Llama mask by Aida Studham By Catherine Watson
Sunday, August 2
Aida calls out as I’m passing by. She's sitting on the porch, taking a break from mask making. She’s made 150 from the pattern on the Department of Health website and distributed them to her neighbours and friends. Mine has llamas on it. Just in time. We chat about the news. Aida says she wishes "they" would lay off Daniel. We agree that Dan would be in there scrubbing out the nursing homes himself if he could.
Aida says “Gotta go!” and returns to the masks. She’s on a mission.
Lenice emails from NZ: “Just heard You are in a state of disaster”. “How rude!” I reply.
Sunday, August 2
Aida calls out as I’m passing by. She's sitting on the porch, taking a break from mask making. She’s made 150 from the pattern on the Department of Health website and distributed them to her neighbours and friends. Mine has llamas on it. Just in time. We chat about the news. Aida says she wishes "they" would lay off Daniel. We agree that Dan would be in there scrubbing out the nursing homes himself if he could.
Aida says “Gotta go!” and returns to the masks. She’s on a mission.
Lenice emails from NZ: “Just heard You are in a state of disaster”. “How rude!” I reply.
Monday, August 3
Laura, Terry, Gill and John come for afternoon tea. Laura has offered the option of a Zoom cuppa instead but Gill and I want to enjoy one last opportunity to talk face to face. Besides, Terry has made a carrot and walnut cake and Gill has bought a berry and frangipani tart and we can’t share those via Zoom. No doubt it will be possible in the next pandemic. As my guests leave, I put the remains of Gill’s tart in Laura’s basket on the floor. We turn around just in time to see Matilda wolfing the last of the tart. She apologises later. “I thought anything on the floor was fair game.”
Tuesday, August 4
The coldest day so far. Bitter! I walk with Liz and Gill and sundry dogs down near the old mine brace. We are five minutes into our walk when it starts sleeting. The two black dogs are covered in sleet. At least our new masks keep our noses warm.
Liane is indomitable. Since March she’s been devising ways ArtSpace can continue to operate. Her latest was viewings of the winter exhibition by appointment. Stage 3 restrictions have put an end to that. I have a mental picture of Liane: a cartoon character who keeps getting knocked to the ground, staggers to her feet, gets knocked down again and still gets up.
Liane and Matt are usually away at this time of the year, doing good works in developing countries. But they haven’t wasted their lockdown time: they’ve put in a backyard pool. Liane emails “The pool got commissioned yesterday - and we had our first swim last night. Can't say the swim lasted long - and can't say it would have happened had we not had a few elixirs to give us courage - but at least it happened!”
Wednesday, August 5
I wake to news of the explosion in Beirut. Hundreds killed, thousands injured in a city already devastated by civil war and the pandemic. Layer upon layer of tragedy. How do people go on?
Tim H offers to take me for a walk round the Holden Proving Ground site and into the adjoining Boral woodlands. We meet at Grantville and his dog barks at me as I get into his car. It’s my mask. All our dogs are spooked. We pass the sign saying “No entry”, climb a gate and we are in a vast woodland of young grass trees, heaths, orchids, ferns, wombats and wallabies. Magic! We get back to the car at dusk and the cold air makes me cough. “It’s not the COVID thing,” I assure Tim. He tells me his brother-in-law’s COVID joke: “I used to cough to cover up a fart. Now I fart to cover up a cough.”
Thursday August 6
Bass Coast Health announces the first case of staff infection. An agency nurse who works at Kirrak House, an aged care home in Wonthaggi, has tested positive. All staff and residents are being tested. Kirrak House will be in lockdown until the end of August. Playgrounds and skate parks are closed. Proof of residence must now be provided when attending any of Bass Coast’s tips. This is serious.
Murray and I walk in Tank Hill. We get on to Trump and the US election. I used to avoid US politics but these days it’s welcome relief from the C-thing. Murray reckons Trump’s finished; Biden’s going to win. I mutter something about two old white men battling it out to be president. Murray comments mildly, “That’s ageist.” He says Biden’s environmental policies are good. I have to admit I know don’t know anything about Biden’s policies. I feel despondent about the US in general. Pure prejudice.
