COVID schmozzle . Let’s hope I don’t have to my new job from home at the get go.

As to the medical drama of the week, I am pleased to report that Johan is feeling somewhat better. In fact he would like to come home but is not allowed. The doctors cannot yet determine the cause of his vertigo so are keeping him in for a MRI and examination by the ear/nose/throat specialist. Fingers crossed he will be home in a day or so.

When Johan went to bed at close to midnight on Monday night he was not happy. A few hours earlier he had complained of ringing in his ears, and then he had suddenly lost all hearing in his right ear. Google had suggested he had SHL – sudden hearing loss and that he should get it checked out as soon as possible. Not so much a diagnosis as a description of his symptoms. Well close to midnight in Level 4 lockdown is not possible, so we agreed to take him to the doctor or A&E if necessary in the morning.

Sometime, while I was sounding sleeping, Johan got up and went to the bathroom. When he went to stand up he could not. I was woken by him calling out, “Linda, I’m sick”. Instantly awake and breathless, I found him lying face-down on the floor. Any movement was next to impossible, and caused him to throw up. I cannot lift a 100 kg man from a prone position on the floor, and he was not willing to let me try. Nor would he accept staying on the spot with a pillow under his head. Instead he hauled himself along the floor to the bedroom in the hope of being able to climb into bed.

No hope, actually. He made it to the foot of the bed while I dialled 111. Not the first time I have done this. The operator was calm. “What is the address? Who is the patient? What happened? Is he breathing normally? Is he conscious? Is his colour normal? How old is he? Does he have any COVID symptoms? Have a mask on for when responders arrive.” The ambulance was on its way and I was to ring back if his condition changed. Blanket over him, tissues and bowl for vomit. No pillow because he would have had to lift his head.

Throw some clothes on quickly. Wriggle him into some pyjama pants at his insistence. Shut Kali in another room.

I am trying not to panic. Assuming it is some form of vertigo and not a heart attack or stroke. Mercifully the ambulance arrives in minutes but I have put my phone down and cannot find it to take the call. It stops ringing and I have to find the phone and call back to let them know I am on my way down to let them into the apartment block. They have been to the Isaac a few times before. We have quite a few elderly people and shit happens.

Johan is wedged between the bed and an armchair in the corner of the bedroom. Any attempt to move him causes extreme distress and nausea. No, he cannot sit up. At his suggestion we put on the mask he sometimes uses to treat an eye condition and this helps since it blocks the light and mitigates the effect of movement on his eyesight. They run through the basic checks and confirm his vital signs are strong. It does not look like a heart attack, although it is possible that a brain bleed has caused the loss of hearing and dizziness. It is unlikely but possible, and in any event he needs to go to hospital. But to go to hospital he first has to sit up so they can put him in a wheelchair and then onto a bed. This is not easy. They can no more lift him from his position on the floor than I could, and for him sitting up is excruciating. But they get it done as I throw some clothes and his Birkenstocks into a bag with his phone and glasses.

Can I go in the ambulance with him to Auckland Hospital? No, of course not. We are in Level 4 lockdown. I leave the pile of jacket, glasses, phone and face masks I have gathered for myself and follow them down to the ambulance at the front steps. He is cold as the night air hits, and it takes a few minutes to get him into the ambulance. First he has to stand, take a step forward, then turn and sit on the stretcher before he can lie down. All this he manages, but his world is spinning out of control and the effort has him retching into the bag they have provided. In the ambulance they put a line into his arm and check his vital signs again. There is the sound of a police siren in the distance. Otherwise all is quiet, although at least one of our neighbours has a light on. We did not wake him. It has been on all night.

I rub Johan’s feet. It is the only bits of him I can reach. Now I have a mask on, and my own slight anxiety attack is easing as I breath in my own carbon dioxide. Who knew wearing a mask had this positive side effect? But they are going to drive off any minute and leave me standing there. The ambulance officer asks, “Are you listed as the first contact on his medical records?” I don’t know. I tell them I am not his wife as they have been assuming up until now, and he takes my contact details. “Ring the hospital in an hour. Go and have a cup of tea,” he tells me. Then they go. It is 4 am.

