Sequela

Recently, my daughter wondered whether she would be psychologically damaged from all this Covid stuff, and then we both kind of laughed. I said we probably would all need ECT but that mine was wine.

And then I paused. A sequela is a condition which is the consequence of a previous disease or injury. The aftermath. The effect.

Much earlier this year, I said with bravado... I’m going to wash my hands like this forever. Because, you know, there’s more nasties out there than Covid and I might as well kill them too. But, today I was considering a quick visit to a children’s store with Ben, to shop for his baby sister who should be here within a few weeks. I thought it would be fun and so, so special. Vancouver Island has had no Covid cases in almost two weeks. In fact, in the entire health zone, only 5 are active and out of those, only one is in the hospital and not even in ICU. And that should give one a good bit of comfort and a tiche of confidence. But it doesn’t, not psychologically. Not anymore. And I paused to think about that. There are 870,000 people on this Island of ours. Last year, if you told me that six of them had the ‘flu and I needed to be careful, I would have laughed in your face. But not now, not with this beast lurking in the shadows with the dark cloak of invisibility. And who is to know what child or adult might have been in that store in the last two days, or what they might have touched.

I profoundly resent having to think like this.

Next month I’ll turn 65 years old. I am entirely confident that a vaccine will arrive within the year and that this particular pandemic will be roped into submission. But here’s what won’t be tied down, ever again. I’ll never be able to hold onto a safety rail and be confident that I am safeguarding my bones without jeopardizing my lungs. I’ll never be able to use a public washroom without sanitizer, soap, anxiety and copious use of their paper towels when I exit. I might never fly again. In my little town I don’t need to bus, tram or taxi - good thing, because those are off my list. In February I attended a public concert in Maui and I am so pleased to say it was the best one of my life. Because indeed, it might have been the last one of my life. I don’t regret that in the least; I feel lucky. Who knows what may lie ahead in the next five years, even if the vaccine is up and running and it has eradicated Covid. But even if it does, has this not opened everyone’s eyes like never before? It has mine. Whatever normal we eventually return to, I won’t be the same person. And I am not entirely sure that’s a bad thing. There is a microscopic community out there that we have treated with a blasé,  casual indifference for far too long. That mistake has effected global change, some aspects of which are for the better good.

Slow down. Be mindful. Observe cleanliness and kindness. This has always been the foundation of common sense.  Covid has presented us with an extortionate bill, the direct result of the abandonment of prudence and our frivolous sense of entitlement and indifference.  And now, we pay.

Connections

Kismet, Serendipity, Karma and Happenstance 

It's been 94 days since the first Covid case was identified in British Columbia on January 26, 2020.  I've been in self-imposed isolation for at about half that time, sheltering in place just before the province made that recommendation.  We are many weeks into this journey and it still has a sense of unreality.   Sometimes I briefly wonder whether I've created this alternative universe completely on my own and it's just a matter of time before I wake up to reality.   If only.

I have it so much easier than most.   I retired almost at the same second that Covid made its debut, so I am not frightened by loss of income or worse, needing to stay behind my desk and continuing to risk exposure.  I'm entirely happy in my little condo and my loved ones are all healthy, so I can ride this out for the long haul.  And there are even perks.  Like, shopping.   I love on-line shopping.   For everything from groceries to wine to dog food to batteries, it's just a click away and they all offer delivery.  And if delivery is not possible, there are creative alternatives.  I emailed a children's clothing store in Comox, wondering whether I might purchase a couple of baby outfits on line.   The response was instantaneous - Absolutely!  How would you like to do a virtual shop?  They contacted me in real-time and together we looked at their sweet little newborn sleepers and I listened to their recommendations, all from the comfort of my armchair.   Within 10 minutes I had chosen the outfits and just 15 minutes after that I pulled up curbside to their store where a smiling employee tossed a bag through my passenger window complete with wrapping tissue and gay ribbons.  I felt positivity regal.  

