It is day three of the lockdown here in South
Africa. A Sunday. The light is clear and white-gold, autumn has chased off
summer’s heavy heat, and there is a new feeling of being in the world: connection in the shared distance, in this
surreal season we have entered. We are comfortable up here and there is nothing
to complain about. We have food, space, views, plenty to keep us busy. I have
been doing yoga via Zoom every day (YogaSpirit is the best – wonderfully
organized and reliable – so happy to keep practicing during this time), playing
piano, trying to play guitar (after learning it can be tuned using an app! So
satisfying.), reading (“Three Women” by Lisa Taddeo. Jeezus. Very good.),
watching Netflix, cleaning out the house. It is actually a very agreeable
situation for a person with my shallow, relentless fear of missing out. I
didn’t stock up on alcohol either, so it’s kind of a low-budget rehab. Habits
are forming – some good, some bad. Good – reading out loud every night with the
kids, loading the dishwasher before bed. Bad – Mad Men + Jumpin’ Jack white
cheddar popcorn (aka Palomitas del Diablo). Nothing revolutionary, of course,
but I still hope the good ones stick when life resumes its usual rhythm and all
the old distractions and obligations come rushing back. Every night at 8pm,
people in our neighborhood and all across the valley go outside and cheer for
the front-liners – the cops and medics and grocery store tellers, etc. We go
out and holler and clap and Apollo barks. Tonight there were thick beams of
light, four spotlights casting into the sky in recognition of people’s service.
They reminded me of the Altamont Fair. The kids will remember this time
forever, I think.