I go back upstairs. Let Kali out of the office. Clean up a bit. Take off the mask and immediately start breathing hard again. At least an hour to wait. I lie on my back on the bed and force myself to wait until 4.55 am. Then I get up, have a quick shower, dress again in a more considered manner. At 5.15 am I ring the hospital. They put me through to ER. The phone goes to the Registrar who has a message telling me not to leave a message but to ring back in five minutes. I hold off for twenty. Then I ring again. Same inquiry, but ask them to put me through to ER straight – off. They connect me to the receptionist in AED who transfers me to the nurses station where the phone rings and rings. I think about hanging up, but I have been in ER in the middle of the night. If you wait long enough a passing nurse will answer the phone. I wait nearly four minutes, but I do get a pick up. The doctor is seeing Johan now. No, she cannot tell me anything else. No, it is unlikely anyone will ring to tell me anything unless he becomes dangerously ill.

There is nothing to do but wait and ring later. At 6 am I try texting Johan. At 6:40 am I try ringing him. Nothing.

What am I doing to stay sane? Writing this down and waiting till it is a respectable hour to ring his family. Seven o’clock. Ring Barbra. She is calm but concerned, and agrees to ring the family at Matakana for me. What next? Take Kali out for a pee.

Ring hospital again at 7:30 am. I know better than to ring during the 7 am shift change. They have taken Johan off for a CT scan, and will probably discharge him today if all clear. I can glean nothing else, except that I can inquire again in another two hours. Phone Jo to advise her she will need to cover for Johan today and probably a few days more. Text Barbra to let her know what I have learnt. Text BurgOvan Clan to let them know what is happening.

Maybe I could sleep for an hour or so? With the phone in my hand. Try Johan’s phone again first. No answer so I leave another text.

Attempt at sleep does not work out so well. Family message group seemed to have missed the text saying I would try and sleep for an hour. They text individual support messages at 5 minute intervals. Jo rings with offer to walk Kali. No text or call can be ignored in case it is from the hospital. Still, I do lie in bed for an hour.

At 9:37 am ring the hospital again. Routine is familiar now. First patient inquiries puts me through to AED (accident & emergency dept?), then AED reception puts me through to nurse’s station where it rings and rings and rings until someone answers if I am lucky. At each stage I have to spell – J O H A N R I J N B E N D E – no, not Joanne, YO HAN. Yes, with a J. The CT scan results are not there yet. There is nothing else to tell me. NO, I AM NOT PERMITTED TO COME IN. I can ring back in another 2 – 3 hours by which time they should have the results.

Agonising.

What to do now? You know what. Petrol stations are open. I am going to put petrol in my car. The tank is less than 1/4 full. This is an emergency. I need petrol!

Minor disaster at petrol pump. It was not pumping. I pulled it out to find out what was wrong. It started pumping all over my trousers, jacket and shoes. Then the car swallowed $130 + worth of petrol. The girl at the night pay window was not the least bit interested in the forecourt spill. All she wanted to know was if I had FlyBuys. Drive home with window down so as not to suffocate, change clothes, throw everything in the wash. Now the whole apartment smells of petrol. As I say, a minor disaster.

Still too early to phone hospital again, so I vacuum, attend to emails, whatever to keep me from climbing the walls. And I take Kali for another walk.

At 11:55 am I ring the hospital again. It takes more than six minutes but I eventually talk to the nurse who is looking after him. This time I beg for real information. The doctors have yet to review the CT scan. But Johan is still feeling dizzy and nauseous and incapable of moving without distress. He been given medication, but needs to stay put until he is feeling better. His phone is out of reach and the nurse has heard it ringing. He promises to give it to him when he wakes up. That might be sometime given Johan’s ability to sleep, and the fact that he will be disinclined to wake up to the way he is feeling right now.