There have been other connections, some hilarious, some a little circuitous, but all of them lighting up the days.  Like when I received a text from number I didn't recognize, asking me whether I'd like a little homemade chocolate square.  It could have come from the Boston Strangler for all I knew, but my answer was predictable and instant:  "Yes please!  By the way, who is this?"  Turned out to be one of my neighbours and we both snickered at my alacrity.   Chocolate is chocolate, after all.  

Yesterday, my hiking buddy and I were enjoying our daily text fest about everything and nothing.  She mentioned, not for the first time, how much she would love to find a Labrador retriever, being an avid hiker and camper, not to mention dog lover.  I advised her to put it out to the universe and see what happens, my standard answer when I don't have anything more salient or comforting to say.   But this time the universe really was listening, and this morning my Facebook feed featured a request for a home for an outstanding young dog - a lab.   I couldn't get the information to my friend fast enough, and she immediately contacted the owner.   They exchanged emails, photographs, details.   And before lunch even rolled around, she was celebrating, with sweaty palms and dry throat, the fact that she is now the new owner of a very lucky one year old dog - a perfect pandemic puppy.  This would not - could not - have happened without the connection from friend to friend to friend, and in these strange times.  

What is my point?  That this is a time that is also redolent with humour, camaraderie, friendship, hope and mustard seed faith.  Sparks that might not otherwise have been noticed.  It is my nature to grasp for the silver lining because I don't see a viable alternative.  I am so grateful for the comfort of connections and the empathetic direction we are heading.  May all of our choices reflect our hopes and not our fears.

Endurance

Mabel Jessie Corbett

On the fourth finger of my left hand, tucked right next to my wedding band is a slender gold ring with "Blue River" inscribed on the inside.  I have worn it since my mother gave it to me many decades ago.  It was my grandmother's wedding ring, worn by the gentle, artistic and enduring spirit also known as JM Burnet, the signature she used on the beautiful oil paintings she created in the last 40 years of her life. The ring never left her finger until the day she passed away, well into her 80s.

It was placed on Jessie's finger on her wedding day on July 29, 1912, when she was 23 years old.  Just two years later, World War One was declared and only four years after that, the Spanish Flu decimated the world's population.  At 29, Jessie already had three children and her husband, a quiet, shy man, worked at the Bank of Toronto.  They survived the influenza.   In 1929 the Great Depression arrived.  By then she was 40, with a thriving family of six children, including my mother who was born in 1922, the only child to be born in a hospital.  Her sons fought in World War 2, and all survived.  Smallpox ended in Canada in the mid 1940s, but between 1949 and 1954 the polio epidemic ripped through the population, the most serious epidemic since the 1918 influenza pandemic.  Measles arrived too, and chicken pox, and mumps.   Then, and for the next 40 years, the best thing to do was to expose your children to it so as to get them through it and confer immunity as quickly as possible.  Measles parties were popular and hugely attended, with the mothers quietly resolved to see the inevitable course through as it infected their families.   I myself did the same thing with chicken pox in the early 1980s and as fate would have it, our chicken pox course was followed almost immediately by mumps.   It was two months before we found our feet but at least I knew my children had earned lifelong immunity to both.

There is no comparison to Covid with those diseases of yore and although I hate to use the word unprecedented  - I am so heartily sick of hearing that term - there is no other way to describe it. Our current challenge is unmatched because of  its novelty, giving it an extra springboard of threat.  And truly this is the first global systemic scare to come our generation's way.  911 was terrifying and violent but it was not global and it did not threaten our elder population or occasionally our young, healthy people.  Of course the past two or three generations have fretted about climate change, economics, politics, social disruption and personal implosions but nothing has ever given us a gut-punch like this. We are also blessed and cursed with a barrage of media, unlike the pandemics before.

In these poignant and reflective days I often look to this ring for comfort, and I spin it around my finger searching out the history locked within the muted glow that saw Jessie through so many threats, so much worry and dread.  I pray it will also protect my family through this perilous time.  Then, as now, those who endure, conquer.

