Tuesday, March 31: How can I be so busy doing not much? But somehow time slips by. Today there is in-house pilates, a writing project, phonecalls, social media, the wonderful RNZ, and I’m cleaning household “trouble spots”, as per my list. Cleaning always involves discoveries. Like the worrying possibility of carpet beetles. On the plus side, I find more rice and pasta in the pantry than I can poke a fork at. And no panic shopping was involved. I think I’ve been buying new packets on auto-pilot at the supermarket, and the older stuff gets pushed to the back of the bins where it’s all stored. I also find another bottle of hand-sanitiser during a fossick in rarely visited drawers. There is a facemask, too, sealed in a cellophane packet. Small gifts.
Highlight: I walk to my friends, Rosemary and Neville, who live nearby, and have tea with them at a very safe distance. Together/apart. I take my own Thermos of tea, my chair has been sanitised, and it is quarantined when I leave. It does me a power of good.
Missing: Mister Minit repair man at Centre Place because the battery on my wrist-watch dies this evening and it will be ages before I can get it fixed. I find an elegant gold wind-up watch from my past; it’s got a fiddly catch and I can never remember to wind it. Bugger.
Monday, March 30: Pilates video workout in the morning, more phonecalls, invisible mending (ancient Ashley Fogel cardigan brought back from the dead) and ongoing kitchen cleaning. The cleaning offers a sense of order, something I can control, when so much is disordered and out of control. So I clean the hell out of my house. You can see your face in the silver. Campbell reports that he has cleaned the oven. Later he sends a photo of scones cooking in the sparkling oven, and before-and-after photos of a huge tidy-up in the garage.
In the afternoon, a legitimate outing: I drive across town to the doctor to get my flu jab, administered in the carpark, like a scene from a sci-fi movie. First time my car has been out of the garage since lockdown. The CBD is a ghost town. I call at Green Patch fruit and vege shop for a few things on the way home, it sort of feels okay.
Highlight: Making Stuff columnist Joe Bennett’s beef ragu recipe for dinner, a hugely comforting dish laced with red wine. A rough guide: gently fry chopped garlic and onion in olive oil, celery if you have it, add a knob of butter, then bacon chunks and beef mince, brown for a bit, add bay leaf, chopped carrots (optional), tinned Italian tomatoes, dried oregano, a vast amount of red wine, and a decent glug of Worcester Sauce. Cook very slowly, for about an hour, until you have a lovely reddish-brown slurry. Season to taste. Serve over pasta, top with grated parmesan and chopped parsley. Drink any leftover red wine.
Missing (some of these are First World problems): my family; my friends; weekly catch up with Venetia; GSK coffee; Sunday walk with Venetia and Rosemary, and post-walk GSK breakfast; work; hugs; movies; pilates with Braidy; coffee at The Kirk post-pilates; nipping up to the shops for a missing ingredient for a recipe; general bloody lack of control over my life.
Sunday, March 29: Have the longest walk so far, on a beautiful sunny day, a real sense of camaraderie afoot. I’ve been uneasy lately, walking on my own. But this feels okay. By unspoken agreement we all skirt around each other on the pavement, with nods and smiles. The local fruit and vege shop is open, so that may be a good option for supplies. I’m still trying to make sense of the new normal. Loving the phonecalls, sharing Netflix tips and silly videos.
Speak to my neighbour Paula on my walk, and a man I know slightly … he turns out to be a neighbour. He’s lived in the area for seven years and this is the first time we’ve sighted each other.
I sit on Bill’s memorial seat in our subdivision each day when I come back from my walk. I tell him he’s needed more than ever.
Anna gives me meat from her parents’ farm for the freezer; fillet steak, lamb knuckles and neck chops. More culinary gold. Meanwhile I’m still thawing dodgy pottles. Tonight’s dinner will be a lottery. Looks like a lamb curry but I can’t remember making it. I boil up the fig jam while I cook dinner. #domesticgoddess#thanksjackie
The first Covid-19 death in New Zealand is reported today, and a cluster of 15 cases (this number grows alarmingly) in Matamata, all with contact at bars that are favourites of my sister Margot’s family. Too close to home.
Highlights: watching Rake on Netflix; just the sort of rollicking silliness I need right now. Plus Shtisel, an intriguing Jewish series, and Shetland, notable for its amazing Shetland Islands scenery as well as sound detective stories.