Friday, August 7
A recorded call from the Australian Services Department. They’ve looked into my tax affairs and they’re appalled. Someone is coming to arrest me. He’s actually on his way! I must press 1 straight away. The voice is very stern. I imagine a roomful of them, laughing like anything as he records the message.
I spot a raven carrying a very large twig. He sees me watching and does a circle to put me off the trail, then flies to the tallest tree. Spring is coming.
As well as cleaning out our sock drawers during the lockdown, many of us have taken the time to clean out old relationships. We have quietly dropped some people, and been quietly dropped by others, because we didn’t bring them joy.
Saturday, August 8
Maxine visits Griffiths Point Lodge once a week to wave and smile at her mother through a window. She says staff have been setting her mother up so they can Skype together. Her mother now recognises family members on the screen though she can’t remember their names. Now that staff are wearing masks, she thinks she’s in hospital.
I run into Caroline and Bill near the old mine brace. Bill says he hasn’t been this way since he was a boy. They used to bring their ferrets and go out rabbiting. They’d hide their bikes in the scrub and hitch a ride on the empty coal wagons along the haulage track. If they were spotted they’d have to run for it. Caroline and Bill usually head north for winter, travelling the back roads of Australia – or around the world. Instead they’ve been going out for walks every day. Yesterday was Baxters wetlands, knee deep in water. “I’m loving it,” Bill says. “It wouldn’t have happened without the lockdowns.”
Sunday August 9
A girl passes with a young puppy on a lead. Not long afterwards, they run back the way they came. “Forgot my mask,” she yells over her shoulder.
Monday August 10
Residents and staff at Kirrak House have all tested negative … so far so good. Though the incubation period is up to 10 days so keep the fingers crossed for a bit longer.
I talk to my friend Andrew in the city. He’s got plenty of work writing blogs to keep him busy but has only an axolotl and a tank full of shrimps to bring him joy in his small flat. He caught a tram to the city at the weekend and saw masses of police outside Parliament and patrolling the empty streets. “I was glad I was in the tram because they were stopping people on the streets and checking their ID.” He stood in the Emporium shopping centre. The stores were closed and shuttered but the lights were on and muzak was playing. I feel goosebumps as he tells me this. He couldn’t wait to head back to Fitzroy where at least a few cafes are serving takeaway coffee and there are people on the streets. “I knew I was an introvert but I didn’t realise how much I like having people around me,” he says.
Wednesday August 12
Joe Biden has chosen Kamala Harris to be his running mate! Murray, you were right and I apologise. The man’s a bloody genius. Things are going to be all right.
A quick walk in Tank Hill at dusk. I’ve forgotten a mask but there’s no one around at this time. Oh god, here comes someone. It’s Frank and he’s forgotten his mask too. He’s just retired – full of plans for travel – and I ask him how he’s coping with being stuck at home. He grins. Couldn’t be happier. He’s walking every day, discovering new places. “How lucky are we to have this on our doorstep,” he says. He played here as a kid, his children played here and now his grandchildren play here.
Miriam tells me she’s logging her daily jogs and walks for Run Down Under, a kind of virtual circuit of Australia. "I'm currently 8.31km out of Goulburn, having left Canberra on the 2nd,” she writes. “Be there by lunchtime tomorrow."
Thursday August 13
Save the Holden Bushlands has a meeting with the council. We are pushing for public acquisition of this rare coastal forest. The meeting is via Microsoft Teams. Fifteen minutes before the meeting I click the link on my iPad and am instructed that I must first download the Microsoft Meetings app. I’m told the app is incompatible with my device. Bugger! I switch to my desktop computer. No camera but that’s okay. Oh, no microphone either. I can’t be seen or heard. I message another SHB member to make my apologies. At least I can watch and listen.
