Tag: pandemic

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From Ordinary to Narrative

One Woman’s Garbage…

The other day as we were walking both the dog and the kiddies during these strange times, something in the grass caught my eye. The grass around these parts is mostly uniform in length and wouldn’t dare stray into crevices. It’s the well-ordered suburbs for us and the grass knows its place. Laying unperturbed by the seeming orderliness of the surrounding area was a rectangular cardboard box. It was a pregnancy test box laying out for all the world – or at least anyone not attached to a screen – to see, looking rather defeated but unashamed that someone took out its innards and peed on them. 

It was the fact that there was garbage boldly and haphazardly strewn in the well-shorn and obedient grass and also it was the intimate nature of such an item in such an open and public sphere that caught my attention. I should note as a mother of four, let me be clear, this time it wasn’t mine. 

The world it feels at times has gone mad with Covid and Covid fear, leaders flailing and floundering, slow roll outs, mental health crises, tragic stories unfolding of the innocent dying and suffering from Covid, Covid related issues and other sources of anguish, important people being brought down by disturbing accusations and a general dread. However, looking around as we trudge our well travelled route, I see the same houses. Same suburban men ritually cutting the grass in the evenings like it’s an understanding among them, same houses, same cars going too fast, same people committedly walking their dogs. However, there in the grass lay real evidence that something dramatic was happening in the area. True, someone could have planted said evidence in the grass. Perhaps the grass looked so inviting that someone decided to pee on the stick right then and there as they simply drove through on their way to…well people aren’t really going anywhere too much so that last theory doesn’t seem to hold water. Or pee in fact. So with my keen detective skills I deduce someone close by right now is either filled with delight, dread, fear, depression, happiness, nervousness, relief, or some combination of any or all of the above. My detective skills are keen, not pin-point accurate.

This one piece of cardboard meant an awful lot to someone or someones. It also meant something to me. It means despite the appearances of somewhat normality, life behind closed doors is still happening. 

The results of the pregnancy test may have made someone feel so happy and blessed. For the more secular, happy anyway.  Maybe because they have been trying for years to have a baby and finally their dream has become real. Maybe because they do not want a baby and the result was negative. It could be the baby was planned. Or unplanned. This too doesn’t determine the outcome of the person’s emotions. Is the woman worried about having a baby? Having a baby in a pandemic?! Is the woman concerned about her job? Her job in a pandemic?! Was this baby conceived in a loving stable relationship? Was this baby conceived by people not wanting a partnership? Was the baby conceived during an affair? Recently I read about a baby conceived after a Tinder hook-up and now there are custodial rights being argued in court. If there ever was another reason for careful birth control…Was the baby conceived at a fertility clinic? Did this test belong to Jlo in the Backup Plan and all will be well and seriously fit? Was this test bought after a rape? How old is the woman taking the test? If there is a partner, is the woman worried about their reaction to a possible baby?  Is this woman financially secure? Is she healthy?  Is there a partner? Is that a good thing? 

The juxtaposition of the box laying in the 4.5 inch grass shed a new light on our walk, at least for me. The children and dog seemed unconcerned of my musings. 

Norms exist as a way for society to function. It would indeed be nerve-wracking to wake up each day and not know what the expectations of behaviour are for that day. Have they changed how we are supposed to greet one another? Will curtsies be expected? Do we now gesture wildly so people can read our masked expressions more accurately? Will we wear placards to say “I am smiling openly at you to suggest good will and community support” or “I offer a faint smile bordering on grimace not to encourage closeness physically or emotionally”? Are we following the lead of so many and now expected to openly sexually harass others? Covid seems to have thrown a wrench, or perhaps a mask, into the works. Changing rules, changing etiquette, changing understanding of the science or at least the convenience of the science has left many people wondering how will the world function today? This one piece of trash reminded me of all that. 

Most days in my very narcissistic state I assume most people, other than perhaps the Tinder couple, are having similar days like I am. Someone who owned that box, was not. I hope for them and the possible new life, that all is well. In this time of isolation, it reminded me there are so many lives doing their best to endure and while this long crisis drags on, life is happening. 

For all the unanswered questions I do have about this piece of trash, I do know I would have an absolute field day at the dump. Ahem, waste management facility. I just need it to open. 

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From Ordinary to Narrative

Can’t Go Home Again

 The old adage “you can never go home again” is eerie in the age of COVID. A time of fear, illness and even death. It is a time for reflection and worry.

