Diary Entries

The two challenges of countering climate change and overcoming pandemics have been a welcome wake-up call for everyone, even resisting governments, to pause, reconsider and regroup humanity's priorities. We were already warned back in the 1970s that relentless economic growth without regard to consequences was unsustainable. What have these challenges meant for me, a freshly retired married person? Restricted freedoms have become opportunities to adjust and recalibrate. Reading the scientific basis for climate action and the need to vaccinate have educated me (a hitherto not very scientifically literate person) at a time when climate sceptics and anti-vaxxers are obviously making too much noise. Appreciating home life and newly available digital and streaming services, bushwalks in surrounding nature, reading e-books, installing solar panels and securing water storage, visiting museums virtually not actually, not replacing my smart phone with the newest model are just some ways to adjust. We now have only one car (not the latest model) and two e-bicycles. Swapping share investments away from fossil fuels to global environmental opportunities and sustainable high growth are further actions we took. Valuing quality time with one's partner in ways we earlier took for granted has strengthened us. Giving blood (because I can) and remaining optimistically forward looking is better than resigning in cynical despair. Persuading others that without radical and historically unprecedented interventions our food security, climate and health will remain endangered remains my ongoing priority whenever opportunity affords. It is our civic duty to hold politicians accountable and counter ignorance with facts, and to take action while there is still hope.

Dear 702, I have found working from home difficult, so much I changed jobs. Now happy working from home doing a job I enjoy. Haircut’s using electric clippers has been a plus. I live alone & ABC 702 is a staple of my life, thank you all. Love Greg

It was hard doing home schooling with an intellectual disability in our daughter, who doesn’t get lockdown or just want to keep going to school. Looking forward to seeing our friends and family soon.

I worked a shift in the library on Friday last week: my first time back in the Great Building since the end of June, when we were told to pack up our laptops and go home. Three and a half long months of lockdown in Sydney have passed since that day. It was a strange feeling coming up from the security entrance into the main body of the library; the empty spaces silently echoing, devoid of human activity. The lights were all off. The neatly packed shelves stared me down. The workroom was similarly quiet, lacking the animated chatter of the many dedicated staff who normally work here. We're not expected to re-open to the public for a few weeks yet, but essential library tasks still need to get done. One or two librarians sat here and there, four metres-square apart, absorbed in their screens. I had reason to ride the lifts down to Stack 1 to view a particular collection of material I was working on. Those vast cavernous spaces beneath Macquarie Street that store the nation's treasures can be creepy at the best of times, especially when you’re unfamiliar with the layout of each floor, as I am, being new here. I stood completely alone, underground amongst the storage boxes, for what seemed like ages, until - out of nowhere, a tall security guard rounded a corner of shelving right next to me, smiled and said "hello". I almost jumped clear of my skin. Where did he come from? My heart pounded in my chest. A sheepish smile was all I could manage in return. At lunchtime, reluctant to leave the safety of the building, despite the surrounding CBD streets being all but deserted, I opted to eat my home made sandwich on one of the long wooden bench tables just inside the public entrance. I sat like a queen, with my back to the sliding doors (just in case, I thought, some passer-by knocks on the glass, expecting me to let them in) and stared at the empty foyer. The sun streamed in all around me, casting shafts of light over the white marble on the floor and making the sandy wood glow with a pleasing warmth. I considered my very good fortune to be here, in this very special place, at this strange point in time. My spirits lifted. I leafed through an old cafe copy of Openbook magazine, ate slowly, and felt like I owned the place. Five o'clock came too quickly and it was time to sign out, don the mask, duck out the back security entrance and up the side of the building, passing the bedrolls of the homeless men who planned to sleep there, on to the emptiness of Macquarie Street again. A few stray office workers snaked their way down to Martin Place station, heading home. Outside the Federal Reserve Bank, seagulls had gathered. They splashed happily in the water fountains, spread out wet wings to the wind, impervious to Covid.

DAYS OF OUR (LOCKED DOWN) LIVES I look in the mirror and an ageing Medusa head stares back – greying, straggly, unruly tendrils of hair make up my hair 'style'. If “the suit maketh the man”, surely it must hold true that “hair maketh the woman”, I think to myself. Many of us, it seems are sporting hairstyles not of our choosing, courtesy of our current lockdown. However, just as I begin to despair for my dishevelled appearance, I stop to spare a thought for my hairdresser, closed now for going on to three months! Undoubtedly, her rent and all other fixed overheads must still be paid. How is she coping, I wonder. Has she been able to reach out and obtain financial support or has it all been too hard? Customers like me will return, but I'm too aware that times like these can easily send a small enterprise to the wall. With not much else to do, my mind turns to cooking. It is one of the joys of our retired lives to cook for our adult children and grand daughters. Each week our little clan of eight would gather for family dinner - such extravagance, by current standards. In the absence of being able to feed our brood in our home, hubby and I have taken to doing food drops at their door. Luckily they all live within the allowable 5km bubble but it still feels like partaking in an illicit drug deal. “Edible hugs” we call these offerings - a reminder of the absence of any physical contact between us. Did I once read that children fail to thrive when deprived of touch? And, being Italian, we have always been a very touchy, feely bunch…. Then I remember those with beloved family members on the other side of the world, or even in other states of Australia. With no known date for when normal travel will resume, such people live with the constant fear that they may never see an elderly parent again. A conversation with an acquaintance serves as a vivid example. Her father died in France a few months ago and now her elderly mother has been diagnosed with cancer. For both events, my acquaintance can only offer FaceTime support and lives with the grinding anxiety of receiving news that goes from bad to worse. I make a point of regularly checking in on a particular friend. We are trying hard to keep each other's spirits high in the absence of being able to visit. “Such wasted years”, she comments to me. Aged 76 with a soon-to-turn 80 husband, she's keenly aware the window for independent travel is closing fast. At any time their health, mobility or motivation for travel may disappear. Barry Manilow's song “All the Wasted Time” time pops into my head, and for the next few days it's an ear worm I cannot shake.