I leave Matilda outside while I’m working on the Post and come out a couple of hours later to find her sunning herself innocently on the verandah. It’s only later I find out the true story of the missing hours. Joan, my neighbour across the road, tells me Matilda came over and was trying to tip over her rubbish bin to get at the chicken bones when a ute sped by. Matilda gave up the bones to chase the ute down the lane and tackle it from the front. Joan thought she was a goner. She’s not only jumped over the dog-proof fence to get out but she’s jumped back in after her adventures. “It’s not too late to return you to the lost dogs’ home,” I warn Matilda. She thumps her tail.
In the evening I watch a Zoom webinar. The theme is “deep listening”. Phillip Island’s Dr Laura Brearley is in conversation with Matua (Uncle) Arnold Tihema , a Maori elder. Arnold tells us the Maori name for Australia’s First Nations people. Tangata Moe Moea. Translated literally “People of the Dreaming”. We practise it. It has a nice ring. As the eldest son, Arnold was raised by his grandparents and taught the old ways, based on nature and spirituality. He tells us the Whanganui River, a sacred river, has been recognised by the New Zealand government as a legal entity. Mt Taranaki is next on the list. The first step to recognising the essence of nature for itself rather than for what humans can extract from it. A breath-taking idea and a good way to spend an evening.
Laura, Terry, Gill and John come for afternoon tea. Laura has offered the option of a Zoom cuppa instead but Gill and I want to enjoy one last opportunity to talk face to face. Besides, Terry has made a carrot and walnut cake and Gill has bought a berry and frangipani tart and we can’t share those via Zoom. No doubt it will be possible in the next pandemic. As my guests leave, I put the remains of Gill’s tart in Laura’s basket on the floor. We turn around just in time to see Matilda wolfing the last of the tart. She apologises later. “I thought anything on the floor was fair game.”
Tuesday, August 4
The coldest day so far. Bitter! I walk with Liz and Gill and sundry dogs down near the old mine brace. We are five minutes into our walk when it starts sleeting. The two black dogs are covered in sleet. At least our new masks keep our noses warm.
Liane is indomitable. Since March she’s been devising ways ArtSpace can continue to operate. Her latest was viewings of the winter exhibition by appointment. Stage 3 restrictions have put an end to that. I have a mental picture of Liane: a cartoon character who keeps getting knocked to the ground, staggers to her feet, gets knocked down again and still gets up.
Liane and Matt are usually away at this time of the year, doing good works in developing countries. But they haven’t wasted their lockdown time: they’ve put in a backyard pool. Liane emails “The pool got commissioned yesterday - and we had our first swim last night. Can't say the swim lasted long - and can't say it would have happened had we not had a few elixirs to give us courage - but at least it happened!”
Wednesday, August 5
I wake to news of the explosion in Beirut. Hundreds killed, thousands injured in a city already devastated by civil war and the pandemic. Layer upon layer of tragedy. How do people go on?
Tim H offers to take me for a walk round the Holden Proving Ground site and into the adjoining Boral woodlands. We meet at Grantville and his dog barks at me as I get into his car. It’s my mask. All our dogs are spooked. We pass the sign saying “No entry”, climb a gate and we are in a vast woodland of young grass trees, heaths, orchids, ferns, wombats and wallabies. Magic! We get back to the car at dusk and the cold air makes me cough. “It’s not the COVID thing,” I assure Tim. He tells me his brother-in-law’s COVID joke: “I used to cough to cover up a fart. Now I fart to cover up a cough.”
Thursday August 6
Bass Coast Health announces the first case of staff infection. An agency nurse who works at Kirrak House, an aged care home in Wonthaggi, has tested positive. All staff and residents are being tested. Kirrak House will be in lockdown until the end of August. Playgrounds and skate parks are closed. Proof of residence must now be provided when attending any of Bass Coast’s tips. This is serious.
Murray and I walk in Tank Hill. We get on to Trump and the US election. I used to avoid US politics but these days it’s welcome relief from the C-thing. Murray reckons Trump’s finished; Biden’s going to win. I mutter something about two old white men battling it out to be president. Murray comments mildly, “That’s ageist.” He says Biden’s environmental policies are good. I have to admit I know don’t know anything about Biden’s policies. I feel despondent about the US in general. Pure prejudice.
