Melbourne: Lockdown 2, Curfew 1
I wandered out of the house at 7.30. It was misty and freezing. 1 degree. Pressing the wire that ran across the top of my mask around my nose, I tried to position my glasses so that they didn’t fog up.
Nothing worked.
Fumbling under my scarf I tucked them into the neckline of my shirt. The pockets on my cardigan had disappeared, and I realised that I had it on inside out. I swiftly yanked it off and put it on the right way as a distant also-masked walker edged ever-closer.
As I reached the corner a couple appeared. She was holding a coffee in one hand and swiftly put a paper napkin to her face with the other. He was wearing a black mask. WE ignored each other and walked on. It was so quiet.
Across the road, a lady in what appeared to be spotted PJ pants and a pink polar fleece jumper trotted across the road. She kept turning away so I couldn’t see much more than the side of her face. Her mask was like mine. The blue surgical type.
My mum had sent me a bunch of them and I had discovered – on this my second walk after a long walking break – that they could be worn for about 30 minutes before they were totally wet inside and you were breathing some kind of mask potion you’d rather not.
I walked along my street, diverted to wander under the trees along the edge of the park (empty) and then cut through the walking path that ran behind the houses in my neighbourhood.
I love this path. All sorts of pretty plants drape over the fences and every day it looks different, despite also being the same.
I was listening to The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox by Maggie O’Farrell and the lilting voice of the narrator was the perfect companion to this foliage and flower spotting.
A sensibly navy-coated man with a dog crossed the path near me. The man was doing his level best to keep his distance, but the dog – a fluffy black and white fellow – had other ideas. He pulled his owner closer to me and then stopped, lowering his doggy chest to the footpath, head cocked to one side, front paws outstretched, back legs raised, tail wagging furiously.
I responded to this irresistible invitation with a bracing behind-the-ears-scratch. Satisfied, he licked my hand and trotted off.
To be honest, I felt quite satisfied too.
I struggled up the steep side street that led to my street feeling bolstered, the dog’s friendly lick somehow warming my hand.
I was nearly home when I was passed by a man riding slowly on a Vespa scooter. An L plate hung from under his seat and I was thinking about how great it was that he was learning something new. As I watched him slowly climb the hill juts past my house, I realised that we are all learners right now, during these bumpy days.
Despite all the advice flowing online and via the media, we really do not know how to do this. There is something to be said for boldly flashing your L plates, declaring your lack of know-how and taking the streets carefully, the hills slowly … all while wearing the sort of protective gear that minimises harm.
The licky dog & the scooter man
I am wondering if I can get an L plate to show that I am only learning how to navigate online uni life so everyone knows I am very wobbly but also very keen? It is hard learning something new in the world when everyone else seems to be able to do so easily.
My husband got his motorcycle learners permit a month ago. He bought a new classic style motorbike. But he can't really go anywhere on it unless it's within a 5km radius😢. He sometimes goes to the garage and just looks at it. It makes him sad.