Happy Mother’s Day. The most extraordinary Mother’s Day. If your mother is in your bubble, then my mother is really lucky.
But you know, I feel bubbles won’t be counted today after yesterday’s state performance.
I know something is up from first thing in the morning. Popped out to the mailbox to get paper around 8 in the morning, I stopped at my track. Something different I can not see anything. But then I rotate. For the first time in 2 months, I heard the distant roar of traffic.
Two hours later when we took the dog for a walk to the beach, we saw where everyone was going. To the outskirts of our city. The streets are filled with parked cars. The cafe has 10 or more queues. The beach was crowded and bubbles appeared all over the place
I saw several friends talking with friends. They introduced me and the man stepped forward with his arms outstretched. I looked at my hands and then returned to him in surprise and he turned.
From then on when I walked on the beach, I could see handshakes all over the place. I began to think that all these people might get up and spit in their mouths and finish everything.
Later that day, other friends confessed that they had met a couple on the way who then returned to their place for soup. Then TV news confirmed that it had happened all over the country wherever it was a pleasant day.
We snapped yesterday. I think we see two New Zealanders in the future. Someone will continue to keep a social distance and wash hands. The others can’t wait to hug, hongi, and shake hands.
That applies to tomorrow’s decision. Hopes and enthusiasm developed in such a way that yesterday our leaders will almost certainly announce Level 2 tomorrow. Not doing so means inciting civil disobedience.
Ashley and Siouxsie will argue it is a bad idea but the Prime Minister will use it to reaffirm his power over the country and show his independence from the Director General of Public Health. This will be her little Mother’s Day for all of us. A late day.
And we will come to the last days of the most extraordinary battles of our generation. And it is an extraordinary battle because the call to action is not to act. We have a big threat to fight so we want you to do nothing. None at all. That’s what makes it at a fun time.
There is so much I will miss about lockdowns. Especially the early days when the weather was still warm and before the master virus was banned from swimming. Slow mornings with coffee and paper on the bed. I mean, what’s the rush?
Dinner is slow cooked because, again, what is in a hurry. Cheap cuts of meat slowly melt for hours in a warm oven. The house smells of herbs and yumminess will come.
Ghost bus. I have never seen a passenger in a passenger. There are two types of drivers. The tourists slowly walk along their routes while looking at the scenery around. Then there’s Walter Mittys who drives the bus like Lewis Hamilton drives his Mercedes. Who knows what race they won in their minds.
Bike riding and rambling randomly on the outskirts of the city I found nooks and crannies I never knew were there. One day I found a small bay. That’s the name, wait, Secret Cove.
For the first time in three years, my entire family lived together under one roof. With pleasure. With a little bit of intrapersonal tension. We are angry at the world but not at each other.
Our neighbor upstairs took our picture yesterday as a memento of two crazy months of 2020. He told us how impressed he was that he had never heard an argument, an argument. In contrast to families who pass the fence that has a barney every second day.
Locked up with Helen, Jack, Ben and Saffi is very pleasant. But I’m glad to see the end.
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