Diary Entries

This morning it was glorious in Hyde Park sitting next to the purple and white pansies. They were so many of them. It wasn't too hot sitting in the sun. There was a slight breeze and in the shade it was even cold. It was busy in the park this morning. There must have been some sort of a Harry Potter convention because there were a lot of young people wearing black capes, witches' hats and waving magic wands about. I have decided to pass on Halloween this year but I will give a couple of packets of Freddo Frogs to my next-door neighbour for the neighbourhood children. My Friday morning collage class is keeping me happy. Thus far, I have made two. At first I thought it was a bit infantile but apparently it's a genuine art form. What I love is the process of having no preconception of what you might do and then watching the ideas form as you flip the pages looking for images. Yesterday I had a damaged water pipe and had to have a plumber come. I'm afraid the water pipes don't know we are in the middle of a pandemic. I've bought a few plants for my soon to be transformed garden - a white bottlebrush and a Corymbia Baby Orange which is a splendid 3 metre gum tree with bright orange flowers. I forgot to say that in addition to the usual ibis in Hyde Park scrounging for food, this morning there was a very wide-eyed, healthy looking possum running from one garden patch to another. Some of my no longer loved jade plants have been removed to make place for something new. I want flowers, lots of flowers everywhere. The government has asked us to spend big so I am.

Bowral, NSW COVID has proved that flexible working hours are in fact not a ‘women’s issue.’ With so many people now working from home, and getting their work done, it is clear that what has stopped flexibility in workplaces is convention. We’ve had an IT revolution and so should be devising new ways to work. COVID has given us an opportunity to reimagine work and life. Lockdown has also made us reappraise the value of home cooking and the humble omelette! We decide to paint the inside of the house, starting with sage green. Already the colour is uplifting, replacing the sickly cream. More daffodils have bloomed since we were last here, and new violets in white and pale purple. The stubborn young magnolia remains flowerless while Sydney magnolias are heavy with blossom in Haberfield and Leichhardt. We drive back to Sydney and listen to a radio program about composer Morricone, who passed away in July, aged 91. Although his Western soundtracks have always been my favourites, the plaintive ‘Gabriel’s Oboe’ is what triggers buried feelings. The convergence of the COVID-19 pandemic and the nationwide Black Lives Matter movement has compounded collective trauma, and my mind replays protest image after protest image after protest image as the car hurtles home. Back at Watsons Bay the frangipani’s first leaves stretch towards the sun. We go to a family wedding at the old church in Ashfield, and people perch in the pews masked in their finery. Another surreal moment. Later at the reception, guests are limited. Long tables, too far apart. The jovial speeches end tearfully with salutations to family members trapped across the border in Queensland and in Cambridge. Dancing is banned except for the bride and groom, and for the first time in a long time, we have fun.

SURVIVAL Beware the silence For, in that quiet place The truth that is unwanted is revealed. The fact that loneliness is in that space And silence shows the wound That never healed. Beware the stillness. For, in that barren ache The hand of living uncaressed is dealt. The fragments of affection that assuaged the break Are gone, and emptiness is all Sensation that is felt. But stop. You cannot journey down this path For if you do the stillness and the silence will enfold you You have to turn to face the light And let the ghosts you miss so much uphold you. Muster connections. For in those distanced calls The jewels that are our friendships are displayed. Our memories now fill our dwellings’ empty halls And touch and feel by keyboard And by telephone is made. Explore the senses Our lengthy morning walks Can fill our souls with gratitude and joy. Our smells, our sights, our touches supplement our talks And bring to us the knowledge That our spirits still can buoy. Nourish our bodies In culinary endeavour We find accomplishment and skill Hold tight! We must remind ourselves forever That we are blessed and precious And must support each other still.