There is literally nothing to be done. Johan is still in AED and I just have to wait and see. Hopefully I will get to have a word with him before the day is out. I send out my updated texts and take a call from my sister. She suggests therapeutic baking for his return home. I put the twice washed load of washing in the dryer still stinking of petrol and start heating up soup from the freezer for lunch.

First Amy rings, then in the middle of the call Johan. I quickly switch over and put him on video so I can see how he looks. He is still attached to the eye mask from home, so looks a bit like a pirate. Other than that, and the fact that he keeps his eyes shut so as not to get dizzy, he does not look too bad. But he still cannot move without feeling sick and is definitely not well enough to go anywhere yet. He quickly confirms that the scan was clear and it is an inner ear issue. So he is quite distressingly unwell, but it is not life threatening. I am very happy. He is less so for the moment, which is not surprising. The nurse in the background confirms the ‘no visitor’ rule, and we discuss how to deliver essentials like phone charger and tooth brush Even that is not easy in lockdown and the logistics seem daunting until I remember good neighbour Terry is working at the hospital tonight and has offered to check in on Johan. But using the phone is a drain on Johan’s capacity and we have a relatively short call.

So all is about as well can be in the circumstances. Not good but apparently under control. Kali and I will have to care for each other tonight, while others care for Johan. I can relax a little. Breathe normally. Spread the news. And hope for a good night’s sleep. The next few days could be challenging.

Hi. My name is Kali, and since it is pretty quiet around here at the moment, I thought I would tell you something about myself.

As you can see, I am a border terrier bitch. I will not bother to tell you about my family, because I do not know a lot about them. To be honest I do not think I ever met my father, and I left home so early that my mother and siblings are no more than a distant memory. What I do know is that my family lineage is impeccable, and I have the My Ancestry papers to prove that no interloper ever besmirched the purity of my breeding. I am afraid that I have very little regard for lesser breeds, although I concede that they may have attributes of value in certain circumstances.

I live in an apartment in the city with my human. He has been with me since I left my family, and he is in every respect more useful and obedient than they ever were. For the first year of my life we lived in a cottage on a bush block high up on a hill. This experience was good for me I think, as I learned about other creatures who live outdoors, and thus to appreciate the fine life I live by comparison. I also developed my athletic prowess by training in bush and long grass, up and down steep slopes, and in all types of weather. I learned never to be separated from my ball, and how to retrieve it from the most difficult places.

As a consequence I am sleek and fit, and can out run almost any other creature I have ever encountered. Only birds and rabbits seem able to evade me. The one has the ability to lift themselves out of my reach, and the other to disappear straight into the ground. I tried disappearing into the ground once, but I got stuck in a drain pipe for quite a while, and had to wait till my human came and rescued me. I am disinclined to repeat the experiment.

Anyway, I am very happy to have become a townie, although I still enjoy my visits to the bush block to check that everything is under control and to fine tune my fitness on the hilly bits. In the apartment block I much prefer to take the lift, but occasionally I have to take my human up the stairs to ensure he does not become so unfit as to become a burden to me. I also take him out several times a day to walk and throw the ball for me, but I notice he never runs after it himself. Even so, he is reasonably mobile for his age, and I do not foresee the need to replace him anytime soon.

There is another human in my apartment. Although she can be relied upon to keep my water bowl clean and topped up, and will respond to basic demands such as “open the door so I can lie in the sun on the deck”, she is quite frankly more of a nuisance than anything else. She gets in my way all the time, has been known to accidentally step on me, needs to be accompanied every time she uses the bathroom, and demands time and attention from my human. I would get rid of her, but he seems to like her so I can put up with it I suppose. Although the situation on the sofa at night when we are watching television is getting out of hand, and I may have to relegate her to the chair in the corner soon.

