Dress Rehearsal

During one of the Quarantine Weeks, I joined a group of writers online for an afternoon workshop. With a handful of others, I was asked to describe the color I was feeling at the moment.  One by one, we shared our colors and as expected, most of the descriptions were of blue, dark, grey. I gazed out the window as my turn came and I said "yellow, I'm feeling the brightness of a beautiful day here at my home". Next, we all wrote to photo prompts.  By the end of the session, most of the other writers had read, out loud, their soul-filled creations, most of which were in reaction not only to the prompt, but to the current and primal state of affairs.  Instead of reading mine, I sat and I listened to each of the wonderfully written pieces, marveling at the talents and wondering why I felt differently about so much of what was being exposed. Most were younger and most were residents of cities.  Time and place have so much to do with the writing process. Time and place.

So, I decided to not use time and place as a journal form. I have written so little about the Covid Crisis, in fact, I have written so little in general during the past few months.  A lot of my creative energy has been used otherwise.  I write daily, in the form of an email, connecting my neighbors. It takes time and thought but the feedback tells me that it is appreciated and therefore, I continue to do it. But, it is a factual rather than emotional outpouring. It's not about me. It's not Facebook or Instagram either.  It's more of a connection. Time and place, vital and not-so-vital news of within and outside the condo community. All the while, however, I have been sorting this in my brain, trying to find my own voice, to summarize rather than give a blow-by-blow description of what this all feels like and how this affects my life and my future, never mind the rest of the modern world. I think it's best to leave individual reactions to individuals.

My father is now almost 99 years old.  He lives in a nursing home and that, for the past almost two years, had been a source of some of the greatest relief I have felt since my mother's death eight years ago. Alone in his home, without her coaching, without her instigating daily life activities, he sat in his gigantic leather recliner chair for hours, looking out the window, rarely doing much more. His day was defined by his meal times, his foray out to collect his newspaper from the driveway, and his routines of simplicity. Prepping the house for the night, opening it for the new day. All very rote, all exceptionally un-inspiring, but all set in stone.  He deflected anything that was not within the set parameters of what he considered "normal" and "safe".  Each time I would try to encourage him to do something different, to perhaps visit the Senior Center for lunch or to take a small walk with his dog, he put me off.  Same clothes every day for weeks. No signs of attendance to hygiene. Same bar of soap, virtually untouched, on the bathroom vanity. Never asked me to restock toothpaste. Just a once a week trip to the barber shop. Wouldn't even shave himself. A boring and virtually useless existence as observed.  Safe harbor for him.  His answer to my question of "what do you do all day" was consistent. "I do what I want, and I don't do what I don't want to do". End of story.

Ah, reflection. Lots of time now to think about life. Not a lot of places to go. No more demands. Lower expectations. Good excuses. Early morning risings. Early to bed at night. It could be so easy. Oh brother, it could be so very easy.

Reflection has brought insight. I have to make sense of all of this.  I'm not sure that others have framed their thoughts this same way but I have made a foundation of belief that for me, is not going to crack. I know what this is all about for me. A sneak peak. A greater understanding. I forgive you, Dad, and I do understand.  I sense an opportunity here.  Enlightenment?

So, this is what it feels like?

Projection. I'm only seventy two. I have years ahead. I see that boulder rolling towards me and it
could move with fury. If I allow it. Life has become so complex. This is the life, the daily routine, of a ninety-something.  The new challenges presented by the Pandemic, they are reminders of what real, true, old-age must feel like.  It must be so damned hard to navigate in a feeble body, with a failing mind. It must be so damned confusing, the least change in the routine. So difficult to grasp and then to do something necessary but unfamiliar, just to get through a transaction, never mind a whole day, week, month, year.  Showering, shaving, changing clothes, choosing outfits, the right shoes for the time. What to eat. When. Where. How? Shopping, driving. Making phone calls. Answering the phone. Making small talk. Trying to fall asleep after a useless day of nothing but what you wanted to do. Nothing.

So, I'm thinking that this is all just one, huge dress rehearsal. That this time is good and valuable. That I have been given a great gift as it turns out. Not just me.  Everyone. A forward glance, that opportunity that I sensed. I have had a a taste of what, in not so distant a future, my life could actually resemble. I've had a chance to see, touch and feel emotions that one day I could own and I don't like them. I need and want to re-write the script. At the end of the drama, I want the star to be remembered as a vital and contributing member of the cast. I want to push back that rock, send it to the other side of the hill from where it originated. I want to declare now that I want to be as the top of that hill, slowly and assuredly making my way down, still taking in the view as I go along, still loving every moment of the journey.