Friday, August 7
A recorded call from the Australian Services Department. They’ve looked into my tax affairs and they’re appalled. Someone is coming to arrest me. He’s actually on his way! I must press 1 straight away. The voice is very stern. I imagine a roomful of them, laughing like anything as he records the message.
I spot a raven carrying a very large twig. He sees me watching and does a circle to put me off the trail, then flies to the tallest tree. Spring is coming.
As well as cleaning out our sock drawers during the lockdown, many of us have taken the time to clean out old relationships. We have quietly dropped some people, and been quietly dropped by others, because we didn’t bring them joy.
Saturday, August 8
Maxine visits Griffiths Point Lodge once a week to wave and smile at her mother through a window. She says staff have been setting her mother up so they can Skype together. Her mother now recognises family members on the screen though she can’t remember their names. Now that staff are wearing masks, she thinks she’s in hospital.
I run into Caroline and Bill near the old mine brace. Bill says he hasn’t been this way since he was a boy. They used to bring their ferrets and go out rabbiting. They’d hide their bikes in the scrub and hitch a ride on the empty coal wagons along the haulage track. If they were spotted they’d have to run for it. Caroline and Bill usually head north for winter, travelling the back roads of Australia – or around the world. Instead they’ve been going out for walks every day. Yesterday was Baxters wetlands, knee deep in water. “I’m loving it,” Bill says. “It wouldn’t have happened without the lockdowns.”
Sunday August 9
A girl passes with a young puppy on a lead. Not long afterwards, they run back the way they came. “Forgot my mask,” she yells over her shoulder.
Monday August 10
Residents and staff at Kirrak House have all tested negative … so far so good. Though the incubation period is up to 10 days so keep the fingers crossed for a bit longer.
I talk to my friend Andrew in the city. He’s got plenty of work writing blogs to keep him busy but has only an axolotl and a tank full of shrimps to bring him joy in his small flat. He caught a tram to the city at the weekend and saw masses of police outside Parliament and patrolling the empty streets. “I was glad I was in the tram because they were stopping people on the streets and checking their ID.” He stood in the Emporium shopping centre. The stores were closed and shuttered but the lights were on and muzak was playing. I feel goosebumps as he tells me this. He couldn’t wait to head back to Fitzroy where at least a few cafes are serving takeaway coffee and there are people on the streets. “I knew I was an introvert but I didn’t realise how much I like having people around me,” he says.
Wednesday August 12
Joe Biden has chosen Kamala Harris to be his running mate! Murray, you were right and I apologise. The man’s a bloody genius. Things are going to be all right.
A quick walk in Tank Hill at dusk. I’ve forgotten a mask but there’s no one around at this time. Oh god, here comes someone. It’s Frank and he’s forgotten his mask too. He’s just retired – full of plans for travel – and I ask him how he’s coping with being stuck at home. He grins. Couldn’t be happier. He’s walking every day, discovering new places. “How lucky are we to have this on our doorstep,” he says. He played here as a kid, his children played here and now his grandchildren play here.
Miriam tells me she’s logging her daily jogs and walks for Run Down Under, a kind of virtual circuit of Australia. "I'm currently 8.31km out of Goulburn, having left Canberra on the 2nd,” she writes. “Be there by lunchtime tomorrow."
Thursday August 13
Save the Holden Bushlands has a meeting with the council. We are pushing for public acquisition of this rare coastal forest. The meeting is via Microsoft Teams. Fifteen minutes before the meeting I click the link on my iPad and am instructed that I must first download the Microsoft Meetings app. I’m told the app is incompatible with my device. Bugger! I switch to my desktop computer. No camera but that’s okay. Oh, no microphone either. I can’t be seen or heard. I message another SHB member to make my apologies. At least I can watch and listen.
