First Person - Four weeks ago, when lockdown was announced, I moved in with my Nana and Grandad to keep them company. This is what I've learnt about them since then.
Te Aniwa's grandad Ron Rutene. Photo: RNZ / Te Aniwa Hurihanganui
I've learnt that my Grandad has up to four cups of tea a day; one bright and early when he wakes up, another at morning tea, one at lunch and another in the afternoon if someone offers. Grandad likes his tea sweet; two heaped teaspoons of sugar and a splash of milk. He knows straight away if it isn't sweet enough and will make sure to top it up until it's just right.
Grandad wears a buttoned shirt every day, never a singlet and never a t-shirt. He tucks his shirt into a pair of trousers with a belt, or even trackies if it's cold. He combs his thick white hair back in the morning and not a strand strays out of place all day. He looks just as groomed as he did when he was a teenager. I know this because their walls hold old photographs of him as a young man; same slicked-back hair, same buttoned shirt, same infectious smile. Nana reckons he was the most handsome Māori boy in the Wairarapa back in those days; in her eyes, he still is.
Grandad loves watching war documentaries on TV, but he won't watch anything until he's done something productive outside and earnt it. He's been working a lot more than usual because he isn't allowed to drive the school bus under the country's new restrictions. In four weeks, he's painted nearly every room in the house, including the hallway. He's cleared the gutters, fixed his lawn mower, cut down two large bushes in the garden and blown away nearly every leaf surrounding his house with his leaf blower.
Even though Nana's retired now, I've learnt that she likes to keep busy too. She cleans the house every day - bathrooms, kitchen, laundry, bedrooms. She irons everything, including the tablecloths and bed sheets. When she's not cleaning, she's baking, reading, walking or gardening. She likes to read romance novels and sits in the green leather couch next to the window in the living room because it gets the best sun. She bakes a lot and always has your favourite slice or biscuit or cake on hand. She is always thinking about what she can do for others - she even buys an extra loaf of bread each week to feed the birds.
Gillian Rutene can still remember the day Ron asked her for the last dance at a social. Photo: RNZ / Te Aniwa Hurihanganui
I enjoy dinners at my grandparents because it's always a sit-down meal around the table, rather than a lap meal eaten in front of the TV. One night during lockdown we played music on the boom box and sat around talking. The song, Can I Have this Dance for the Rest of My Life by Daniel O'Donnell came on. Nana smiled nostalgically and told me how the song reminded her of a dance that she and Grandad attended when she was just 14 years old, and he was 16.
"They used to call them socials back then, and all the kids were there," she said. "We didn't dance together until the very end when your Grandad approached me and asked me for the last dance."
"On the way home," she continued, "Mum said, 'oh, we saw that little Māori boy come over and ask you for the last dance'". Nana laughed. "Little did Mum know but we'd been sneaking around together for ages."
"When I hear that song," she said, "I think about that last dance and how it really was for the rest of my life."
Grandad, sitting next to her, had tears in his eyes. "It just wasn't what you did back in those days," he said.
He was talking about how inter-racial relationships and inter-racial marriages between Māori and Pākehā were frowned upon when they were young.
"But I was adamant that I loved your Nana, and that was that," he said.
That was the first time I'd heard the story of their first dance.
*See all RNZ coverage of Covid-19
Lockdown has been hard for everyone. I know Grandad misses driving the school bus, and spending Saturday afternoons decked out in his Carterton gear watching club rugby. I know Nana misses her friends and dancing at the RSA. They both miss embracing their grandchildren and great grandchildren and cooking big family roasts on Sundays. I miss my friends and family too.
But the hard days and the slow days won't be what I remember most. I'll remember the nights spent with my Grandparents at their dinner table; talking about what my Nana baked that day and laughing at all the jobs Grandad completed outside. I'll remember Grandad's impeccable style even though he hasn't left the house once in four weeks, and watching Nana caring for the birds. I'll remember learning about how my grandparents fell in love. And how they created a life together. And when things go back to the way they were, I'll pop in to nibble on one of Nanas freshly baked slices and make Grandad a cup of tea, just the way he likes it.