and we change houses...

Day 64
Sunday, May 10
Mother’s Day.

I’m revving up to talk about Michael Gow’s wonderful play, Away, for this morning’s Smart Arts. I’ve rounded up quite a bit of meaty content for Steve and my critics’ corner of the show.
The doorbell rings. And there are both my darling sons with flowers. Big gorgeous chrysanthemums, the classic Mums Day flower and all I ever want for Mum’s Day. I don’t like it being a heavily commercialised consumer day but I do love the tradition of flowers and, of course, I love, love, love flowers.
R is wearing his face mask. Covered against covid.
It is pure chance they have arrived simultaneously but just lovely. I take a photo and miss hugging them.
Oddly, I somehow curtail my sterilising precautions when bringing them inside.
In a hurry to be ready for the radio. Have to do checks with the producer on the phone app. Sometimes it is problematic. It seems to be working well.
But B is not. I am all set up with laptop, phone, notes and a cup of tea and he wants me to leave the bedroom so he can listen on the radio. He can only hear half the show if I am beside him. I say I am all set up and don’t want to move, would he., He says no. It becomes bitter. I move my set-up into the living room and the day is damaged. Somehow it is all my fault. Spite shafts the air.
The show goes well, although my sound cuts out and I am deeply disconcerted wondering where the odd wee distant sound is coming from, wondering whether to say something or just keep talking. I do the latter and then, after a while the sound resumes its normal volume.
I remain in the living room by the fire busy with writing and reading.
Late in the day he comes and asks if we are going for a walk. I am still damaged by things he has said but I am trapped with him in iso and must keep coping so I bury the hatchet. And we walk. It has rained. The day is cool and the air fresh.
Usual evening ritual. Phone with M for long chat. G&T..

Day 65
Monday, May 11

B’s phone pings at 4.30am. We bolt out of sleep. It is a message from his ex announcing there will be a birthday Zoom for his grandson Archer’s second birthday. We already knew this. Of course, sleep is impossible to recover so we are in good time for an 8.30am Zoom, all showered and breakfasted. And there was the American family in gallery layout, Cathy and the kids, Izabel, Grayson and wee Archer. Very dark and ill-focused, B’s ex, Ellen who is hosting the Zoom. They autistic son Robert it perfectly lit and focused and seems to be really happy at the whole Zoom event. Not so the other American grandparents, each in their screen box, each looking surly and unwilling to be there. Also, Ellen’s brother, Tom, whom I have never seen before. Father Dan does not appear. Cathy brings in the cake and puts it in front of the kids and we all sang Happy Birthday. It is a fabulous icecream cake insofar as it is a marble sponge with an icecream come suspended over it and dripping melting icecream in the form of icing all over the cake. Fabulous. Cathy is amazingly talented with cakes, among other things. Iz and Archer eat some cake self-consciously and Grayson is taken and given some other treat by his father. And we all say goodbye.

I’m putting the recycle bottles out for Sam to collect when a wonderful man, Maggie Beer’s son-in-law, the brilliant distiller of Durand at Maggie’s Farm, surprises me…delivering Matriarch gin and some ethanol and a spray bottle as a birthday bonanza from Marg. I bounce with joy.

Decent walk around the streets. The sun is shining weakly. There are very few people around.
I gather they are all at the shops. Some restrictions have been lifted and the public has gone mad. The world has rushed back to shop and play as if the whole coronavirus has gone away. Yes, we have had no new cases. Yes, it is looking good. But it is not gone. The whole issue lurks. The danger awaits. The media keeps warning but the people are not heeding. They know best.
Apparently, the city is busting at the seams and shopping centre carparks are packed solid.






Day 66
Tuesday, May 12


Sam does some difficult shopping for me, Bless.

MEAA Zoom for SA Media Awards, Gemma running us through how it can all be done on Zoom with her at the controls. She is a pretty girl, very smart, utterly humourless and with the worst vocal fry I have heard in years complete with upward inflections. It is hard to listen to her. But it is a good meeting. Excellent to see Shauna and Meredith along with Angel. The idea of a virtual awards ceremony to replace an epic, luxury dinner at the Wine Centre is challenging. Gemma has worked out running orders and presentations and added audiovisuals. Tasmania is having its awards Angel tells me I am speaking for the Max Fatchen Award.