I have lots of human friends in the apartment block, but I do not like any of the dogs that own them. In fact I prefer the humans that have yet to be adopted by a dog, because they are the most appreciative of my company and responsive to my needs. At the moment I am missing my friends because they are not around and about as normal. We are not even going out in the car, which I love. I am sacrificing my social life to protect my humans because it seems they are uniquely vulnerable to a disease that is circulating in the community at present. I do not understand why they are not all vacinated like me with a card from the vet to prove it, but it seems they are slowly getting this sorted. The sooner the better, I say.

It is really very inconvenient not to be able to go out visiting. I particularly like to go and spend time with my cousins Luna and Gypsy, who live on a farm block at Matakana with their own humans. Quite frankly, I can take or leave Gypsy, and I do not like the other dogs that come to the house. But Luna and I are best friends. She is a bit bigger than me, but I can easily best her in a play fight unless she sits on me. That is the only way she gets the advantage. Sometimes I stay there for a few days and let the humans there look after me for a while. They do a good job, but I am always pleased when my human arrives to chauffeur me back to the city and my own bed.

I have a number of beds because you never know where I might want to take a nap. There is a bed on the apartment deck in the sun, a bed in the car, a bed in the cottage on the bush block, and the bed I sleep in at night. Of course that one is in the main room of the apartment. The one with all the couches, mats and rugs, and the big window onto the deck. The humans have a bed in a smaller room, that I sometimes sleep in when my human seems lonely or it is very cold. The other one does not seem to appreciate this as much, but I really do not care what she thinks. I look after those who look after me, and it seems to work pretty well.

I am also missing my visits with the small human who turned up a few years ago and who has the ability to make both my humans very happy. At first I did not know what to make of him, and could not understand why he got such a lot of attention. But now we are friends – he is always begging me for kisses – and I am training him to throw my ball. Perhaps he could take over that role one day, because he is getting bigger and stronger, while my human is slowing down a bit. He lives in a big house not too far away with a couple of bigger humans, but none of them have been adopted by a dog yet. There is a very stroppy and unpleasant cat that keeps them in check for now, but naturally I dismiss him the moment I arrive.

Anyway, the sun is out and it is time for me to go and nap on the deck. Perhaps I will tell you more another time. Bye for now – Kali.

Earlier today we dropped our bubble partner off at the airport. She has an exemption to travel and within a couple of days will be able to get takeaways in L3 NZ outside the Gulag. After waiting around in carpark W (free for 30 minutes) to see that her paperwork got her through the gate, we drove off just a little enviously. The trip home through the tunnel was perhaps the most relaxed drive I have ever had with Johan. There were no other cars on the road for him to compete with.

Otherwise, today has been quiet, and it seems each new day is quieter than the day that proceeded it. That is not necessarily a bad thing. Perhaps it is even good for the soul.

Of course, as a social worker pointed out yesterday, I can only say that because I live in a safe warm house with nice food. Unlike the homeless man with the sign at the lights this morning. I fished around in my generally cash-free hand bag and found a lone $5 note, signalled him back to our car, and made a contactless handover through the window. He was very nice. Said he was getting his second COVID shot in a couple of days, and would then carry a sign confirming he was “sanitised”. In the meantime, despite wearing a mask, he was not having much luck with the handouts. I hope he has somewhere warm to sleep tonight.

Outside is grey and overcast, and the wind is cutting. It is kept at bay by heat pumps, a clean dry air reticulation system, and double-glazing. The pantry is full, including all the staples in short supply. If we run out, Johan plays the Goldcard that allows him to skip the supermarket queue. Of course this is not entirely without risk, since both our local supermarkets have been closed intermittently the last few days following positive contacts. But he wears a mask, sanitises the trolley handles, and follows the social distancing rules. I try to persuade him that we should consume the store cupboard, but his creative cooking jag sends him out over and over again in search of missing ingredients. Like all male home cooks, he cannot conceive of making substitutions in a recipe. If it says “kale” or “passata”, then kale or passata it must be. Spinach or tomato concentrate will not do. Bacon cannot take the place of pancetta. Right now he is out buying proper beef stock because the powdered chicken stock in the cupboard is not good enough.

