Day one

 

Disclaimer:   Going into my 30th hour with no sleep, 10 km of wandering old Amsterdam in 28 degree heat, and a stomach full of kibbeling.   Look it up, I dare you.   It was delicious.  Also, be warned my Google blog format has obligingly translated everything into Dutch so a few things might look a little strange.  

Had a flawless flight thanks to KLM, one of the fastest and smoothest I’ve ever enjoyed.  After the usual cattle line up to get through customs (Covid?  What Covid?  Doesn’t seem to exist in this country, other than masks in the airport) we grabbed a cab and arrived without a problem at our cozy little apartment in de Piipe.     Our “stroll around the block” to get our bearings turned into a full assault on the city and some 5 hours later we returned cross-eyed but with updated transit cards, an important adaptor for the electronics, and a wondrous assortment of cheese and wine.  The race is on to see who can keep their eyes open the longest as we’re trying to switch to the local time zones in one day.  For this moment, it feels luxurious to sit still and compose this as the breeze teases through the open front door.  It’s so good to sit still.

The good weather is forecast to hold for tomorrow so there are plans cooking for a canal cruise, a nice  rest for the weary feet and jet-lagged brain, and probably a good exploration of the park just 300 meters away.  Both activities are much safer than running the gauntlet of a thousand uber fit bikers and silent but deadly trams.  Amsterdam - we have arrived!

One Decade, exactly

Time folds over on itself and performs the most amazing aerobics.  Ten years - exactly - from the day I took this picture, I will once again be walking the canals and delighting in the sights of the Netherlands.  Life has changed in a myriad of ways over the past decade, as this blog attests, as it began as a way to keep my friends and family along for the ride as I dealt with breast cancer through 2012.   With that phase and a mountain of gratitude behind me, the blog morphed into a much happier travel venue, and I am thrilled to report a return to that today.  Covid be damned!   We trek on with a titch of  trepidation but fully armed with protective gear, reputable and up to date statistics, and buoyant spirits.  Less than a month to go and the lists are under construction.

Those who subscribe to this blog are going to lose their email notifications as of August 21.   I really don’t know why but perhaps this platform, also a decade old, is no longer supported by that widget.  I’m working on a solution but if I cannot figure it out I hope returning to the old Google link will still be working.  This publication today is a bit of a test so I’d appreciate your comments and feedback so I can work toward a solution in the next few weeks.  Is anybody out there?  Remember:  You must log into your Google account in order to comment.   Cheers!

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.