Pleasant walk with B around Norwood.
I do my exercises.

Emma’s Gorgeous Gaggle of Girls Zoom party is a gentle affair. Only five of us and we can talk clearly.
Everyone is concerned about the sudden shopping crowds. They have tales to tell. Each of us is uncomfortable with this. Not understanding the impetus and the lack of apprehension.

Day 67
Wednesday, May 13
My Birthday.

Phone birthday messages in all directions. P calls and says he had a bad night and things are crook and chats about this and that and does not mention my birthday. I don’t either. I am a bit confused and don’t want to embarrass him. Ruby rings full of sweetness and light. I leap into the shower to be fresh for my Secret Seven Zoom which is utterly lovely. Quick break and then Brainstorms Zoom which is utterly lovely. Fellow Adelaidean Peter hosts it, Poppy there and Janice and Tom and … and we rabbit on about spiders and snakes and viruses and books and the history of Brainstorms, Phone keeps ringing and pinging birthday love.
Sam has had to go to Family Court. I wait anxiously. Sam calls to say that Lucy’s lawyer has not filed something or other and the whole thing has been adjourned for two weeks. Shameful waste of everyone’s time and money, I think. I just want it all resolved with shared custody and peace.

Then I assemble the ingredient and make my birthday cake, a keto lemon cake made with coconut flour and eggs and iced with Philly flavoured with lemon and vanilla. A funny little cake it is, but very filling and the exact thing that I want. Barb pings to say if I am not outside at 2pm there will be dire consequences. She rocks up with dog and we talk in the street. She gives me a lovely crystal paperweight she found in an op shop saying that if I hold it in my hands until it is warm, a wish will come true. Hmm. But I love her for coming all the way over to make that gesture.

Sam and Ru come after school to bring birthday bounty. The two goldfish I’ve been wanting, Ru has called them Ella and Ava. They also bring me perfume. Naughty, naughty. But lovely. I put the fish in the pond in their bag to adjust to the cold and pop out from time to time to gradually add pond water to their shop water and, eventually, submerge the bag and give them freedom. Fingers crossed it is not to much shock. They are very small.
Marg on the phone.
Birthday treat. Dinner from Hsin. Our first outside food. I overorder greedily. I am allowed. It is my birthday, We set the table and pour wine and wait. Oh, my, it is a glorious feast.

I’m in bed when P calls. He has arrived at Willsy’s and I supposed she mentioned that we would usually all be having party dinner at her place on myt birthday and he has realised that he has forgotten me. Mea Culpa he says. I am still so very sad that I have fallen of his radar after all these years. The hurt is deep. For 30 years we have never failed to observe each other’s birthdays no matter where in the world we are.



Day 68
Thursday, May 14

The new little fish are doing OK. Yes. Happy. Tough little things, goldfish. I remember how they kept swimming under the ice on the pond in winter on Norwood Farm.
P calls. Justifying himself for forgetting. Not using a diary in coronatime. I am still feeling cut.

Reading and writing and reading. Corona rules.
Woolies delivery…up and down and up and down
Washing as well….
Sam gets extras. I wash and sort.
Preparations, B does cleaning. He has been solid in the kitchen throughout this period.
We seem to have a natural share of duties. The kitchen is his domain these days. I shop and stock it and cook in it. He runs it.
I make B come with me to run and fuel the car. I am nervous to go alone. I use my new Caltex phone app to pay for the petrol from the car. It works a treat. I love it,
But the roads are really busy,. The world is out and about like crazy.
I just hope that the state can maintain its zero new cases. There is only one active case in SA now.
Mind you, the footballers are making such a fuss about wanting their own special dispensations to train and play it is making my blood boil.
Power around the house and then suddenly lose energy, I think I have not been drinking enough,
Start to force myself to exercises…but M calls so talk for an hour with M who is very pleased with life and folks in the Barossa. I am very glad she is happy. One of these days we shall be glad together over a table full of spicy ox tripe.
We both take this pandemic seriously and worry at the corvidiots.
I rally energy and cook up chicken and capsicum dinner. It is gorgeous.
Zoom community meeting in evening and watch the zoom play.
the Youtube Colbert from home. His birthday. Same as mine.

