Kia ora koutou, this is the second week of self–isolation for me. The news from Italy, Spain, France is still awful. China seems to be improving. The Pacific Islands – hope they’ll be okay. Boris is muttering away in Britain and USA citizens are still buying guns.
I have found out some things about myself. That I’m impatient is not new but the level is rising…sanitising door handles, cupboard handles, the button that makes the toilet flush are okay but that damn shower mat is annoying. I have to use a mat so I don’t slip but it’s a big nuisance having to clean it in the tub. This is because I’ve got shorter as I’ve got older. I used to be five foot four inches (you can do the metrics) and last time I had a check–up, the nurse measured me and very kindly used the old measurements,‘Five foot one.’ When I looked cheesed off, she said, ‘I can count your hair and make it five, one and a half, if you like.’
For the last three or four years I’ve had two hours a week help in the house for which I pay. That’s cancelled for the duration. I cleaned houses once and discovered employers either put me in a different category compared to them (eg not a human being), or they pretended I was invisible. They left used condoms in the waste paper basket, soiled underwear and towels on the floor of the bathroom, dirty socks wherever they were taken off. I blamed this behaviour on their Woodford House or Kings schooling until I realised that some people are shits whether they’ve been to a state school or Christ’s College. I think though that if you’ve always been warm, well fed and well clothed and if you’ve never experienced real hardship, you have a different level of understanding from someone who’s been hungry, cold, shut out from education because of lack of money.
I am amazed to note how often I touch my hair. At my 90th, my oldest son said one of his main memories of me was my habit curling some strands of hair around my fingers as I read. I am adopting a habit of clenching my fist so if I touch my face, only my knuckles make contact and that is such an odd feeling that I pull away instantly. Habits are hard to break because they’re so engrained, so instinctive. And when they’re connected with the habit of reading, even harder.
Someone from Greypower was interviewed on RNZ and I thought,not for the first time, it should be called Whitepower. About 6 years ago I joined, went to a couple of meetings, only lasted for half the second one, just a lot of OWM holding forth at great length, while lots of women, who should know better, leaned forward and pretended to be interested in the pearls of wisdom. As far as I could tell I was the only non-Pakeha there. I confess I joined only to get a card because at that time an electricity provider was giving a discount for cardholders.
On Morning Report Monday, I heard a young woman being interviewed about her grandparents. She spoke as though her 70–year–old grandmother was really old. Why couldn’t RNZ interview the 70–year–old herself? I’m 90 and I’d be steaming if RNZ interviewed any of my granddaughters about my movements and attitudes instead of me – my moko wouldn’t do it anyway.
Sleeping is relatively good. I get about six hours mostly and occasionally seven. This is helped along by the Leafy Greens biscuits I make. During these last two weeks I’ve had more broken sleep but that will pass. My habit is to put the light out early and lie awake thinking, mulling over what I might be planning to do the next day, perhaps think about the novel I’m writing, and occasionally, just occasionally, thinking about those rare rare times – those happy magical moments – when I get it right.
And for the next few weeks, maybe months, who knows, sing it my friends, sing it …’As we go marching, marching…’
We can do this.
Renée