Fig jam
1 kg figs, washed and chopped (skin on)
1 vanilla bean
1 cinnamon quill
500g caster sugar
rind and juice of a lemon
Assemble and mix all ingredients. Boil over low heat in a large heavy-based pot for 45 minutes until thick and sticky. Mash lightly with a fork. Transfer to sterilised jars. Excellent with hot cross buns.
Saturday, March 28: I can’t seem to keep my daily structure going. Maybe I don’t need one. I read late. Sometimes I sleep late. I have a long talk to Hilary this morning, we’re both in bed, in our solo bubbles, with a cup of tea, mourning the loss of our independence, and our respective husbands. Hilary’s husband’s death is so recent, February. Hard times.
Guy went to the supermarket yesterday and got a few things for me, including a dollop of mince for beef ragu. I also go to the superette at Claudelands but feel tense. A woman stands too close at the entrance. We’re all watching each other. I can’t get out of there fast enough.
I’m touched by texts and calls from friends/colleagues from my Waikato Times days, asking if there is anything they can do for me; Aimie, Kate and others. There are many offers of shopping drops. Kindness abounds in our small country.
Highlight: cooking. I make muesli, a potato and kransky gratin, and chop up more of Jackie’s figs (another drop off) for fig jam. Cooking is therapy.
Friday, March 27: Pilates instructor Braidy Lidington sends some coaching videos, I do the “stretch and mobilise” class on a rug in the sittingroom. This will be invaluable. Pilates classes are cancelled, of course. Everything I’m involved with has been cancelled; Auckland Writers’ Festival, Feast Waikato, theatre, movies, weddings and funerals, family visits. I feel like my life is being cancelled.
It wasn’t always like this. On February 15, I officiated at the wedding of Mark Sherson, son of dear friends Venetia and John; there were more than 100 guests to celebrate with Mark and Jem and it was a joyous sunny day. All our friends stayed together at the Mount, on the Tay St campus; we relished the company and the wedding. A week later I led the funeral for Colin Webber, my old friend Hilary’s husband; Colin has gone way too soon, leaving everyone shocked and sad. There were 500-600 people at his funeral, bulging out of a marquee at Roto-o-rangi School. Followed by a full noise Irish wake.
Fast forward a few weeks and neither of these events could possibly have been held. And, unbelievably, I’m writing about how our lives are on hold and we are all utterly responsible for each other’s safety.
Our Covid-19 numbers keep rising. Ministry of Health director-general Ashley Bloomfield fronts press conferences each day; he speaks with outstanding clarity and knowledge. New Zealand of the Year at the next awards?
PM Jacinda is unbelievably good in a crisis, firm, compassionate and thoughtful, and this crisis is like no other. The Government has a wide-ranging plan, and a team of politicians, scientists, officials and business people in place to work the plan. The plan is updated as the situation develops and Covid-19 numbers climb. Each day the PM asks her country to follow the rules, stay home, and be kind. The Government’s plan is not always perfect – how could it be in these circumstances – and some people quickly become armchair experts and critics. For me, there is nowhere else in the world I want to be right now than Aotearoa-New Zealand. We’re in this together.
Thursday, March 26: Action: send off the story to Stuff, polish the silver, sweep floors, clean oven hob, clean bathrooms. On my walk, I meet neighbours Mary, Jan and Colleen. We talk at a distance. The bright Waikato autumn weather lifts the sombre mood.
I’m trying to get some structure to my days: breakfast in the sunny window seat each morning, a walk, computer time, phone time, various projects, cooking, Wine O’Clock. There is always potential to be sidetracked. Today I have breakfast at 10am and lunch at 3pm.
My sister-in-law, Denise, arrives home early from a holiday in the South Island before domestic flights around the country are halted. Good to have her safely back, frustrating we can’t get together for a debrief.
Highlight: I cook Lisa Quarrie’s delicious curry (see below), using kumara and potatoes. Last of the pork meatballs on the side. The freezer packet of leftover pork went a long way.
Balinese Butternut Curry
Serves 4
Spice paste
You can use 3-4 tbsp of packaged red or yellow curry paste but it is fun to make your own. Don’t worry if you don’t have everything on the list, you can omit, substitute, and create. Use what you’ve got on hand. Butternut soaks up flavours like a sponge.