Day 69
Friday, May 15

This is it. Break the Lockdown day!
A sunny autumn day rises from the dawn.
I explain carefully to Dexter that he will be going in the car to the other house. He needs to know this to travel well. B queries that a cat understands such messages but he does. He has quite a vocabulary and we have been doing this house-changing ritual all his life, nearly 11 years.
And thus, after a hearty breakfast and a steamy shower, I power forth with the chores, packing books and computers, changing cat litter, deep watering the pots, assembling the provisions… Bruce packs the fridge. I pack the freezer contents and my flowers. There is a lot of stuff. I can’t remember what provisions were laid in down there. I hope I have enough tonic water. Oh, well, too late.
And we hit the road around midday. The car opens right up and hums through the Adelaide streets and onto the Southern Expressway. The traffic is appalling. Not only is it dense and full of trucks, there is impatient and reckless driving. It is two months since I’ve driven in the big wide world and it is quite challenging. Lucky I love to drive, eh? Dexter is very settled until heavy truck fumes seep into the air system. He bleats in protest. The radio tells us that it is corvid happy time, people are encouraged to have regional adventures. You’re not kidding. It is madness.
Things thin out on the perilous old Victor Harbor road but it is clear, when we reach Encounter Bay, that there are lots of people down here.
Unpacking is a major project, up and down the stairs. I check on my garden and note that for the new house being built behind us, someone has been in and chopped off all the thick hedge foliage which has been our back boundary. Privacy is gone from the back of my little forest. Hmm. Someone has invaded our property to do that.
Good news is that, oh boy, did I stock up before we left. It was about March 2 and 3 when we were last here. But, tonic water? There is an impressive stash. There is plenty of most everything, including cat litter. I was a busy pre-pandemic possum.
But the house is oh, so cold.
People are out and about walking in packs and couples. Kids are on the path on bikes. It is more holiday mode than pandemic.
Grant and Merry pop down bringing a bottle of gin and lots of golden delicious apples fresh off the orchard tree. We maintain social distance and thank them.
They are having friends down for pizza at their place. We are invited but they know we are not yet as blithe as many about the safety of gatherings.
We repair upstairs to drink our welcome-home-to-WrightlySo G&Ts, revelling in this peerless sea view. And the sky turns mauve as twilight draws in. Calm and cold.
We have enough leftover chicken and capsicum for an easy dinner.
I pile wheat bags into the bed to take the chill off it and layer my precious cashmere blanket on top. And we snuggle down.
But first, I open the curtain to await the morning light and there, breathtaking in its beauty, is an immense “lucky moon” hanging low and silver bright over the mystery of black sea.