I have lived away from what we have affectionately referred to as home-home. Not the home in which I currently live nor any of those varied apartment stops along the way, but the home in which I grew up. It wasn’t meant to be a cute name just a way to avoid miscommunication. I’m going home. I mean home-home, my Cape Breton home. And this was said every summer since we lived away. We have never stopped referring to it as our home despite not living there for 20 years or so. Prior to COVID, it was understood we would be going home-home every summer. At first it was my sister and I for several years and then later one, then two, then three and then four children and a husband who came too if he could get away. It has always been there. School starts in September, Christmas is in December and we go home-home in the summer. 

So when COVID hit and the world eventually started to close in, I did not decide not to go home. I lived in some sort of state of denial. I didn’t say we would go as the world said we should not, but I didn’t say we wouldn’t go either. The children asked many times if we would be going or when we would be going and I prepared them for the possibility that we might not. But yet, I didn’t decide then and there that we wouldn’t go; we just didn’t. Now not making a decision can have the same results as making a definitive one, but as a coping mechanism this worked well for me. The end of June came and in an anti-climatic way school let out for the summer. July came and went and here we were. August arrived. We would surely be on the road by now and yet here we were. Living every day as best we could. Walking and avoiding people, working and playing. Calling home and lamenting about the loss of the good times and yet seven months later I still have not made a decision to not go. 

And then in the fall my mother had a terrible car accident. We thought we had lost her. We waited helplessly here to understand both what had happened and how she and my father were doing. In normal times, my sisters and I would have flown to be there with her and our father to provide support, to worry, to make food and simply just be. Covid has us rooted to our separate spots. 

The rehabilitation for our mom has been slow and we feel frustrated and angry and helpless so far away. We know it is far worse there to help during what was already a difficult time, but being away breeds a maddening restlessness. I can feel the worry scratching at my mind all day. I’m uneasy and irritable. The urge to start heading east is strong. We have discussed who could go and how they could go but for now, we stay rooted. And so we call , encourage and attempt to problem solve long distance. We Face Time and celebrate holidays and special days through the computer. It is not the same. The children want to see their grandparents and the lost time with the grandchildren is painful to hear in the voices of my parents. 

I have heard people say dismissively they are “so over COVID”. It’s a funny statement. It sounds trivial but I do understand the sentiment to a degree. I, however, am “not over COVID” so much as I am so very angry at it. I suppose this makes as much sense as stating one is tired of it. I am but one person in a world of sad cases who may not get home. What difference does it make that I am angry at a virus with no heart, or mind or feelings I can hurt with my slinging of slurs and swear words. I know this but I am angry for the fear it has caused, the lives lost and hurt. I am angry that it has taken this time away from both my parents and my children. I am also angry at what it may take from us yet. 

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From Ordinary to Narrative

Time Sensitive

The world as we know it has changed. Seemingly overnight and in ways we haven’t either had a chance to ponder or are too afraid to ponder. Some of us saw it coming and some of us seemed blissfully unaware as we set out to indulge and yet here we are, stuck in the same metaphorical boat. Well, perhaps not a boat. That expression may be passé.   

All kinds of things have changed. Where we go, who we see, how the days are structured. Life has gotten immeasurably harder for most. Homeschooling, working from home, working in dangerous and stressful conditions, losing jobs, making ends meet have all brought us a new reality.  It makes me nostalgic for days gone by. And those days were not all beyond reproach. Simple activities are no longer allowed. A coffee with friends, catching a movie or grabbing a drink are dangerous and socially irresponsible actions. Instead of bemoaning their loss, I have decided to host a dinner party. 

Now, since I have no desire to become sick, infect my family or spread the contagion to anyone I will practice safe social distancing. Prophylactic dinner party. Both fantastical in my hosting and cooking prowess and my intended invitees. The requirements to be invited are strict. One must have had a profound impact on me. Sure, sure the world too of course, but it’s my fantasy and as such I reign supreme. It would be quite pathetic if one had to take a backseat in their own fantasy. Unless that’s your thing then have at it. I, however, have a few favourites who enlighten, soothe, cheer and, frankly stop me cold in their observations of humanity.  My fantasy dinner is a little on the heavy side. But in this day and age, what superfluous conversations can one have? Emergency has rid us of the trappings of luxury. Fashion and sports are out. Reality tv like 

while being watched in our isolated mini worlds seems less real than ever before. We wish we could be catching undisclosed STIs and striking the death knell for feminism, but alas no, we have it worse. 

So while the pandemic rages, and children and the vulnerable are sheltered inside, my dinner party will be fabulous. 

