Sundays in Oaxaca have always been quiet. They were my most favorite day to do a longer run in the city. I could run without the bus fumes. I could run without pedestrians trying to get to work. The city was always slow to wake up, things only really getting organized around 2 in the afternoon, when families would pile around tables en masse, drinking coffee or having the typical afternoon comida (lunch, Oaxaca style, multi courses and served from 2 to 4 in the afternoon).
Sundays could be a challenge for tourists who were staying in Oaxaca City for the day. I would see them wandering about as I headed back from running around 8 AM. Looking lost, searching for something open. Hungry and sure that just around the next corner would be a coffee place or a breakfast spot waiting to be discovered.
Quarantine Sundays are even more quiet, which I didn't think was even possible. Our morning walk with the dogs is from 6:30 to 7:30 and on the Alcala, our beloved pedestrian street, we saw 5 people, and 1 beagle whose name is Raffia, or Raffi for short. The quietness seems to just settle on us, because for the last two Sundays we have been even more sloth-like if that is possible. Moving slowly and only for food or to take the dogs out to pee.
I swept the alley and cut down some weeds, but by 10:20, I was on the sofa, thinking about all those things that could be done. I did manage to mend the dog toy (Hedge) which overnight the dogs had decided needed to be gutted and his nose removed. Hugo paced while I sewed up Hedge's back and Louisa, unable to cope with the unknown (would he really be back together again, really?) lay outstretched on the blanket by my feet. I mended a pair of underwear, there was a hole right at the waistband that my thumb kept getting caught in. We watched a short documentary film, Lorena with Light Feet, about a Raramuri long distance runner. Here's the trailer. It was inspiring and made me yearn to run, as slow as I am.
I suppose the biggest change this week and for the next month is that I have "given up" the meal planning. I am not sure how things are at your house, but in this house, I would sit on Friday nights and think about meals for the next week. Sandwiches, hot dogs, salads, pizza, pasta, soups, breads. I would pour over recipe books and return to favorites, but Saturday or Sunday would be the getting of the groceries for the week, with the weekly menu posted and Sunday or Monday was previously reserved for cooking. By Day 30-ish of this lovely sparkling isolation, with not a word of gratitude or thanks for the work required nor the lovely meals being seemingly endlessly turned out, I announced that as of May 1, I was no longer fulfilling that role. I would do dishes. I would sous-chef. I would pour wine. But meal plan and grocery lists I wasn't going to do.
Last night and tonight I sat and enjoyed Brazilian Shrimp Stew, without the Palm Oil (because it is such a pain to find and never keeps and does not add that much to the dish, in my opinion). Yum. A shout out to Ralph and Sally Sell for picking up and dropping off the shrimp for us.
Sundays could be a challenge for tourists who were staying in Oaxaca City for the day. I would see them wandering about as I headed back from running around 8 AM. Looking lost, searching for something open. Hungry and sure that just around the next corner would be a coffee place or a breakfast spot waiting to be discovered.
Quarantine Sundays are even more quiet, which I didn't think was even possible. Our morning walk with the dogs is from 6:30 to 7:30 and on the Alcala, our beloved pedestrian street, we saw 5 people, and 1 beagle whose name is Raffia, or Raffi for short. The quietness seems to just settle on us, because for the last two Sundays we have been even more sloth-like if that is possible. Moving slowly and only for food or to take the dogs out to pee.
I swept the alley and cut down some weeds, but by 10:20, I was on the sofa, thinking about all those things that could be done. I did manage to mend the dog toy (Hedge) which overnight the dogs had decided needed to be gutted and his nose removed. Hugo paced while I sewed up Hedge's back and Louisa, unable to cope with the unknown (would he really be back together again, really?) lay outstretched on the blanket by my feet. I mended a pair of underwear, there was a hole right at the waistband that my thumb kept getting caught in. We watched a short documentary film, Lorena with Light Feet, about a Raramuri long distance runner. Here's the trailer. It was inspiring and made me yearn to run, as slow as I am.
I suppose the biggest change this week and for the next month is that I have "given up" the meal planning. I am not sure how things are at your house, but in this house, I would sit on Friday nights and think about meals for the next week. Sandwiches, hot dogs, salads, pizza, pasta, soups, breads. I would pour over recipe books and return to favorites, but Saturday or Sunday would be the getting of the groceries for the week, with the weekly menu posted and Sunday or Monday was previously reserved for cooking. By Day 30-ish of this lovely sparkling isolation, with not a word of gratitude or thanks for the work required nor the lovely meals being seemingly endlessly turned out, I announced that as of May 1, I was no longer fulfilling that role. I would do dishes. I would sous-chef. I would pour wine. But meal plan and grocery lists I wasn't going to do.
Last night and tonight I sat and enjoyed Brazilian Shrimp Stew, without the Palm Oil (because it is such a pain to find and never keeps and does not add that much to the dish, in my opinion). Yum. A shout out to Ralph and Sally Sell for picking up and dropping off the shrimp for us.
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