Day 70
Saturday, May 16

Dexter and I love the dawn light. We are both awake and expectant. We share that first low purple glow on the horizon, the rising of the red… And what a red. We go in and out to the freezing balcony and I take photos. The sea birds are in wild and raucous celebrations out there. A willy wagtail fusses in the garden undergrowth. The first magpies carol. It is an orgy of gorgeous. And finally, the sun itself makes a blindingly exuberant appearance over the form of Granite Island.
I have missed these marvels of oceanside mornings, I can sit in bed here and revel in the view.
It is a far cry from the walled world of our little city house where I see but a snatch of rooftop sky from the bed.
B prepares for his Yale reunion Zoom while I read the online news which is laden with corona warnings. Please, people, don’t get carried away. Keep your distance. We may not have it here now but the phenomenon has not gone away. The Eastern states are not doing so well. They still have new and active cases. Things are opening up but remember the rules. The world has changed.
It’s a gorgeous sunny autumn day. Boats are out on the water. Dogs and people are walking. Kids riding. Holiday mode out there.
B and his Yale mates are deep and meaningful about the significance of their era at Yale, about the historic importance of the 60s. Memoirs and papers are discussed. Memories unearthed.
I go out and sit in the soft sunshine on the back deck for some weak Vitamin D. I find myself not reading my book but listening to the birdsong, feeling the sun, feeling just alive. In the moment. A sentient being sentient.
I have posted my dawn photos on FB and friends are realising we are down. Di wants to get together, I agree to a Sunday social distancing walk on a beach. I am still not comfortable about mingling. But everyone down here seems pretty confident that corona is just not here. Never has been. It is a seductive thought.
Then another torrid story of covid suffering pops up on my phone feed.
We are agreed that Merry comes for a G&T. We are agreed that we take a walk.
We choose the old back roads and around the wetlands walk. There are lots of oldies out with small dogs. We all give each other a wide berth. But unlike in town,  here everyone greets each other as we always did.
We come back along the beach.
The sea is calm and clear.
I make ratatouille and roast almonds, then spread out cheese and snacks while B sets up table and chairs downstairs,. Merry arrives and we drink health in the fading light. She describes the Yilki Store’s special distancing rules, only three in the store at once, and the loud hailer its proprietor, Ashley, now uses to call in from outside the people to collect their takeaway. “Dave, your chips are ready!” M rings and we put her on the table to join in. We sit around our table gorging on goat cheese and guacamole, catching up on life in this strange time. This outdoor social distancing thing is not suited to autumn. Cold drinks, cold food, cold air. As soon as the sun is gone we freeze.
So, we can’t make it late. Too cold. I make Merry a take-away and walk her down to her house on the sea path, looking in on the illuminated lives over the people in their huge holiday houses along the way. The light over the sea is superb. The calm sea merges with the sky, There is no horizon. Just a vista placid pastel interrupted by mounds of islands.
B and I watch a worrying doco called Coolgardie, about Finnish backpackers taking a job as barmaids in a rough country pub. It shows the worst of crass bush Aussies. It makes one weep and cringe.
Still not too warm in the house. Even three wheat bags seem insufficient to thaw my feet. But somehow a sleep is found.



Day 71
Sunday

I’m awake early waiting for the spectacle of first light. There’s a roar of distant surf. Shrieks of seabirds. Dexter goes out to peer at the early birds through the rails. And the willies fuss in the shrubs as the colours begin to line the horizon. Magpies announce the day and the crimson hues rise to fill the sky. Then as the sun arrives, the sky lightens to a wondrous gold. The whole world is a glorious gold.

The Sunday morning ABC news is all corona. Football and cricket. Sports are impatient. They want exceptions to border rules. The arts want exceptions to bring in foreign companies. Everyone want exceptions.
There are still about 500 active corona cases in the country.
Lots of testings.
But FOGO - Fear Of Going Out - is vanishing. People want to party.
So many are in denial and so many in stupid. There may never have been a time when the population was more confused and confusing, more perverse or more protective. The deniers all shout that “people have to work”, which means drop the restrictions, we are not listening. But we have been warned that spikes and second rounds. There are indicative stats from all over the world. Then again, other countries are loosening up, too.
Meanwhile, China is hostile with us because of the investigations into corona and Wuhan as the originator. Trade war. Economic blackmail, they say.

The Sunday Smart Arts spot goes well. we are discussing https://www.broadwayworld.com/article/The-Public-Theater-Now-Streaming-WHAT-DO-WE-NEED-TO-TALK-ABOUT-Through-June-20200513 - the first Zoom theatre work written, directed and acted for Zoom. Very American indeed. It depicts five siblings waiting out the pandemic in their different locations, very scared, telling each other stories to distract from the plague outside. Steve, Peter and I have different takes on the show, which makes it a good discussion. My take is its parallel to the Decameron which was a series of stories told by people hiding from the Black Death in the Fourteenth Century. Of course, that book was banned when I was a gal. Naughty bits.

The sun is shining and I take my book outside. B and the cat join me. We admire the trees and the wattlebirds feeding on the Coastal Banksia which is full of bloom.

Any arrangement to walk with friends quietly dies. I don’t call and she doesn’t call. I am so relieved. I am just not feeling gregarious at all. I don’t want other people making decisions for me. I just vont to be alone with the old B. And if I am going to get sociable, it will be with my family and Merry first.

