I am partial to the metaphor of this pandemic that says we are all in the same storm, but not in the same boat. I don’t know anybody who will not be glad when the storm is over, but certainly many people have more precarious boats and are in a more dangerous part of the storm than mine. I share the view from mine in this blog and would be glad to hear the view from yours.
Stuff to deal with:
· Six of us under lockdown together on eight acres in the country. Thankfully, two of those are grandsons, so I get to see them – not hug them, but see them! Except for my dental appointment, Al and I have not been anywhere with any other people since we signed the papers selling our old house on March 16. Our son and DIL have taken back library books, brought groceries, and – best of all – given us haircuts.
· Never mind the toilet paper. I’ve been baking my own bread for years and I want to know why everybody is hoarding my yeast all of a sudden?
· Like many people, we’ve missed both happy and sad occasions normally shared with family and friends. My aunt, who functioned more like another sister died, and left us to share our sorrow via texts and a Dropbox recording, and a grandson graduated from Tulane without a walk to watch.
Ways I’ve Coped:
· Jigsaw puzzles – I have used them as my holiday activity for a long time so I have justified this as a prolonged holiday and keep one going at all times, working on the ninth since the quarantine began in mid-March as I write. I have a collection (all 1,000 or more pieces) and don’t mind repeating.
· Reading, but not anything that requires deep thought. My mind is not there. I’m reading old favorites – Little Women coming up and standbys – anything by Agatha Christie – and my favorite middle grade and picture books.
· Writing, but again not anything that requires deep thought. Revisiting some pieces that were relegated to the drawer, keeping up with my blog posts, and playing with challenges like different poetic forms.
· Taking walks and watch spring arrive. These eight acres surrounded by trees has come alive before my eyes on my three daily one-mile walks, a concession I got from my cardiologist to replace cardio rehab.
· Watching old movies with happily ever after endings – Singing in the Rain and The Music Man
· Zooming – meetings with friends, critique groups, chat sessions, church
· Remembering the real essentials in life: coffee, chocolate, bacon, books, fresh air, family and friends
Best Memes for the sequestering, both funny and serious:
· A weekly calendar showing day, day, day, day, day, day, day.
· Did a load of pajamas so I would have clean work clothes this week.
· Parents, use this time wisely. Tell your kids the Elf on the Shelf didn’t survive the pandemic.
· Noah didn’t have to swim to prove his faith. He stayed on the ark until it was safe to come out. Learn from Noah.
· I’m pretty sure “Put yourself on mute” will be a popular phrase when classes resume.
· New monthly budget: Gas - $0; Entertainment - $0; Clothes - $0; Groceries - $1624
· Had I known in March that it was the last time I’d be in a restaurant, I’d have ordered dessert.
· Most useless purchase of 2019: a 2020 planner
· If you don’t like a mask, you’re really not going to like a ventilator.
· The end of “shelter in place” doesn’t mean the virus is gone. It means, “We now have room for you in the ICU.”
Conclusion:
Obviously, my boat is not a cruise liner, but it’s a pretty good canoe. My hat is off to all those – medical professionals, garbage collectors, delivery personnel, meat packers, on-line school teachers, and so many more – who are endangering themselves in rescue vessels to make this work for the rest of us and to the children who don’t understand why they can’t paddle over to see their friends. I share the desire to make this go away or at least to know when the end is coming. In the meantime, I care about your boat and hope it is sound while remaining thankful for my canoe. For me, and for many of us, one of the hardest things is our inability to be of much help to unsteady vessels around us.