I leave Matilda outside while I’m working on the Post and come out a couple of hours later to find her sunning herself innocently on the verandah. It’s only later I find out the true story of the missing hours. Joan, my neighbour across the road, tells me Matilda came over and was trying to tip over her rubbish bin to get at the chicken bones when a ute sped by. Matilda gave up the bones to chase the ute down the lane and tackle it from the front. Joan thought she was a goner. She’s not only jumped over the dog-proof fence to get out but she’s jumped back in after her adventures. “It’s not too late to return you to the lost dogs’ home,” I warn Matilda. She thumps her tail.
In the evening I watch a Zoom webinar. The theme is “deep listening”. Phillip Island’s Dr Laura Brearley is in conversation with Matua (Uncle) Arnold Tihema , a Maori elder. Arnold tells us the Maori name for Australia’s First Nations people. Tangata Moe Moea. Translated literally “People of the Dreaming”. We practise it. It has a nice ring. As the eldest son, Arnold was raised by his grandparents and taught the old ways, based on nature and spirituality. He tells us the Whanganui River, a sacred river, has been recognised by the New Zealand government as a legal entity. Mt Taranaki is next on the list. The first step to recognising the essence of nature for itself rather than for what humans can extract from it. A breath-taking idea and a good way to spend an evening.
Hmm, looks like trouble ... Friday, August 14
Matilda and I walk at Harmers. The sky is extraordinary: black and violet. A storm is coming from the west but for now it’s absolutely still. Half an hour later, returning to the car, we’re caught in a deluge. Streams are running down the gravelled path and the car park is under water. We are so wet I can only laugh.
I send a photo of the approaching storm to a friend in the city. Once a week Amelia and I swap a photo that sums up our lives during the pandemic. She responds with a photo of the QV public toilets, usually bustling with queues waiting outside. Now they are empty and spotless. “I was the only one in there. Crazy quiet.” She is struggling with living in a ghost city but also finding it interesting. “Bare street, closed stores, no life to liven up a once lively city. I’m blessed to be in the heart of the city at a time like this and witnessing this time in history that I will never forget.”
Matilda and I walk at Harmers. The sky is extraordinary: black and violet. A storm is coming from the west but for now it’s absolutely still. Half an hour later, returning to the car, we’re caught in a deluge. Streams are running down the gravelled path and the car park is under water. We are so wet I can only laugh.
I send a photo of the approaching storm to a friend in the city. Once a week Amelia and I swap a photo that sums up our lives during the pandemic. She responds with a photo of the QV public toilets, usually bustling with queues waiting outside. Now they are empty and spotless. “I was the only one in there. Crazy quiet.” She is struggling with living in a ghost city but also finding it interesting. “Bare street, closed stores, no life to liven up a once lively city. I’m blessed to be in the heart of the city at a time like this and witnessing this time in history that I will never forget.”
Cyril and Lilian (centre) en route for New Zealand on an army ship at the end of the First World War. Amelia’s comment sets me thinking about how we experience history. Sometimes we barely notice that we are part of it. I think of my grandfather, Cyril, who enlisted for the NZ army in July 1915, aged 22. He was away for more than four years. While he was overseas his mother killed herself in a psychiatric hospital. The soldier Cyril was injured and spent time in a hospital in England. He returned to NZ with an English wife in 1919 as the Spanish flu pandemic was finally easing. They did not know that my grandmother had already developed tuberculosis. In 1932 they were living in Napier when an earthquake struck, killing 250 people and devastated most of the city. My grandmother Lilian grabbed the baby – my mother – and raced outside just before their house collapsed.
War, plague, pestilence … yet my grandparents never spoke about the horrors they had seen and, I suspect, rarely thought of them. The only war story Cyril ever told his grandchildren was about being shot in the bum. “Which shows I was running away,” he boasted. By the time I knew my grandparents, their lives were an endless round of small pleasures. Life goes on.
War, plague, pestilence … yet my grandparents never spoke about the horrors they had seen and, I suspect, rarely thought of them. The only war story Cyril ever told his grandchildren was about being shot in the bum. “Which shows I was running away,” he boasted. By the time I knew my grandparents, their lives were an endless round of small pleasures. Life goes on.