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.
