I’m sitting in my room, back to window, enjoying the sun warming my bones. It’s windy here, but the sun is shining down from a blue sky streaked with candyfloss clouds. I can’t hear the mooing but I know the cows are in the far paddock as they at this time of day every day, the Tararua foothills in shades of olive green dotted with tufts of gold, and the more majestic range behind in moody blues and greys. Persimmons are ripening on a tree outside my window, the first feijoa fell off the trees yesterday reminding me that the seasons are more defined here than they are on the warmer island of Waiheke. Easter has come and gone, a long haul for many, and as we approach the finish line for Lockdown Week 3, we all know in our hearts that we have a long way to go. Many people tell me that they are getting to spend precious time with their children, something they never imagined would happen in the normal fast-paced world. That is something wonderful. Others tell me about the devastation caused by losing a job, or more than one job in a household, and that there is little to feel cherry about. There are no easy answers, there is no magic wand to wave.
There is only hope.
Sometimes I laugh to myself when I make up a recipe – you’ve probably done the same – creating a bit of a chaos as I peel and chop, sizzle and stir, hoping it will turn out alright. It usually does, though I might need to tinker with it and add in a bit more of this or that, or adjust the sourness by adding something to sweeten it.
Perhaps that is how our lives are at the moment: in varying degrees of chaos – we’ll need to make some adjustments as we go along – and though it’s hard to imagine, we’re hoping in time things will turn out alright. It usually does.
A pot of soup, then, to chase away the blues.