B and I drive into Victor to have a look around. Most shops are shut, There’s a huge socially distanced queue outside the fish and chip shop. And, down on Warland Reserve, wow. It is covered in picnickers. I swear there are about 40 groups gathered around tartan rugs spread across the lawns. What a sight. I should have taken a photo. The government said that eased restrictions encouraged people to go to the regions and to have picnic gatherings of up to 10 in the fresh air. And they did!!!!!! They are all here. I love it.

But I don’t like the crowds on the walking trails. B and I return home and take the wetlands walk. It is divine. The birds are deafening in some sort of party in the trees. Glorious. We walk the whole path and see not another soul, unless one counts the kids feeding the birds off the little deck.

And gentle chores at home. Lots of washing. I make rissoles. B makes drink. M talks on phone. We ease into the night and go to bed really early just to be warm. I find Chinese news channel and am engrossed for hours. Learn a lot.

Day 72
Monday, May 18

Another glorious dawn.
Another lecture from P that I am some sort of complete phobe and this whole virus thing is over and is just giving me an excuse to continue to be a phobe. Indeed, the world seems to have really relaxed thanks to the lack of cases here in South Australia. “It’s not here,” they all say. Meanwhile, the government has just spent $900,000 on nine new modular Covid treatment beds in Adelaide. Why one may ask? Because the government is well informed that the virus is not gone and it will be hard to keep it at bay once businesses and borders reopen. It is a global pandemic. Until the vaccine, it is a threat. And, the more I read about it, the less I want to experience it. Let the friends do what they will and think of me what they will. I shall play by the official rules until told to do otherwise. I do not know more or better than the national health authorities. Of course, it is possible my sniping friends are trying to put me down so that they can assuage the guilt they feel at their risky behaviour. Anyway, I really don’t care. B and I are happy reading and writing and learning things. But, oh, shudder, I will have to go into the world soon enough to get to the dentist. Argh.
Meanwhile this is a simply beautiful day and I spend most of it in the soft sunshine on the back deck reading a review book The Tiser has sent me. It is about the Chinese in Singapore in years 1942 and 2000.
B and I take a walk along the cliff path from Petrel Cover. It is breathtakingly lovely but when we come to Dep’s Beach, there is barely any sand. Massive storm erosion has uncovered a beach of jagged rocks.
There are very few walkers on the trail and just one lone surfer in Petrel Cove.




Day 73
Tuesday, May 19

Another lovely Autumn dawn and another lovely morning. I recline out on the back deck with my book, enjoying the raucous birds. Wattle birds have a vast repertoire of songs and most of them are strident and harsh, despite the fact that they are really elegant creatures to behold and the most acrobatic of fliers. They are feasting on the Coastal Banksia tree right now, but they are very territorial about this garden. As are the magpies.
I’m loving Jing-Jing Lee’s How We Disappeared, a book about Chinese Singaporean generations.
The day remains cool and sunny. Just gorgeous. There are few people out and about.
B and I take a lovely walk to Kent Reserve and sit a while on the little boardwalk seat looking at the stretch of coast from Granite Island to the Bluff and then we walk back along with beach, dodging the incoming waves which reach out across the sand like stealthy cat’s paws.
Dinner of Atlantic Salmon and veggies from the stockpile of food we brought from town, after, of course, my nightly G&T time talks with M. And then a nourishing night of intelligent ABC TV, interrupted by P’s radio program asking me to “talkback” about the Victor Harbour causeway controversy. I am among the many people fired up about replacing an historic wooden causeway designed for walkers and a horse-drawn tram with a huge cement bridge designed for cruise ship coaches, cyclists and the hapless horse tram and walkers. Picturesque? I think not. That all the expertise and technology of 2020 cannot find a way to rebuild and restore a classic wooden causeway is a complete con. Of course, they can. If they wanted to. But what they want is to play dollars with their mates, the cement contractors, and lure cruise ship tourists to take them to the wineries. It’s a dishonest scandal and it also is fait accompli, no matter how much we gnash our teeth and object.
The night is nippy. There is wind and rain outside. In the city, there is hail. I get pix on the phone from Rex and a report from Jason next door. Fierce white balls in carpets. A white-capped sea is preferable, methinks.