Day 3 – Sunday, 29 March
I can hear the anguish and concern in my mother’s voice every time we Whatsapp call. She suggested keeping a lockdown journal during these challenging times, and I may take her up on the offer. I’m in two minds about it, though. A journal is quite an intimate endeavour. It was the famous writer Ernest Hemingway who said ‘Write hard and clear about what hurts.’ However, I don’t think I am ready to share the full story or what lies beneath the surface. Yet, I carve time to begin journaling and resolve to publish the first posts on my personal blog the coming week.
On the third day of lockdown, Pretoria’s sky is still gloomy and overcast, as if knowing that we can’t leave our homes to indulge in Sunday brunches, cappuccinos and cocktails. Instead, I take pleasure in the aroma of freshly brewed coffee (my hubby is a brewing type of angel) and the pages of a new book I start this morning. Both give me the excitement I crave indoors when going out for breakfast, something we do over the weekends, is out of the question. It’s still early days to figure out the plot, but it’s a promising start with alternating chapters between the lives of two different women brought together by fate. I’m instantly hooked and can’t wait to share the excitement with Instagram’s #bookstagram community once I dig a little bit deeper.
My husband surprises me with a light breakfast of hot cross buns, my Easter time addiction since making South Africa my new home. Smothered in salted butter and honey, the fluffy rolls satisfy my holiday craving. It’s hard to believe that three months of this peculiar year are gone, and Easter is just weeks away. It will be a lockdown Easter for all South Africans and most likely the same for the hard-hit European countries such as Italy and Spain. May God be with them, too.
It’s hard not to think of food when you’re home daily, and the fridge is only metres away. I can understand, to some extent, the shoppers’ rush in the supermarket aisles, although I am against the crazy frenzy for toilet paper and hoarding in general. As long as families are well-fed and healthy, it seems that nothing else matters. We are all in survival mode. It is why the lockdown favours only the basic services needed for survival.
Feeling better after a warm cup of soup (my husband made a huge pot) and strong coffee, I plan a Sunday braai (barbeque) in the garden. I picture the smokey sizzle of those T-bone chops I found on special the other day while shopping before lockdown entered our vocabulary. I settle for oven-baked potatoes a la gratin with layers of fresh cream and a touch of nutmeg. Who says lockdown food is boring?
By mid-afternoon, yesterday’s clouds finally drift off, and the sun shows its round face again. The braai is on. I challenge hubby to a game of strategic Chinese checkers while the charcoal burns in the Webber grill and the potatoes are roasting in the oven.
There is beauty in being confined indoors if one only knows where to look. Firstly, there is more time to cook and experiment with new recipes, something that becomes an extravagance when you’re on daily autopilot – commuting, work, home, sleep, and then work again. Secondly, there is more time to unwind and rediscover activities you’ve barely given a thought in your too busy schedule. That is, playing games, including board games. Just before the lockdown, I’ve dusted off the wooden board and started playing Chinese checkers again after a long hiatus – much like my fiction writing which resumed after years of full-time work, my manuscripts gathering imaginary dust. I realised that time and health are the new wealth, safe money nest aside. If you can, save as much money as possible so you won’t have to stress during strange and difficult times – like this unforeseen pandemic. Finally, enjoy that activity or hobby that you’ve put for far too long on the back burner. If you are anxious about the whole coronavirus situation, look out for the blessings in disguise. You won’t have to look far.
Back to the checkers game. My husband still hasn’t managed to win a game, but again I’ve been doing this dance for years since my early teens. We play another game after dinner is served on the patio. Sadly, I forget to chill the red wine in the fridge hours before the meal is ready to serve. My husband finally puts the bottle on ice, but it’s too late. The beef steak is done, stirring my appetite. I guess the game and my subsequent victory have absorbed my attention. I contend with purplish grape juice in a blueish wine glass, just because it looks the part, mimicking a deep red Pinotage. Later on, I make sure both the red and white wine bottles stay cool and ready to serve at a moment’s notice.
Our lockdown comes with many restrictions that differ from other countries, one being that no alcohol is allowed to be commercialised and sold during the twenty-one days. This measure is easier to understand in the context of alcohol-fuelled social gatherings or violent acts. The state police want to curb both the spread of the virus and the endemic violence in densely populated areas such as townships. It’s understandable and commendable.
The liquor stores are closed, but thankfully the liquor cabinet at home is open for limited trade, from Mauritius rum and tequila to triple distilled Irish whisky. My husband tries his hand at Irish coffee making, which is superior to his checkers game skills, thank God. I’m happy to say that he has finally mastered the art of the Irish coffee, complete with dollops of fresh whipped cream on top (but, sadly, no four-leaf clover-shaped chocolate powder sprinkles). What a fantastic way to end a Sunday evening in lockdown.