Yes, I am in lockdown with a man who has recently discovered cooking. A couple of months of preparing the evening Woop meals has taught him new skills and he is determined to use them. Not that I am complaining. His cooking is really getting very good. Because he follows the instructions minutely, the results are more polished than my haphazard creations, and I am more than ready to abandon the evening meal preparation to him. Of course he does not do roast dinners, and has yet to tackle desserts beyond yoghurt topped with canned cream and spray on chocolate mousse – he bought them when I was not looking. Nor does he bake. But I have a leg of lamb thawing for the weekend, and for the rest I am content to sit back and consume.

I am still the one who cleans up. The kitchen after Johan cooks. The bathrooms. The picking up and tidying. The floors. The washing and drying and ironing and putting away. I make the soups and croutons, the scrambled eggs, the toasted sandwiches, and whatever else we have for lunch. Somehow these mundane tasks are more frequent and take more time at the moment. I could tackle spring cleaning, but somehow I do not. Nor have I done my last year’s taxes, sorted my online files and contacts, or made the many phone calls that I promised myself I would do.

I have walked a bit, but not every day. I have written a bit – you are reading some of it. I speak to my mother most days. I am knitting up random yarn ends into yet another scarf, which will be far too warm to be worn anytime this year here in NZ. And we are not going anywhere else, are we! There is a lot of screen time. FaceBook, email, YouTube, news services in an endless loop. Plus LinkedIn, which for the first time ever I am sort of following instead of just adding contacts. At night (never ever during the daytime) there is television. We have Neon and Netflix and tend to get hooked on whatever friends or family recommend.

Bedtimes are early. Getting up is late. I am waiting for the days to become longer so that I wake up with the light at a respectable hour.

Mornings go fast. Afternoons drift by. I have just taken a break to greet Johan’s return from the supermarket. You will recall he went out for beef stock. Now he is back with stock, extra vegetables, fresh herbs etc, etc. He has been to Countdown, Farros, and the local dairy. Look what else he bought below.

Yes, I am lucky I live in a safe warm house with nice food, and a nice person to share it with. All the best fellow detainees.

Here we go …

6:00 am

Wake up with full bladder. Toilet without opening eyes. Back to sleep. Why wouldn’t I? Nothing much to do if I get up.

7:00 am

Read Herald online while I wait for Johan to wake up. COVID news not good. Young people are not immune after all. Check to see that we have narrowly missed all the places of interest listed so far, even though some are local and others we visit occasionally.

7:30 am

I need someone to talk to so wriggle around a lot till Johan wakes up. Leisure activities in bed.

8:15 am

Have our ‘no breakfast’ breakfast. This involves me drinking 1/2 litre of water and Johan a pot of fresh herbal tea – slice of lemon, fresh sliced root ginger, and mint picked from pot on balcony. Takes a very long time on a day with no work or commitments because I have to finish reading the news, Johan has to watch the Dutch news, we check emails, FaceBook, surf YouTube – you get the picture.

9:45 am

Shower, wash hair, dress and make the bed.

10:30 am

Time to do something useful. Put washing on. I make a few phone phone calls. Mum is bored, but has broken up the previous day with a socially distanced, masked, BYO event in neighbour’s garage at retirement village. Only half her online grocery order has arrived and she wants my sister, who does the ordering, to sort it out. Fat chance, with Countdown overwhelmed. Much easier to go to the dairy and deliver missing items to gate for the village staff to drop off at Mum;s door. We chat about being in lockdown, and wish each other well.

10:45 am

Put on make-up. It does not pay to let standards slip.