Strange things

Just your average cloud of locusts

For a person who does not normally remember very many dreams, I seem to have arrived in a new realm.  Of late these dreams are vivid, repetitive and disturbingly memorable and they range from terrifying home break-ins to finding myself skiing down an endless mountain slope, something I have not done in more than 40 years.  Last night I dreamt my husband bought "cantilevers" for his car and tried to mask the expense by bringing me ice cream.  I was so incensed that I threw canned tomatoes at him. The only take-home logic to these dreams is the fact that I am remembering them and that sometimes, just before my head hits the pillow, last night's dream surfaces like a long-forgotten memory.  Weird.

Last week we had unexpected snow that came in sideways and lasted for all of ten minutes.  Parts of the sky were brilliant blue and I am not exaggerating when I say that the snow arrived horizontally.  I have not seen this before, not even in my Calgary years.  And over at Lisa's house, she has been dismayed by a crazed bird that has tirelessly and repetitively bashed itself against her windows.   Once or twice is alarming, but this bird spends hours every day attacking its own image in an effort to establish territory.  It's been four days.  The blinds are closed and stickers have been put up, all to no avail.   Like clockwork this demented bird arrives to relentlessly kamikaze her windows, leaving feathers and bird snot behind, knocking itself silly then rallying to repeat the performance for hours at a stretch.  It's distressing and disquieting and nothing seems to deter it.    It's hard not to believe this is just another example of a world gone mad.

Yesterday, the sun got serious and the temperatures really shot up.   I had the doors wide open and the fresh breeze was blowing through, mostly to dissipate the bleach fumes. Then Mickey alerted me to the fact that we had several uninvited guests coming through and under the screen door.   Revenge of the ants!  They spilled onto the patio with a flash-mob held under the hummingbird feeder, dancing around in the spilled syrup.   From there they decided to wander into my place to see if I might be making fudge.  I met them with my new hand-held Bissell steamer.  Blew the advance guard to smithereens and accepted the declaration of war.  But I did feel sorry.  I had been greatly admiring their orderly society but, like all successful nations, they had obviously decided to cede more territory.   Game on.  I Googled them.  Then I wondered, shit, did they Google me?  God, that would have been freaky.   Anyway, I blitzkrieged them with boiling water and soap, right on the top of the metropolis.  It was like 911 for them, probably worse, and I felt like crap.  So much so that I wrote my strata and pleaded a Hitchcock clause and asked for help.  The pest control guy should arrive soon and I really don't want to witness the annihilation, even though I'll be glad not to hear the crunch as they march into my living room.  I really do feel a bit guilty about this so maybe I'll pretend they are Covid ants and that will justify the means.  War is war.

Easter is nearly upon us and I would normally be enjoying the traditional Easter egg hunt with Ben, but that is not likely to happen this year.   Nor will his much-anticipated 4th birthday party.  Nor a treasured visit from my son and precious grandson, Will.   Nor will a baby shower for my baby granddaughter, due to arrive in just 8 weeks' time.  But all of these steep costs are worth the price of stopping this relentless and dangerous virus.  My eyes are on the future, not the present, and I'm in for the long haul to ensure that none of my beloveds are in danger.   Dreams, birds and ants be damned.

INVASION OF THE ANTS

I declared today to be a COVID-free zone.  The sun is shining, it's Sunday so there are no provincial updates to watch, and spring is well on the way.  So it was off to the garden to fill up my bucket with some weeds, iTunes playing, thoughts firmly admonished to stay away from anything Corona unless it was served with a lime.   I was happily emptying my bucket into the wilderness next door when lo and behold, I found this teeming, seething, African-sized anthill!   What a beauty it was and there were so many ants that I could literally hear their little feet as they marched around and smashed up and over each other.  Which did creep me out a bit. Zero social distancing there.  All I could think about was to shoot some video and make a little ant movie to share with my grandsons, so, being as careful as I could, I took a couple of videos from different angles.  I mean really, what kid isn't interested in anthills.   And it was kind of thrilling to see an organized society that for sure was not worried about a pandemic.