My family and I live in a beautiful seaside village named Bonny Hills on the NSW Mid North Coast. Sounds idyllic, well yes it was until Covid-19 hit our community. I had a contract job working for TAFE in Port Macquarie and had been doing this for the past 8 months. My 10 week contract was meant to be renewed at the end of March. Covid-19 took my job away. I applied for Job Seeker and was fortunate to get that including the extra $550 Covid payment. It kept our finances afloat, but we ended up dipping into our savings just to pay for the basics. Ending work gave me plenty of time. I was able to walk/jog/run on the beach everyday with my dog. Friends and acquaintances would stop to chat but we all stayed apart by at least 1.5 meters. It felt weird and life was pretty boring as we just stayed at home, went walking, or went to Woolies to buy food. I always felt sad when I saw the empty shelves in the toilet paper aisle. It felt like my carefree world had turned sour. All of a sudden people were no longer as friendly and there was a feeling of "me first" in the air. So now in September we are getting used to the new normal. Visitors descend on our area. We welcome them but at the same time many of us are just a little nervous. There are no Covid-19 cases in our community......yet. There are a lot of older people here and our hospital is not huge. So life goes on for now. Are we getting a little complacent? I hope not. I look on with great sadness at the draconian measures Melbourne metro people have been subjected to: curfews & lockdown.

HUMANITY In a solitary moment Musing as I skywatch from my window Observing some monumental acts But clusters of white puffy clouds Are pinned in the sky, sitting in stillness Ignoring my prying eyes Unperturbed in their own mindful state. Spring is fanning its gentle breeze As mildly as a bright calm day With leaves of the trees swaying Gracefully in branches and twigs Albeit, in the absence of birds that sing and dance Life seems dull and uninspiring without them Their music is what I long to hear like yesterday. In such a time with so much space To colour my day with gaily impression What thoughts could be more enthusing Than an effervescent mind that comprehends The natural order of life tainted with pragmatism Alluding a predicated chaos and confusion At alarming scales, disarm humanity. Humanity, the solemn word that brings back memory Of those young boys trapped in a cave of darkness Saved by desperate group of strangers to free them As time was running out, and the process was slow Tempered with uncertainty, yet risk had to be addressed In everyone's heart and mind, "God help us do the best we can" And the answer came, so it shall be… Humanity is still alive! When trust, tact, and teamwork unite all hearts Irrespective of colour, race and belief Non-judgmental perspective, undivided ideology Political partisan aside, as people work side by side There's no obstacle turn disastrous When all hands join together in one common goal An impossible mission for humankind is what we aim to do. NB. This poem has been inspired by the story of THAI CAVE RESCUE, June 23-July 10, 2018 where two notable Australian Cave Divers played a pivotal role in saving those young children and their coach in Thailand.

This morning was very pleasant. It was deliciously warm with a slight breeze. It was so nice sitting on a park bench with my French conversation tutor. He is very easy to talk to. It might seem indulgent but I have to do things that are good for my mental health. On that note I am going to do something about my small garden. After Westconnex finishes tunnelling (mid -november) and the concreting and the paving in the backyard is finished I am going to plant some beautiful plants, mostly Australian natives. I have been looking online at pictures and thinking about what I might plant. I have already planted some and in pots too. Our environment affects our mood so it is important to try to make it attractive. I think my doctor said that. I have also put new prints on the walls inside not too long ago and yes, it has affected my mood. The thing I miss the most is the touch of another human being. Touching elbows is no substitute for a kiss on the cheek. I had a birthday lunch with my sister yesterday. She turned 59. We had a lovely lunch but I thought the people who sat at the next table were a bit close. For her birthday I gave her 2 books - one on Pilâtes and one from the Cloud Appreciation Society. Every page features a special cloud seen by a member somewhere in the world. People are apologising for bungles but what isn't happening is that people are not being charged by the police. How can the quarantine bungle in Victoria go unaccounted for ? So many people have died in Victoria. Shouldn't the people who directed the bungle have to answer for their actions that led to deaths?

The sun is shining but the wind furiously slashes into the trees in my garden - all overgrown (are they getting into my old sewer pipes again?) I'm heading towards 80 years old and suffering from co-morbidities as they call the diseases of aging these days. I don't feel old, or sick, but there you are. I know only too well that I must stay cocooned in my house and garden and take care when I go out to shop. It's not COVID that I fear so much, as the after effects if I recover from a dose of it. It's been fun finding interesting Webinars and participating in discussions with participants from across the world. A wonderful woman jazz pianist that I'd never heard of who is in her 80s now but has this oh so soft touch on the piano. Her "Happy Hours" are a lovely mix of feeling like a friend one minute, but maybe a voyeur looking into her private sitting room at the same time. A trip into town for a legal appointment early on in this pandemic was somewhat alarming for me. The City of Sydney has changed in so many ways. Familiar buildings have disappeared all over the place, supplanted by hoardings, but what was wonderful was the lack of traffic and crowds of people. I await a new skyline.

