… I lie supine on the carpet, contemplating continuing the yogic corpse pose for longer than twenty seven breaths and my beloved brings me my morning tea.
Here comes the sun to a warm Saturday; I notice the tea has ginger. I am touched, he heard me cough a bit as I woke up that morning and it isn’t Covid-19 Mom, in case your imagination hits overdrive.
As we knit plans for the day, the outside looks so alluring that we soak up the sun instead. The super resilient Phlox overwintered and so did the Rosemary, Thyme and Sage.
The pansies, daisies, mint and basil I potted last week make me want to dig my hands into fresh earth and go look for some more kitchen herbs to grow. The master of the house wants to find a way to permanently scare away all the squirrels upending the garden pots and exploiting part of his real estate. But the squirrels are beloved too I insist and the garden, herbs and flower pots are for the attention of these scurrying rodents, who seem to find in any case, the time to enjoy them more than we do.
Later, we drive out to survey the neighbourhood scene before we venture to a cultural enclave nearby to get fresh produce, as the major retailers are having a delivery crisis online and small businesses don’t all operate on the internet. We bring back so much food to indulge in whatever may catch our fancy the next few weeks and everything is so exotic. After we have wiped down all boxes, bags and ourselves with bleach wipes, everything smells like a hospital, like 1846 perhaps when one of my hand washing heroes, Hungarian Doctor, Dr Ignaz Phillip Semmelweis saved many pregnant women from death. It was also the time when his medical peers resisted the need to wash hands each time they made rounds to physically check pregnant women, as they thought it beneath the dignity of their August occupation. No small feat therefore, that Dr Semmelweis was regarded the Saviour of Mothers, for he saved countless women from Puerperal or childbed fever.
Head chef puts on his Alpha Cook apron to proceed conjuring a seven star spread for dinner; I always love it when this is the case except that I now have to assume the role of sous chef and kitchen counter cleaner besides, as well as honorary dishwasher. Aah, but for the aroma of roasting fennel, cinnamon and coriander seeds that got me to float onto a cloud of acquiescence, what would be the conjugal world without the spices of Malabar.
The day has its political and social nuance, quite difficult as it is to escape the media onslaught. I even managed to capture some of the day in verse.
All good days …
by Davina E. Solomon
I heard the birds today.
An urgent chirping
In unison, shrill,
Protesting the raiding of a nest.
I heard people today.
In unison, loud,
At the store, a bewildered herd.
I heard the sky today.
An unnatural silence
In unison, pregnant,
With mourning now divided Space
I heard dairy farmers in Wisconsin.
In unison, at overproduced
Spilt milk, denied to legitimate use
I heard the Media today.
Lies of omission
In unison, after two months
That San Rafael disappeared overnight
I heard friends across borders.
Happy, lighthearted banter
In unison, drinking to
good old days and more to come
And that was mostly our Saturday and we even caught up with the Reel World.
My love, when I said no action thrillers, war dramas, apocalyptic horrors, pontificating docudramas, but just something innocent, sublime, happy, funny and inspiring, I was hinting at chick flick, not JoJo Rabbit.
And for the end scene alone I give this surprise watch five stars. It is after all a quirky love story but one that ends in dance and freedom and seeing the tiger in the eye ….
Cooking during Lockdown …