A free tree.

The above photo I took while wandering around my Southern Highlands, which is well known for its variety of trees, both native evergreens and the deciduous.  This tree seems to have developed a mind of its own very early on it its life on a street that the local Shire decided to enhance by planting trees. Soon after its planting, the young sapling threw all caution to the wind with an admirable courage to remain free and unrestrained. As the picture shows, it has usurped its cast-iron restraining frame and is in the actual process of eating it. The middle part of the frame is being ingested by the tree and to make it easier has split in two parts, giving both sides time and space to slowly dissolve this steel frame hoping it won’t be noticed by the Shire’s officers often doing the rounds checking on the trees and adjust, straighten or fix the frames or steel enclosures in case trees become unruly, or escape their enclosures. 

It’s a known fact that for many, at least in the past, trees were, or at least can be, a threat. I grew up in a suburb where the Neighbourhood always checked on the height of trees and anything above roof-gutter height would be, without warning get cut down. Those suburban tree watchers always held a fear of bush fires. And in the early fifties, trees were actually shunned in many suburbs because of fear of fires. People put in rockeries because rocks don’t burn easily, neither do petunias or lawns. Lawns were safe and cement patios and concrete drive-ways really flourished in suburbia were I grew up in.

Our neighbour used to spend entire week-ends on his knees prying out unwanted bits of grass that did not conform to the ideal lawn.  I thought first he was praying and hoping for rain because apart from fear of bush-fires there were also long periods of droughts. It is odd, that now that am getting older those memories cling so assiduously and perniciously. Never mind, right now this is my best part of living yet, and most of all am busy creating lovely pleasurable memories. It is just that the past is also giving me so much to reflect upon, and reflecting during Covid and Lock Downs is a luxury we better get used to. It is the perfect way of whiling time, as is walking around admiring the free spirits of trees.

6 Hours or more per week.

We, in Australia are now reaping the benefits of a prolonged Lockdown. There is a gradual lifting but visiting friends and family in Sydney is still not allowed. I am sorry if this subject is a repeat of previous tales on this blog, but so be it. Lockdowns has been the major occupation for not just me, but for millions of people. The benefits have been that a comparative few victims per capita have suffered in Australia compared with the rest of the world, but we also now have had the distinction of two cities with a world record time for lockdowns. Perhaps we will yet get a critical review on this record in time to come.

I am still in a kind of lockdown, still unable to visit Sydney to see friends or family although one visit was surreptitiously sneaked in to see my daughter under the exemption based on compassionate grounds. Even this visit was done with some trepidation as some better equipped than me in the art of understanding the complication of Governmental Stay Locked Orders, felt that my visit could be seen as opportunistic and that I should also at least keep myself in a fortnight of self-isolation on my return.

And it is this self-isolation that I am now so much in awe off. Get a bit closer to the screen and I will tell you the reasons of this self-awe-ness. As you know I am living by myself together with Bentley, an irresistible Tibetan-Spaniel dog and good companion. Apart from Bentley and my twice daily walks, my main other event is the coffee sipping at the famous Bradman cricket café in Bowral. They last till all our words have been said, and the coffee has been drunk. That’s usually an hour or so, and then we leave with a ‘see you tomorrow’. And that’s that then for the day. That’s been about all the social contact I had over three months now and continuing. Roughly seven or eight hours a week of human contact. It’s not much, but better than nothing.

I take my cap off in the mirror and am proud of this achievement of still being in a reasonable state of mind. Of course, there have been bits of small talk in the supermarket and the cashier girls and boys always let me ‘have a nice day’. Then on my dog walks, there are many who will ask about Bentley, questioning his age and how nice he looks and exchanges of that nature, the ducks quack in a friendly matter and even the black snake last week looked friendly and non threatening.

Thank goodness for the iPhone and internet. I am not strong in TV watching and somehow feel the aloneness more while watching TV. Bentley is not all that verbal when a particular show such as the Queen’s Gambit makes me utter commentary to a room filled with quietness. As for TV news, the Covid numbers and fatalities are the main bulk of news and does not really fill the hollowness of the days…

All in all, with my gardening and friends on the internet and iPhone I am proud of having survived these over 110 days so far on about an hour a day of human contact.

Of course, nothing unique. many are doing the same.

Lockdown trivial joys, stay busy.