I was happily replaying the movies and trying to decide which was the best of the lot when I felt a funny little tickle on my neck.  I absentmindedly flicked at it and sure enough... one of the ant SWAT team that had been dispatched to ask me while I was hovering over their country shooting illegal footage.   And then, I felt another tickle on my ankle.  Eww.  Not nice.  Squashed it.  And then, OMG, OMG OMG there was something moving in a place that it shouldn't be.   I had, undeniably, ANTS IN MY PANTS.

Thank God Rick wasn't home to witness the frenetic jerking, slapping and pig-like squeals as I rushed to the shower.  An ant strip dance unlike any other.   I did not find any more of them - perhaps they abandoned ship as soon as they sensed they were hanging onto a deadly missile.  All clothes went into the wash immediately, and a post-shower tentative examination of the smoking pathway I left behind only revealed a couple of casualties.  I could feel my cortisol level dropping as my pulse slowed to under 100.

And I did not, for a single moment, think about Covid.

Revelation

I really hate being wrong, and I especially hate it when I find out I've been wrong for about five decades.   That's half a century.   I've always been pretty good with my housecleaning but apparently I've spent hundreds of thousands of dollars over the years simply to perfume the air with the pungent smell of Lysol, Mr. Clean or any one of their other pals.   Turns out cleaning is a two stage process - first clean with soap & water and then saturate your surface with whatever disinfectant floats your boat - and LEAVE it in place for at least five minutes so it can go on its seek and destroy mission.  Then wipe it up and either launder the cloth or throw out the paper towel.  I envision a Pac-Man like army importantly swarming around, bumping into each other and barking orders as they track down and annihilate all the germs.

We've ramped up our procedures with Rick too.   He continues to work really hard and has, typically, perfected an excellent sanitization system right in his car.  Precautions have been put into place preventing him from entering past the front door in some of the care homes, and for that I am really grateful.  He still has to deal with his own shut-in clients at home and I wish it could be like the paperboy, just whiz by and toss the prescription out the window and hope it hits the porch.   Maybe it will come to that.  When he finishes at day's end he endures pretty much a cattle-dip procedure that begins with his shoes being left outside the condo.   He enters through the lock-down antechamber (front hall).  He then goes to the laundry room strips off, throws his clothes into the washer, and then sprints pretty much naked through the living room to his shower.   This is my favorite part of the decontamination process and I usually favor a glass of wine to supervise this.  He emerges steam-cleaned in fresh clothes and only then settles to relax, another day behind him.

So, cleaning has joined the aerobic line up and it's pretty good exercise, both physically and mentally because you have to remember what is soaking and what is pre-soaked and what just needs a splat of cleaning spray.  I am pretty sure some doorknobs around here are getting more attention than others but it's a learning process.  And when I am done, the windows and doors are left wide open (sorry, Calgary!) for a massive dose of sweet, fresh air.  I am hugely lucky to live in a place where I simply open my patio door and step onto a deserted golf course that is surrounded by equally deserted trails.  It's duck courting time here on the Island and it never fails to make me laugh watching the desperate antics of the male mallards as they waggle along hopefully behind their girls.  "Now?" they quack, "No?  Well how about now?"  I'll bet the hens have a wicked gossip session when the drakes aren't around.  And Mickey is getting more than his share of exercise on these long days.  In payment, he provides endless comedy relief and welcome distraction.  There's a new jigsaw puzzle under the bed and a Yahtzee tournament brewing.  All my loved ones are well and for today, and every day, that is all that matters in this crazy time.

Keep watching, keep waiting

It's hard to keep a measured heart in the face of a daily barrage of dark news, so I'm trying to portion media updates wisely.  And then I turn to the comfort of the mundane chores of household, peppered by the joy of turning the soil in Lisa's garden.  Already the lilies and peonies are tentatively peeking out, promising fragrant beauty in the weeks to come.  Beyond these bucolic scenes though, my throat aches at the stories of the heroes that seem to increase with the same velocity as this virus.  I watched Adrian Dix today announce that 22 nurses volunteered  to work at the stricken Lynn Valley Care Centre, after so many of their staff fell ill with Covid.  And the bravery of those nurses brought tears to my eyes and hope to my heart.