3 garlic cloves
1 long red chilli, seeded and chopped
1 large tomato, chopped
1 cm piece fresh turmeric or 2 tsp ground turmeric
2 macadamias, almonds or brazil nuts
2 tsp coriander seeds
1 piece lemongrass stalk, roughly chopped
2 tsp chopped fresh ginger
Half an onion, diced
3 tsp maple syrup
Pinch salt
Other ingredients
3 tbsp coconut (or vegetable) oil
650g butternut (or pumpkin, kumara or potato), chopped into 2-3cm cubes
1 bay leaf
2 pieces lemongrass, knotted (or lemon zest, or lemongrass in a jar)
120ml coconut milk
2 tbsp soy sauce or fish sauce
1 tbsp fried shallots
3 kaffir lime leaves
400ml water
Start by making the spice paste. Blitz all ingredients in a foodprocessor until well combined into a golden yellow paste flecked with chilli and tomato skin.
Heat the oil in a heavy-based pot or a wok, over medium heat, and fry the spice paste for 30 seconds. Add the bay leaf, lemongrass and lime leaves and toss for 30 seconds.
Add chopped butternut to the pot and fry for 1 minute, then add the water and simmer until the butternut has softened and cooked through, about 30 minutes.
Add coconut milk and fried shallots, and soy or fish sauce and gently simmer for 1 minute, until slightly thickened, then serve with steamed rice and any of the following accompaniments for an interactive family meal: chopped cucumber, roasted cashews, toasted coconut, eggplant or tomato sambal, cherry tomatoes, fresh coriander, sliced spring onion, crispy shallots, sliced chilli, grilled chicken, or tempeh, or meatballs.
Wednesday, March 25: Still numb, a day of phonecalls, texts, checking on people, news updates, a walk, chicken soup. Food becomes hugely important. More the planning/cooking of it than the eating of it. My friend Jackie drops off figs from her tree, we shout at each other from a suitable distance in the driveway. I fossick in the freezer and thaw a random, unmarked bag. Gold: a lovely chunk of roast pork. It does three meals, including excellent rissoles: blitz pork in the foodprocessor with garlic, fresh chilli and whatever herbs are to hand. Season with salt and pepper, mix in an egg, roll into balls, dust with flour and shallow-fry in olive oil.
Everyone is preparing for lockdown; there is a huge outbreak of panic buying at supermarkets. I’ve got heaps of stuff in the pantry – farm girl heritage – I could go for ages without having to buy anything. Even after biffing some items recently due to a pantry moth infestation! #eathepantry
And, very important, I have a goodly supply of wine.
It helps to keep busy. I clean out two cutlery drawers, great result; make a list of many other overdue domestic jobs. This may be a time to reset, think about what is important, and delve into dusty/dodgy corners of this house. The dust under my bed is really bad.
I interview Lisa Quarrie (by phone, of course) for a story for Stuff about what chefs are cooking for their families during the lockdown. Lisa and husband Brent own Hayes Common, now temporarily closed. They’re numb, too, it’s been hugely stressful running a food business while coronavirus has ramped up. Lisa says it’s actually a relief to close.
I write the story immediately, Lisa sends a recipe and photos of her beautiful Balinese butternut curry.
I put two Whyte St teddy bears in the kitchen window in solidarity with the “Bear Hunt” challenge taking place throughout the country. The idea is that kids out walking can see the bears and be cheered by them. Penny has a sloth in her window and Henry and Libs have teddy bears.
Our family decides to post each day on Messenger. Cam says I should record the history of our family treasures/memorabilia. Will do. Add it to the domestic list.
The book on Hamilton’s People’s Project (housing the homeless initiative) that Venetia and I writing is on hold. We email the principals, Julie Nelson and Kerry Hawkes, sending our good wishes as they care for their vulnerable clients during this crisis.
At 6.30pm my phone blasts like a hooter. It is text sent nationwide from the National Emergency Management Agency, an alert to announce that from 11.59pm tonight the country moves to Covid-19 Alert Level 4. It is says follow the rules, stay home, and act as if you have Covid-19. This will save lives. Where you stay tonight is where you must stay from now on. Kia kaha.