Firstly, I will throw something together at the last minute and it will be delicious. Even in my fantasies I can not find any matching linens and like at home growing up the family will take the last plate as it never matched the others. However, my guests and I will be above all that mundane frivolity. I have invited them there simply for their brains. And as you will see the occasional song. But the songs are, you got it, heavy. 

First to arrive, Rex Murphy. You can see his brain before he rounds the corner. He says hello and due to his extensive vocabulary I stand transfixed by his cerebral presence. Forgetting myself, I stand in the doorway gawking, hoping he speaks more. His brain is a dreamboat. I know he has much to say and his insight will both soothe and ignite righteous anger at all the appropriate people and events. Moving aside, he and his brain settle in for a thoughtful few moments while I answer the door. 

Next guest changes the energy. Perfectly timed as always, Melissa McCarthy has arrived in a flourish of colour and energy and the most magnificent twinkle in her eye. I am smiling from ear to ear and usher her inside. The yin and yang now meet and it’s pure chemistry. The scathing intellect from Newfoundland and the comedic Hollywood star have found balance in the tumultuous world. 

Again the doorbell. Before I open the door I hear a song of pure emotion on the other side. Humour, nostalgia, loss, a reckoning have all landed on my doorstep in the form of one well booted woman, Jann Arden. She is delighted to be invited and says she was so happy to see me at her concerts and wasn’t it a shame she couldn’t invite me on stage to help with some of the more vocally challenging numbers. Hey, it’s my fantasy here. She enters and mentions Rick may stop by later. 

As the guests begin to mingle, and introductions are made, a weightiness is felt. The doorbell rings. I head over to touch the handle and I feel a lifetime worth of pain, determination, and the defiance of odds. I open this door to welcome Max Eisen. He is old now, by his own admittance, small of stature but a backbone of steel forged from a lifetime of inconceivable experiences during world war II and the ghosts thereafter. He has built for himself both a life of love with his family and has given with great personal sacrifice to the world through education. I had the honour of meeting this man at a book signing in December. You remember when we could go to such places? At that time, I was awestruck and unable to say any of the things I should have said. Now, in my fantasy, I have found the perfect combination of words to convey both my sorrow of his and so many others’ experiences and delight of meeting him in a simple greeting. It’s a beautiful and moving moment. 

We are all in. The evening is rife with scintillating conversations. I exchange barbs, commentaries, insights with all. The food is delicious. Dolly and Bruce drop by. I am feeding endless amounts of mashed potatoes to Rex to comfort his fears for humanity and iron rich foods for his brain. For  Melissa, I attempt to pour her a drink but I can barely stand up every time she tells me another seemingly harmless anecdote that critiques the status quo. Jann, while occasionally breaking into song at my hosting abilities, in her self deprecating style has us appreciating life’s journey. As for Mr. Eisen, he is quiet and surveying the scene around him. So much has happened in his life experience and now he finds himself here. This is a raucous and slightly tipsy group with much to share. Mr. Eisen keeps us grounded and connected to the vastness of history and the human experience. I told you, even in my fantasies I still have that darkness. Nothing light here, especially the dessert. 

As the evening winds down, talk turns to reality. The pandemic even invades fantasies. From all there is fear of loss, uncertainty. There is the actual virus, government responses and the human component. For many, we have not seen struggle such as this and are afraid we are ill equipped to understand the sacrifice demanded. The need to hold strong while holding loved ones close and also far from us to protect them plays with our minds. We have fought nothing like this before. We are now so far removed from Disney cruises, Friday night drinks and weekend playdates. We are mobilized and yet quite still. Time is our greatest weapon now. Buy more time, plan, treat and potentially cure. Time is also against us as we are a culture used to wanting more. A soft culture. Amazon prime culture. We see it, we want it, we get it. First world problems if it’s late or shoddy. Neat and tidy vacations, drinks and food and child care done with a swipe of the card. Now we wait. Our wants must wait. 

The mood of the party now reaches a sombre one. Desserts have been consumed. Drinks are low to match the mood. These great minds feel the weight as we all do. We are now in the history books. But we wait to see what the next chapter reveals of our fate. It’s not a choose your own adventure but it’s close. Handle us with care and determination, politicians. We will rise to the challenge as our fate depends on it. I hope there is someone left to write that book and someone there to read it. 

The  guests file out. The dinner party was a success. Bonds formed in our solidarity. Great minds capable of feeling and articulating great emotion. They have had much to discuss. 

. 