I hope no one minds a shout-out to my son (especially him).   The exhaustive provisioning of the shelves at Loblaws, Superstore and Shoppers in Western Canada, among many other stores, are under his direct control.   He is at home, working his heart out troubleshooting, rerouting, and creatively dealing with situations that no one has ever imagined before.   He is my hero.  He is a vital link in the chain that will see us through to the end.   And in the past week, the demands of my husband's medical courier company doubled in size every single day, and he is run ragged making sure every client has the medication they need.  Today over 30 new people required medication delivery at home, all able-bodied, but avoiding going out.  His hands are raw from sanitizer and bleach wipes, and we have yet to find a proper mask for him.

My son, my husband, and my son-in-law, a doc.  They are just some of the thousands fighting for themselves, their loved ones, and all of the rest of us, an example that should blaze the path ahead for us all to stand shoulder to shoulder (with a six foot buffer), and support them with every fiber of our being.  I'm staying home to support my loved ones.  They have a face, a family, and a future.

Coming to terms

What on earth is going on?

I don't believe that any of us have grasped the grit of COVID until recently.  The acceptance of this reality is a methodical and measured process - measured in the sense that  you can only absorb so much on a daily basis before you shut it down.  That is my reality and I suspect it is yours too.  Increments.   Soon the list of  cancellations and restrictions will bottom out and there won't be anything else taken from us and in a way, that will be a relief.  Define this new reality so we can start to learn to cope within the boundaries we have been allotted.

I am a solstice girl, and today was the first day of spring.  Inspired by Lisa, we drove to Parksville and enjoyed a few blissful hours at Rathtrevor Beach.  We took two cars because we felt it would be prudent to limit our time in an enclosed vehicle.   I am symptom-free and so are Lisa and Ben; we have been self-isolating for more than a week.  But my husband's job means he is in every pharmacy, care home and home-bound patient needing medication, and because of that, we take the extra precautions.  The beach was full, and we practiced social distancing.  The snippets of conversation that we heard in passing were all virus-connected.  We are all in the same boat.  But families were there, and their kids were riding bikes and running on the sand and the Brant geese appeared in all their honking splendor.  Time spent in nature is the antithesis of our predicament.  Nothing gives more respite than that, so please, get outside.   We are blessed on the Island with an early spring and the warmth has charmed the birds into symphony and the bulbs to pop up almost overnight.   Life goes on - take that in and understand it is a huge constant in an inconsistent world.

One hundred years ago, F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote a letter to his wife from Spain, while under quarantine for the Spanish flu.  He said, "At this time, it seems very poignant to avoid all public space.  Even bars, as I told Hemingway, but to that he punched me in the stomach, to which I asked if he had washed his hands.    He hadn't.  He went on to assure, Zelda and I have stocked up on red wine, whiskey, rum, vermouth, absinthe, white wine, sherry, gin and Lord, if we need it, brandy.   Please pray for us."

Fitzgerald finishes with these prophetic words:   "In the distance, from my brooding perch, the shoreline is cloaked in a dull haze where I can discern an unremitting penance that has been heading this way for a long, long while.  And yet, amongst the cracked cloudline of an evening's cast,  I focus on a single strain of light, calling me forth to believe in a better morrow." 

So don't be a Hemingway, right?  Watch for that glimmer.  It's there for us all.  Eyes firmly forward.

Unraveling the puzzle of blog postings

I think I may have cracked the problem for those who are unable to comment.   Part of the issue is that I'm using Google Blogger, which, like me, is becoming somewhat dated and glitchy.   In the coming days I may explore migrating the blog over to WordPress (I seem to have some time on my hands).   In the meantime here are a couple of hints for those who do want to comment:

1.  When you receive the email indicating there has been a posting, open the email and then click on the blog title to open the proper blog page.
2.   Ensure you're logged into Google.
3.   If the comment grays out or just won't post, go to your device settings.
4.   Choose Safari - -Preferences.
5.   Click Privacy.
6.   Uncheck "Prevent cross-site tracking."
7.   Save changes.