Tuesday, March 24: The new normal. I only leave the house to walk in my neighbourhood. I’m heeding Jacinda’s recommendation for my age group. There are heaps of phonecalls: Alan, Judy, Margs, Julie, Venetia, Barbara, Jill, Jackie, Rosemary, Richard and Campbell. I don’t seem to do anything but talk on the phone, listen to the news. RNZ and the beautiful retro kitchen radio I got for Christmas are my best friends. I’m pleased to be reading a huge, brilliant book: The Mirror and the Light, the final of Hilary Mantel’s Thomas Cromwell series. It will sustain me for a while. Plus plenty of Netflix for entertainment. And having my old newspaper, the Waikato Times, in my letterbox each morning is a huge comfort.
Similarly, a WhatsApp group of tight friends in Whangamata, Auckland and Hamilton. It becomes a lifeline of anecdotes, experiences, encouragement, and love.
Monday, March 23: Bugger it, I think, I’m only four months into being 70. Using this flawed logic, I go to my pilates class with Braidy Lidington, and then meet Dott and Brian and Dott’s sister Pat for coffee at Acuppa Café on Grey St. Pat returns to Canada the next day, and is worried about the trip. The café is dead quiet, we’re subdued, like we know we’re breaking the rules. The Covid-19 count is rising, the unspoken thought is that the Government’s Level 3 & 4 are not far away. No hugs on departure.
There are quick shopping stops on the way home: the Gouda Cheese Shop in Hillcrest for lockdown supplies of parmesan, Meyer goat cheese and gouda. Another customer comes in and stands too close. My unease is starting to bite. Then the Claudelands Superette for a few last-minute items. The staff member wears a mask and gloves: he looks at my white hair and says, “Ma’am, go home and let your children do your shopping.” I find a small bottle hand-sanitiser (liquid gold) in a drawer at home. I pop it into my handbag. It could be weeks before I actually use my handbag.
At midday, Jacinda Ardern announces that Level 3 will be enacted tomorrow, followed by Level 4 at 11.59pm on Wednesday; Level 4 is lockdown of everything except essential services. For four weeks, or more. We need to choose a bubble of people to lockdown with, and stay in our bubble. Life as I know and love it is changing at speed. No control over what happens next. I’m numb, I go next door to my nephew Guy and his wife Anna, my great-niece Emme makes a cup of tea. I’m so fortunate to have them as my neighbours.
Facebook friends change their profile pictures to include the line, Stay the Fuck at Home.
Richard and Campbell phone; I’m all right, they’re all right. The Golf Warehouse in Tauranga, which Campbell manages, will close, Ellen won’t be able to get her Pāpāmoa Post newspaper printed and delivered, but it will go up online. Richard and Sonya will work from home in Auckland. Schools are to close. I can’t visit and help with kid-minding.
Missing my sons, daughters-in-law, and mokopuna Henry, Libby and Penny; wishing like hell that Bill was still here. I’m a social being, out of the house almost as much as I’m in it. Solitary confinement/bubble-of-one will be hard work. I talk to my sister Margot, also in a solo bubble. I want to circle the wagons, draw my family close. But it doesn’t work like this.
Sunday, March 22: Venetia and I decide it is okay to walk around Hamilton Lake, at a suitable distance, and we enjoy a sunny breakfast outdoors at Grey St Kitchen. Well clear of other people. Wonderful chilli scramble and excellent coffee; we have no idea, really, that this will be the last GSK breakfast, and meeting-in-person, for many weeks. We mime farewell hugs, Venetia gives me tomatoes and kale from her garden, I head to Hamilton Farmers’ Market for fish and more vegetables. I feel safe, it’s a big airy barn and there is lots of goodwill and banter. I load up with aubergine, leeks, avocados, carrots, garlic, tarakihi, red peppers, sprouts. It will be another “last”.
Keep calm, keep cooking: I make chicken soup with a carcass salvaged from a summer barbecue at the Mount. I’d saved it for a rainy day. It’s raining hard, it seems the most uncertain time of my entire life.
When the soup’s done, I phone my ex-neighbour, Diana, and offer to drop some off to her. “No,” she says, “give it to someone who needs it more.” Diana says she’d found an old chook in the freezer, and poached it slowly until the flesh fell off the bones. She has combined it with a bag of mixed vegetables and put it into pottles for the freezer. She’s primed for lockdown.
I have gorgeous Raglan tarakihi for dinner. This may be the last Sunday fish dinner for ages. The entire weekend’s been like a last hurrah.