11:00 am

Go out for a walk. Problem – my ears are overburdened. Hearing aids, glasses and face mask too much to cope with. I discard hearing aids. A quiet walk is all I need. After 5 minutes of walking in a fog I discard glasses too. I had forgotten that a de-mistifier is required when wearing glasses and a mask. Lipstick is smeared all over the inside of the mask.

I do not go far. Along Great North Road, through Grey Lynn shops (2 chemists, 3 dairies, a liquor store, a whole food store, and the laundromat open), past the car dealers and new apartment blocks as far as the last set of lights before Ponsonby Road and back. I run into two neighbours, one fully masked and the other not at all. Brief chats then home. In the meantime Johan has walked 11 km with Tina, from home into city and back up hill and down dale including Jacob’s Ladder and tortuous steps at Cox’s Bay. Mind you, he is buggered for the rest of the day.

Nothing to report from that little excursion. Road traffic light. Plenty of buses all empty. Runners many. Walkers not so many. Cyclists everywhere and often on footpath and pedestrian crossings. Families on bikes terrorise pedestrians like me by encouraging seemingly blind children to ride in areas designed for people to walk. Masks a plenty on both young and old. But none on the parents I saw with young children. Maybe this is a Grey Lynn thing? I shudder to think that I live in a suburb of anti-vaxers and mask avoiders, but it would not surprise me.

12:00 noon

Prepare lunch. Cheese and onion toasted sandwiches made with Vogel’s bread (of course) in the fry pan. Followed by lovingly peeled and sliced golden kiwifruit courtesy of Johan. Lunch also involved quite a bit of screen time – emails, Face Book etc. Not sure where the time went.

2:00 pm

Tidy up lunch stuff. Do dishes. Make crostini to store for future lunches. These are super useful and good. Cut a french stick into slices (you will get A LOT). Layer on baking paper on an oven tray, drizzle liberally with olive oil. Grind over quite a lot of rock salt. Bake in oven at 150 degC for 30 minutes till golden brown. Let cool and top with whatever you fancy. They will keep forever in an airtight container. Vacuumed (third time this week but Tina in bubble with us and coming to dinner) while they were cooking.

2:35 pm

Johan back from quick trip to supermarkets. You read that right. He went to three. No queues to speak of but not much of anything else either. He bought me a packet of Edmonds Soft White Bread Mix because there was none of the flour I had asked for. Just as well I bought an eight-pack of long roll toilet paper last week because all official declarations to the contrary, there was none of that either. Local supermarket in Richmond Road closed off with orange cones just as Johan arrived. Deep clean required after infected person reported. Decided to record my activities for the day. Sat down at computer and began writing.

3:15 pm

Practise on DuoLingo. I have been getting lazy lately and it shows in the number of mistakes I make.

3:42 pm

Time for a break and a sugar-free V. The man in the convenience store across the lane from my office must think I have given the stuff up! Chat to my sister on the phone. One niece was caught on holiday in Queenstown, but safely back in Auckland now. The other at a nightclub at the wrong time, queued four hours for a COVID test but in the clear.

I spend a lot of time doing jigsaws on-line, surfing the net, checking sites of interest, blah, blah. I could do more useful things but somehow I don’t.

4.15 pm

Johan has ordered Rummikub online and it arrives this afternoon. Teaches me to play and beats me royally. Later he and Tina both beat me royally.

5.30 pm

Johan is cooking a Woop meal. In half and hour or so we will eat dinner and listen to the news. COVID and Afghanistan, Afghanistan and COVID. The Olympics and our competitors are old news, and the para-Olympians will not now get a look in.

7:00 pm

Parked in front of tv. The only relief between now and bedtime is getting up to do the dishes and restore the kitchen to order. That, and getting washing out of drier to fold and put away.

10:30 pm

I am in bed. Johan has to walk the dog, undertake mysterious and protracted bathroom rituals and shower before getting to bed an hour later. But then we both fall asleep instantly, just as if we had actually done something during the course of the day.

Tomorrow I really will do something useful …. maybe.