That may seem like a ponderous task but it took us about 20 seconds and then Rick was able to finally comment.

And yes - this is our current puzzle under construction.   We have found a strange kind of comfort zen in doing these lately, with some beautiful music playing in the background and perhaps a nice glass of wine.   A refreshing mental holiday until you get a headache from the eyestrain!

PERSPECTIVE

I was thinking this morning about World War Two, as so many comparisons have been drawn with that lately.  We may be at war with this microscopic enemy and profound hardships and fear will certainly result from that.   But we don't go to bed at night listening for a plane droning overhead, or be awakened in the night by the terrifying air raid sirens.   We don't have to rush fearfully into shelters to await for the worst to be over, not knowing if our homes will be standing when we emerge.  Our loved ones are not being sent away for years with only the most rudimentary ways to communicate with their loved ones.   And it is not for four long years, hopefully, not even for four months.   We can go outside and enjoy nature and there is no shortage of good food as long as we keep our heads and not succumb to herd mentality.  Most of all, we can take proven steps to avoid the enemy, and they are not difficult.  I won't repeat them because if they are not already ingrained into your brain, you probably don't have one.

I am not for one second minimizing the gut-wrenching seriousness of this.  My husband and my son-in-law are on the front lines every single day, and that takes real courage.  Fear has rightfully earned a spot in our lives, but it doesn't have to be given the best seat in the house.   It's there to keep you sharp, that's its job and I respect that.   Beyond that though, I'm determined not to let it steal anything more.  All the canceled events, courses, parties, classes, memberships will still be there when this is over and I have no doubt that we will all be wiser and have a lot more gratitude for the things we have taken for granted. In the meantime, hang on to perspective as best you can, and remind yourself we're in for the long haul.  Today here on the Island the sun is warm and spring is well on the way.  I spent an hour sitting on the pavement having a fierce marbles tournament with my sweet grandson Benjamin.   Kids have a way of restoring your equilibrium without you even noticing and it is such a sweet mental holiday.  Make room in your life to find something worth celebrating and keep looking for the good in all.  I have noticed that even though we now have to stroll 20 feet away from others, they still smile, wave and wish me a good morning.  And that matters, it really does.  We still have that freedom, and that is everything.

ROLL CALL

Does anyone else out there feel like we could use a break from all the overwhelming news these days?  Like the picture above, it feels like a rogue wave has landed and washed our realities and routines out to sea.   Less than 3 weeks ago I stood on this beach admiring the power and beauty of the waves.   Today I have been busy canceling social engagements, unnecessary appointments and day to day activities.   The pool and gym will be replaced by walking and biking, for instance.

It's upsetting to cancel the social events that I've been looking forward to, because spending time with friends and family is so sustaining and fulfilling.  And that's the reason why I have kicked this blog back into life, to try and strengthen the connections (from a respectful cyber distance, as advised) and to share support, stories and camaraderie during this upside-down time.  I want to dial back the anxiety, a fact I realized when I caught myself worrying about worrying too much.  Stress like this is insidious and can leach into your core, affecting everything from your relationships to your sleep patterns.  Enough is enough.

It's time to channel your inner pioneer.  We all come from strong stock, don't we?  So let's share some solidarity and some light.  How are you all, and what are you doing to cope?  Send along your cabin fever survival tips.   Humor would be strongly appreciated.   Send pictures of your dog, your kids, anything beautiful.   Share your jokes along with your needs and ideas.  If you have trouble commenting, let me know.  I've adjusted the settings so all should be able to post, however, if not you might check that you're logged into Google. 

I thought of a good tip today - those of us who choose to forego dining out and various entertainment venues will be saving some bucks.   How about put them toward something special to celebrate when this challenge is behind us?   Look ahead.  This is not going to last forever.  We can do this.  Love to all.