 

With lockdowns gripping people all over the world in its solemn icy journey , counsellors and those trained to keep us away from gloomy thought must be booked for decades to come. Who would have thought  thousands of police hand in hand with battle ready soldiers scanning the streets in case someone might be freely and blissfully aimlessly walking about?

Masks must be worn and the fines are stiff for open uncovered faces, as are being with more than two people gathering. The park benches are taped over in case someone has the temerity to use them and actually sit down. People are spying on each other and any music indicating there could be feet shuffling about with some joyous dancing could easily result in one being bundled in the back of the Paddy-wagon. But spare a thought for the hapless single person?

I might not yet have reached the stage of ‘haplessness’ but I do  definitely qualify for living the life of being single. My true love is far away and in similar lockdown situation running now in it’s ninth week. We can’t travel and meet up. Can you believe it?  If the dreaded Lockdown, goes on much longer we could well be nudging the ‘hapless’ criteria.  How does it feel to be without ‘hap’ and how does it relate to this Lockdown?  ( I copy from Wik “without hap”—hap being another word for fortune or luck. … English has several words to describe those lacking good fortune, including ill-starred, ill-fated, unlucky, and luckless, hapless is one of them”

The lockdown severely limits interaction and goes against everything that we are supposed to engage in to keep us sane and into maintaining the good ‘hap’.  Meeting friends, talking, laughing, crying, touching, fighting, loving and many other activities are so much better shared with others and now this Lockdown prevents most of those emotion being expressed to others. The benefits were supposed to be of short and sharp duration and that it would curb the spread of Covid, but with a new strain popping up, Lockdowns became the toys of the medical toffy boys who now give us a diet of expert opinions each day on TV and lots of Lockdowns to come.

Bentley 

I am at times  when I sit in a chair having exhausted my reasonably wide oeuvre of things to do  (to keep busy trying to escape feelings of haplessness), this could include cooking,  vacuuming, stroking the dog ( Bentley) switching heaters on and off, making a cup of tea, texting friends, washing up, changing the bed sheets, knitting, writing bits and treats. Going to Aldi or Bunnings. But sometimes when all that has been used up and one is empty, an almost hypnotic feeling comes over me where I am awake but hardly conscious, sitting in my chair. Is is the much sought after Buddhist feeling of nothingness coming over me? I then find myself wondering if I should get up and move the cup to the sink, or cover my foot of which the slipper has dropped off, should I put my coat on the chair, take an impromptu shower?. And then suddenly the day has moved yet another hour forward, all of its own volition. 

I wonder if others are experiencing similar feelings, and is it Lockdown syndrome?

No end of Covid.

Has there ever been anything like the present Covid news that has so saturated our lives? There is now nowhere to turn. The QR code has made double sure any escape impossible. At every turn one is asked to take the iPhone out and take a picture of the QR code which is a scrambled square that doesn’t seem to make any sense. Apparently it can be used to trace our movements but I am sure the world of quick money is using it to spout their products.

I have managed to get my double vaccination and even received a digital certificate proving my vaccination status. It is the Astra Zeneca of which there has been some concern that it produced thrombosis in a small number of recipients of that particular vaccine. Most of those, mainly younger women that suffered the blood clotting recuperated but an extremely small number have died. This information was badly handled by our Government and some became scared and uncertain and are now going without vaccinations waiting for the alternative vaccination the Pfizer which is in short supply.

Almost daily we are given ‘updates’  about  changes to the lockdown rules and which areas of our country/cities have to be avoided. There are exemptions but the police is now employed to enforce by punishment that we obey lockdown rules. From next Monday for example the building industry is added to lockdown. Any hammering or drilling is strictly forbidden. We are given this weekend to secure any building or renovation site.  No one in the greater Sydney area is allowed to leave  and police on highways can check your number plate and know instantly that you have transgressed the lockdown rule. Those that don’t fall in line with the restrictions and lockdown can expect the dreaded midnight knock on the door and get a hefty fine to boot.

There are supposed to be exemptions on compassionate ground to visit each other such as couples in intimate relationships that are not living together. That would include me, but the consequences have to be taken in consideration. Do you really want to risk giving Covid infection? And what happens when you get back home again. Does one then have to self isolate?

These are hard and terribly boring times. I give myself some relief with wine and walking, patting Milo, knitting and some solitary cooking.

What can one do?

Here is something very exuberantly cheerful from 1725 by Jean Phillipe Rameau

LES INDES GALANTES – YouTube