Categories
From Ordinary to Narrative

Pandemic Prowess

Choosing a life partner, or not, is one of the most important life decisions one can make. Choosing a life partner, or not, to ride out a pandemic raises the bar considerably. As one might have done in more carefree times, let’s peruse the qualities of a potential pandemic mate. Disclaimer: household under scrutiny is a loud house with four lively children with a penchant for noise, clutter, laughter, arguments and an impressive ability to listen to Dolly Parton’s “There was Jesus” on repeat. This may not be your house. 

Foraging skills – Zipping out to the local grocery store requires a plan that puts most major battles to shame. No one throws on a coat and toddles off to buy a litre of milk or a bag of nutmeg, whistling as they go. A viable pandemic mate is a planner, procurer, and just this side of hoarder. Donning PPE, a long list, and the scouting ability of a bird of prey, a mate keeps elbows up and all senses alert to threats. This is a mate who can bring home the bacon. Tofu. Lactose free milk. And lots of it in a time when supplies may be limited. This is a mate who appears triumphantly at the door depositing bags and bags of offerings from the outside world. Metaphorically beating chest and wearing the pelts of wild animals your mate keeps you and yours alive and well. This is now grocery day. And your mate has never looked better. 

Transferable skills such as dance – Strobe lights, crowded dance floor and a horned rimmed hipster pair of beer goggles can’t blur the talents in this area. Can mate groove in the early mornings or the middle of a sentence to the likes of the Highwaymen or Dolly Parton on repeat? When chosen music has been belted out since 7:30 am amidst chaos can mate still tap a toe or dare I say wiggle what their mama (or dada) gave them just to bring a smile to the faces of children missing much of the outside world? This takes more courage and rhythm than three sheets to the wind lurching about the sweaty dance floor.

Caffeine appreciation – This is key. If your partner does not drink coffee, first, weird, but moving on, second, can your partner appreciate and value your desires? In the caffeine area I am referring. Yeah, yeah, does he or she look good in a pair of jeans. Sure, that’s all well and good but will he or she refill the coffee maker, ask non-judgmentally if you would like your 13th coffee, and applaud your efforts to wait until the coffee has actually poured before trying to drink it? That’s sexy. 

Work – The ability of a home especially one with children to switch to a workplace and a school is tested in a pandemic. Children unbothered by social conventions of work and rather disparaging to others who are can be uncooperative. Children appear oblivious that it appears unprofessional for their parents’ coworkers to hear the latest adventures and disagreements of the calico critters or to hear someone yell the word diarrhea repeatedly in various voices followed by raucous laughter. Children are unabashedly living their life during meetings, proposals, assessments and they don’t mind one bit if no one else can hear a thing during a meeting. This is not a question of your partner allowing such a level of noise, but does your partner possess both the trust and ingenuity to hide in the downstairs bathroom with the phone and carry on as if he or she is not standing in the bathroom hoping the children don’t seek he or she out to carry on this discussion of bodily functions and perceived wrongs? Does your partner trust enough that he or she knows you will come and rescue him or her as soon as it becomes known that what sounds vaguely like a professional call is echoing through the heating ducts from the basement? If your partner is clever and trusting enough, they will shine at working from home. How hunky do they look now? Cowering in the bathroom with fear in their eyes. Able and flexible, dare I say supple? It’s a small bathroom. 

Care for the vulnerable and their protectors – Can mate understand that a really good deal on a cruise last March was not a good idea for you and the countless others depending on strangers for solid moral choices? Will your mate express empathy for those vulnerable and also appropriate outrage at those not protecting the vulnerable? This critical time tests one’s moral compass. Makes the weak frighteningly apparent and the strong so very strong. Taking action in an urgent situation is important. Be strong. Keep being strong. More strength needed. Stamina facing an invisible but no less real threat requires a trait we have often not had to rely on. Surely, this is attractive to most. 

Like our politicians, the traits that before passed as capable and even engaging, in a pandemic shift quickly to incompetent, lacking and weak. The compatibility of a mate is no longer one that will be relieved when one of you leaves for a getaway weekend in a tropical locale. It cannot be confused by the barbecues with friends and beer. It can’t be blurred by fancy meals at restaurants and plays downtown. This is a person who you are looking at day in and day out. This is a person your life will depend on. The quality certainly, but you also need to trust this person will behave in a way that promotes the safety and well-being of you and yours. Your choice is right there sitting across from you with all the stresses of a surreal world surrounding just you two. This is real. 

While a pandemic does isolate by necessity, it also helps one focus on relationships in a most powerful way. Friendships may be lost but they may also be strengthened. The frivolity of some relationships will be revealed while the steadfastness of others may be discovered. Rejoice in the quality. A deeper, more profound relationship blossoms. It also means you don’t have to build as big a bunker for the apocalypse. It’s a win win.