by Today is Dad’s 70th birthday. He’s dodged at least two bullets to get there, and altogether he’s had a remarkable life. I know it’s simple maths, and I hit my own milestone a couple of months ago, but both my parents being in their seventies is hard to comprehend. I called him early this morning (my time), before my aunt and uncle and a couple of friends were due to arrive. Mum had the fancy glasses out because, well, they were having fancy champagne. My cousin from Wellington had bought a job lot of Moët, as she can happily afford to do, and given my parents a bottle.
After talking to Dad I had a moment’s panic. I went to the loo and what’s this? Streaks of red. Crikey. If I see the doctor, how will I even explain this? Mi-am dungi de sânge în… what word do I use? Caca? Pupu? Luckily it’s 2020 and we have Google, and the culprit seemed to be the several great hunks of watermelon I’d eaten in the previous 24 hours.
It’s been another hot day, but I’ll soon be wishing it was only 32 degrees. My student friend who lives in Austria (she had to quarantine for two weeks when she returned to Romania to visit) gave me a guided tour of central Timișoara today. In fact she had some friends visiting from Moldova, decided to show them around, and asked if I’d come along for the ride. It was great. I know the centre of Timișoara pretty well, but she had encyclopedic knowledge of the history behind the buildings, and pointed out details, some of which had escaped my attention in all this time. Best of all, the commentary was in Romanian. (Her friends’ Moldovan accent was very noticeable, but didn’t stop me from understanding them.)
Back to medical stuff, on my monthly visit to the doctor on Friday, he tested the oxygen saturation in my blood. The readout flickered between 96 and 97; that’s good news should I ever contract the virus.
Dad has just sent me another batch of photos, including me in my 1984 Nissan Bluebird. It’s amazing how tidy that car looked – it was already 20 years old. There are also some pictures of my great-aunt, who was a lovely person from what I’ve heard. I sat on her lap once as a baby; she died of cancer soon afterwards.
It doesn’t seem long ago that the official worldwide tally of coronavirus cases reached half a million. Today we reached half a million deaths and ten million cases. The real case numbers are, of course, far greater. (It is now spreading alarmingly in poor countries with limited health care. Will we reach ten million deaths?)
Tomorrow I might go back and look at those bikes.
