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.