I have a cardboard box. It is now quite full. As I hear a willy wag tail welcoming in Spring I think about my cardboard box and its contents of the last six months. I have kept, copied, printed off all the funny memes, the graphs, the photos, the articles, the letters, the instructional signs (PLEASE stand 1.5 metres apart) (USE HAND SANITISER) that I have come across since the pandemic began. Or even just before. At the end of January I received an email from the Dean of the University warning returning students from China to isolate. I noticed a Chinese couple wearing masks on our flight back from Launceston on 15th February. On 26th February (our 43rd wedding anniversary) I did a big shop “to stock up” just in case... pasta, rice, tinned tomatoes, oats, tuna, long life milk. I loaded the freezer with frozen veg and meat. On March 2 my friend told there was no toilet paper available in Chatswood Woollies. Did the local people have family in Wuhan? We were waiting for the announcement and then it happened on March 11 (IT IS A PANDEMIC). And so, I watched and recorded the daily numbers in my trusty blue Collins diary with comments attached, and I listened to Scott (PM as they call him) and our Glad and Daniel and Kerrie and Brett and Anastasia and Nick and all those other people thrown into the limelight. They almost feel like friends now. A local called Tom started a great one stop Facebook page with all the details and numbers. I took screen shots of the dancing, the singing, the poetry readings (The Great Realisation... wow). And now my box is overflowing. It may be of interest to my grandchildren one day.

Mon Plaisir Démodé* (In the time of Covid-19) Les amoureux on distant banks of river Seine Can’t feel my pain For I’m locked in, locked down, Alone Can’t cuddle, skin-to-skin, can’t touch A face, a hand, another’s hips or lips The sticky vernix of the just-born child Soon after cleansed to silken sheen, Unblemished derm, The tiny talc-ēd fist, The trusting thrust of two-year-old’s soft hand, The tickle of my tootsie bear’s big toe, The malodorously sweaty adolescent feet, The pedal pong of the perspiring athlete, The interlocking huddle of the rugger scrum, The undulating rivulets of elderly’s raised veins, The gnarled, white cliffs of chalky warts, The calloused lumps and bumps of age All these my separated-self has missed Keyboard contact, Alphabetical tap, Much digital endeavour, Exercise on ivories now faded, Arpeggios and scales … I’m jaded Synesthetic flashes of the Chopin waltz Of once-togetherness-in-unison-of-step Won’t compensate, won’t assuage that ache, That longing for the lasso Of another’s hand around my neck, my waist, The tenderness or friendliness of The Latin-American embrace, Les trois bisous** X X X so Swiss, The Brexiteer’s cursory hand-shake All these my separated-self has missed Thinking about the touch and wanting it Is almost like a sin That need to smooth, to squeeze, to pat, Console, commend, ignite, To feel my lover’s breath upon my neck, His nearby whiff of after-shaving cream, The invitation of his razored chin To melt into his arms, To cuddle front to back, to curve, spiral, to spoon, To stroke the other’s cheek, to kiss All these my separated-self has missed Instead I circle round my room My eyes half-closed, Dominant right hand with heuristic hush, Not miming Adam and Creator’s indexed Near brush, Groping, stretching towards the left until I find and fondle wingēd humerus, My scything scapula, My stretch of serpentining clavicle caress Any bone will do As I drown toute seule*** in my Aznavourian, Old-fashioned way - - - * French for My Old Fashioned Pleasure ** French for three kisses *** French for all alone With thanks to Charles Aznavour’s Les Plaisirs Démodés (Old Fashioned Pleasures) or The Old Fashioned Way (title of the song in English)

With everything that is going, we are getting through everything. There are a few Covid cases happening and apart from that, everything is back to normal( apart from 1.5 metre distance). This isn't because covid is dying down though, it is because together, we battled through the first wave and the growing second wave and it has died down. WE ARE ALL IN THIS TOGETHER AUSTRALIA, KEEP GOING!