Today I went with my father to get our second vaccine doses. Although I haven't yet visited the University town, at least I know Oxford has visited me in a small vial labelled AZ, and twice! The waiting room was more crowded than I had seen it in a while, and I got that little pang of worry that seems to have become normal when more than a few people are in the same room these days. The doctor called us both at once and we went in together. It has been my father's mission to get our latest GP to engage with him on a more personal level, and today he achieved it - only a small laugh, but the smiling eyes behind his surgical mask was victory enough for dad. A medical assistant came in to administer the shots, declaring "Freedom!" after each needle had been pulled out of our arms. I told him I would have to go home and watch Braveheart. Back in the waiting room, we sat on the padded bench for the prescribed 15 minutes. Dad and I made prime conversation targets for an older lady who had also been sitting there. She offered her various takes on the vaccine and made it hard to figure out whether she was happy to be having it or dubious about the whole thing. At the mention of booster shots, she said "I hope they don't come too soon, we can't be having needles every day of the week". I suppose that's true enough, but what can you really say to that? Despite our reluctance to talk, she left the real humdinger till last: "I guess we're just waiting here to see whether we die in 15 minutes or not". Don't get me wrong - some dark humour seldom goes astray, but it's not exactly what you want to hear when the stuff has just started flowing around your bloodstream... Her ringing mobile and dad glancing at his watch meant it was time to escape. We emerged back into the world, and the world decided to keep being strange. Just outside the shopping centre, we spotted a man with a large bandana over his face pushing a Coles trolley full of carved up meat. Huge chunks of beef and ribs stacked on top of each other, totally uncovered, totally unexplained. If it was a delivery for a butcher, it was a weird way to do it. Call it wild imagination, but my thoughts were running to cartels and carcasses. With crime on my mind, my talent for overthinking was tested a second time when a solid man in full motorbike gear (body armour, helmet and all) strode into the shopping centre and made a beeline for a storage shop. I've seen enough films to know that the guy might have been about to enact a stick-up, and let me tell you, he could have scored some serious Tupperware from that place. Time to calm down, I think.

My life in Sydney has radically changed in the last 18 months, ie from March 2020 to present (September/October 2021). Since this vicious virus “Covid-19” captured the world – with Australia being strongly affected – and the consequent government announcements sent we Aussies into “lockdown”, it has meant isolation from each other: family members, friends, neighbours, community groups, workers, performers, businesses and the list continues. Personally, I am affected from being an active, participative and well-travelled senior female to mainly staying at home – except for necessities of life – and attaching myself to either a computer or mobile telephone screen in order to stay-in-touch and continue to be at least active in exercising both my body and brain, albeit via an assortment of online classes, webinars, meetings, etc. For me – and I expect most people – even the small occasions of life will never be taken for granted again. It has highlighted the great need for Freedom and Human physical contact.

This lockdown coffee cup (poem) Like a porcelain bra upside down, halved, elongated, of Indonesian Royal Doulton fine china, oven, freezer, dish-washer safe, chip resistant – your cracked, glazed handle exposes the grey clay underneath. Cool to touch when empty, your smooth white body bears four pears – like pairs of blue & white plums – a Jakartan artisan sips masala chai, affixes curved handle, dips each cup into white glaze then brushes on the blue. With my hands cupped round you – warm to the touch – when mum was considered palliative from a distance, in Autumn 2020 I drank silverte – that’s what Eva calls hot water – then mixed corn flour + a table spoon of stock inside you to thicken sautéed mushrooms. During Spring 2020, all six cups could no longer gather for coffee + eggs on the back deck. In Jakarta COVID soars, here, on the Border, elastic lockdown days stretch on and on. I view you from every angle to try and understand your provenance; you’re emptied, made new.

What a year 2021 has been... I haven't seen my Mum for 5 months, my son hasn't been able to visit our house for 3 months (thankfully I am his singles buddy) and several big holidays and a few small ones have been cancelled. Being able to get together as a family for a picnic recently was a big highlight of the last few months. I was hugely disappointed that the opening to Regional NSW was delayed as being separated from my Mum for that long has made me a bit down but video chat makes a huge difference... if only she held the iPad or phone anywhere near here face lol. Usually I am talking a blank wall! :-) I have taken time in this long lockdown to start looking after myself better with meditation and yoga and lovely bush walks and coffee with my best friend. We are so close to freedom! I can't wait!!!

Thought on Covid: As a migrant who has been unable to see my elderly parents (87 + 90) who live overseas, it's very hard to feel much sympathy for those in Australia who complain about not being able to visit their elderly parents during lockdowns. I understand that it's relative but they never seem to consider what it's like for those who are separated by international borders, not just nursing home lockdowns.