weathering it...

I cannot explain how much better the first week of January feels this year in comparison to last.

Last year there was so little light coming down the tunnel, so little reason to feel optimistic. And I'm not even talking about Tr*mp and the storming of the Capitol, just about Cape Town and lockdown and how we never thought we'd get vaxxed or back to any semblance of proper life ever again. We'd never started a year so glum and uninspired.

But here we are. Things are easier. And whatever fuckening might be waiting just down the road, I'm having a moment of deep gratitude for how far we've come and how much easier and lighter things have been this holiday season.

We spent two 4-day stints on either side of Christmas in our favourite Onrus with some of our oldest friends.

And Christmas, Christmas was glorious.

All the sweeter for having spent last Christmas all apart, for being our first time hosting, for everyone being well and relaxed and happy. Magic.

We've weathered this storm alright, all things considered. As have many of my dearest friends, who for a time there looked like they'd never come out the other side.

A friend who got retrenched back in April 2020 has found a new, rewarding, fulfilling, bill-paying job after nearly two years of hustle and high stress.

Another who was facing a failing relationship back then, exacerbated by lockdowns and general weirdness, is happily blissed out with a new partner, after a long time of heartache and self-doubt and pain.

Friends who very nearly lost their home are clawing their way back up the credit-rating ladder, finally able to relax their jaws slightly and step back a bit from the daily anxiety of trying to keep their lives together.

The girls are back to full class, full time, in person school in a couple of weeks. Our curfew, the last of the Covid restrictions, was lifted on 31 Dec. Our National State of Disaster, 666 days old today, is most likely to be lifted soon.

Cautiously, cautiously, optimistic.

in the bleak midwinter

It's day 4 of a 7 day storm, and we're back in lockdown.

The girls just finished school 10 days earlier than planned, booze sales are prohibited again, no gatherings (like, none), no restaurants, no galleries, no museums, 9pm curfew. They kept the beaches open this time, but in this weather this is only really good news for those restaurant owners who can go for a surf to distract themselves from the crippling debt and human cost of having to close their doors. Again.

Ostensibly this lockdown is for 14 days but I mean, we've all heard that one before.

So we're back at home. Except this time I'm also working. Or am I?

I spent yesterday compiling a document which might mean a pause to my current contract, and although it would be pretty shit to lose the distraction, satisfaction and paycheck that comes with actual work - it's also madness to try and put together an in-person event in this ridiculously unpredictable time.

I realised recently that I've possibly reached peak apathy. I just don't really care that much anymore.

I can't think about the future without waves of absolute gloom breaking over me so I just don't. And by future I mean everything from will I ever travel internationally to what options will my children have in this new world to how, with 67% youth unemployment, our country is surely heading down the tubes. See why it's better to just not think of it?

I have never been this apathetic in my life. I'm not even despondent because that would require too much feeling. I just ... have the biggest case of the whatevers ever.

Also an excellent time to have a midlife crisis. I turned 46 in May and it was hard. The actual birthday was lovely - I have the best friends and family - but in the weeks that followed I hit a real wall. But even that is ruined by the fukken pandemic.

As I texted a friend recently: what we've all got is the constant second guessing of all our feelings - do I hate my life or just the pandemic, do I want a divorce or just a vaccine, is this Covid or a normal midlife crisis?

It's all extremely boring actually.

BUT, there are rays of light and my god we need them...

Our big girl turned 14 last month and scored (as she always does) a beaut of a still, warm, winters day to have lunch out with her besties and cupcakes on our deck. After her tiny 13th celebration last year this was a big win, especially in light of our current restrictions.

The sun comes up every day (not much evidence of this the last few days tbh but ja, still she rises) and reminds us that we live in a beautiful place.

We have the most ridiculously lovely and infuriating collection of pets to comfort and entertain us.

In our home there is art, and beauty, and kindness, and love, and delicious food - and this, in the end, is the thing which must be enough for now. 

Just un-wedgie your big girl panties and get on with it girl.

a swim in the sea

Of all the incredible things happening in our lives at the moment - curfew, alcohol ban, academic year delays, mandatory masks (all currently extended until mid February) - the most incredulous must be that a swim, in the sea, in mid summer, is illegal - and a blog-worthy event.

The conditions weren't optimum. In 'normal' times we might have reconsidered.

Foamy, cold, big swell out to sea pushing the current vigorously in and out. A little overcast, a brisk breeze, rumours of blue bottles.

But having walked in, down sandy paths worn in by abalone poachers through high dune brush - quietly past the house of the man renown for calling the cops, quickly past the place where snakes have been frequently spotted - down a long dune, through a hole in the barb-wire fence, finally out on to the beautiful coast path, finally out of sight of the town.

Having walked in, and longed for this for so many weeks, we didn't hesitate.

Gasping at the cold, shoo'ing the foam ahead of us to try and look out for rocks, shrieking at unseen kelp brushing up against our legs, and then we were in.

And it was...profound.

And for all the reasons listed above, I think it was the best swim of my life.

13

A week ago we became parents of a teen.

That tiny little Frieda, who first appeared on this blog here, turned 13 on 20/06/20.

Never did we think her birthday would still be in lockdown, and such an auspicious birthday at that. And, as she mournfully pointed out, on a Saturday - perfect for a 13th birthday party in the 'old life'.
But, with all the resilience, calm and sense of humour she brings to every other aspect of her life, she didn't complain, and more importantly - didn't let it mar her big day.

Her toned down birthday wishes in lieu of a party included a socially-distanced walk with her bestie, a picnic on the beach and sushi for dinner.
She's been missing her pal so much, as had we all. Frieda and Amara have been friends since birth and Amara's been at our house at least once a week for the last 7 years.

Their contact the last few months has been limited to (sometimes all day) FaceTime sessions and fleeting glimpses at school (they're back, their grade has been back since 1 June, but in small allocated groups which they don't stray out of), and Frieda was wildly excited to spend a morning in her actual presence.

But we took it one step further - her family and ours have both been very locked down, and with them back at school we're all exposed to similar risks there - so we agreed with her parents that Amara would come for a surprise sleep-over, and thereby elevate a somewhat subdued birthday to new heights of epic-ness.

We set off for the walk as planned, met Amara and one other friend at the beach. It was beautiful crisp winter's day - they had their own picnic while we gave them space and hang out with lovely Kalk Bay's stone cairn sculptures, and then we said we'd give Amara a lift home.
But en route we deviated, headed back in our direction, and all laughed like loons as the penny dropped in the back seat and the girls squealed with glee.

Not the 13th birthday she'd planned, but turns out, the one she needed.

lock down

Today is Day One of lock down. Currently expected to last for 21 days.
We'll see.

I've stocked the house, filled the prescriptions, bought the basic meds we'll need should anyone get sick.
I've helped my parents get ready, made sure the people who work for us are safe and provided for, checked in with friends and family - especially those living alone.
I've donated to various organisations helping those in need through this time.
I've gone through the roller-coaster of all the emotions and fears, I've acknowledged my grief and rallied my energies.

I woke up this morning and felt ... relief. Anyone else feeling that I wonder.

There's nothing more I can do except stay at home. This is what I can do now to help. I'm so grateful not to have to go out anymore.

The logistics of leaving, being out there, returning - the sanitising and taking care and physical distancing and contamination containment was genuinely starting to make me feel loopy.
But worse, the people I saw every time who were not taking the same precautions, not taking this seriously, not taking care - that was driving my anxiety through the roof.

'You're all going to die' I'd think watching people huddle together to watch something on a phone, share a can of soda, eat with their hands, pick at their teeth, spit in the street. 'You're all going to die and you're going to take someone I love with you'.
Anxiety is not rational, but anxiety is real, and I've had enough brushes with proper anxiety attacks in my life to know I was skirting dangerous territory.

But now we're home. And we're not allowed to leave. As an adult I am so grateful for other grown-ups telling us what to do right now. And so immensely grateful for everyone out there doing what they're doing so that we can stay right here.

The weirdest thing about this virus is this - it causes one immense fear and concern, and then puts one in the place (if you're lucky) where you're most well-equipped to deal with this.
In our home, with our pets, our loved ones, our comforts.

Where this goes no one knows, but for now I feel more relaxed than I have in weeks, and I'm going to cling to that for a while.
Until the milk runs out at least.