Supermarket

We went to Whole Foods yesterday and waited on a small line of face-masked people,spaced six feet apart. Our turn was announced by a face-masked employee who counted the number of shoppers exiting before giving the okay.  I miss the freedom of parking my car, entering a store full of other shoppers. We were guided to a cart that had only just been sanitized by a young woman in a face-mask, wearing blue rubber gloves. Entering the store, we encountered a handfull of others and a burst of I don't know what emotion filled my brain. Was it excitement?  We're in a place where we can make choices, where we can purchase things we want or need. Fish. Chicken. Produce. Dairy. I miss the not being so excited about something as mundane as making choices at a grocery store. I miss selecting my own shopping cart and wiping the handle with a moistened sanitized cloth just because i thought it was a smart thing to do, especially when the cloth revealed how dirty the handle had been before my attention.  We followed the arrows on the floor as we made our way through the store. We kept our distance from the other masked shoppers and gave no indication of possible bodily harm. We worked assiduously at building trust and confidence in those around us.  I miss not being perceived as a possible vector, as a threat to the health and safety of a stranger.  Nobody put a head up. Shopping was all business.  We dared not hesitate, linger, read a label too long, put a product back on a shelf after deciding that the ingredients did not suit our decision to eat as clean as possible. To stay healthy. To have the ammunition that we will need to take another hill, to make it back to base camp. Eventually.  We soldiered on. People are waiting on line outside the door. Take the moral high road. Get in and get out. Be fair to others who might not have patience any longer. It's been two months already.  I miss not noticing people, not evaluating.  I used to do that for a living and I was paid well. I miss an income. Food prices will rise very soon. The will have to. We forgot a few items. Back tracking is not an easy task with all those arrows on the floors telling us which way to proceed. I miss not being so overwhelmed all the time with simple stuff like grocery lists and I miss the feeling of having accomplished with ease, the small chore of crossing everything off. My lists currently have items crossed off before I leave the house - "those are not essential".  We see toilet paper again on the shelves. Not on the list.  We have enough. Let's not hoard.  Somebody else may need it. Look at the prices!  Soon, there will be a glut.  All the greedy toilet paper buyers are now stocked up for a year. I miss not just throwing a four pack of two ply into my cart every few weeks because we were running low.  I miss the whole realm of toilet paper purchasing possibilities.  Funny, now I'm missing the game that finding a four pack on a shelf in a supermarket had become.  Where's Waldo?  Oh boy, I can't wait to tell my friends where to find the Charmin!  I miss not caring.  We proceeded to the checkout area, carefully inspecting the floor for more directions.  Footprints. Yellow feet, spaced every six feet.  Yellow bars painted on a once-innocent floor, demanding our attention. Calling us to line up, spaced, ready for the next attack. This time, the target was the forbidden payment area. The victim, clad in face-mask, gloved and protected behind a huge shield of thick plastic, shouted our orders to us.  Was it a call to arms?  Listen up.  Your life and mine are now on the line and you will obey.  What did he say? I'm sorry, can you repeat that please.  Step back. Stay in the zone that is painted red. Keep your distance from me. Put your card in now. Step to the next step. I miss smiling at the clerk, pleasantries. Knowing what, when, how. Saying thank you for bagging my purchases, not for "coming to work today". I miss being happy at the supermarket, the feeling of having crossed off the list, the small accomplishment that resulted in having the makings of some fine meals. Coming home with a few impulse items. I miss impulse items. I miss feeling accomplished. I miss feeling like I knew how to navigate my way through a supermarket.  I miss smiling at other shoppers, taking my time, reading labels, sampling cheeses.  I feel like a pre-schooler.  I feel old and threatened. I feel out of place.  I worry that this is the way the rest of our lives is going to be. I feel sad and unfamiliar with all the other emotions I feel.  I miss not feeling this way.

It's Sunday Again and We're No Better

I could not have said it better than I said it.  Every morning, I push out an email to a group of my women-neighbors.  I'm up at the crack of dawn and this vehicle allows me to get my wheels turning, to get my writing mo-jo into full swing and the feedback tells me that it is viewed as something to which a lot of the recipients look forward as they start their own days.  I try to be informative, to engage others, and to add some levity to the mix as we continue along our way and try to keep our sanity during this incredibly insane time.  The past two days have been especially stressful with the President showing the entire world how much in need he is of a psychiatric evaluation.  His attempt to cover up yet another of his grave errors in judgment, with telling us that his "disinfection" idea was one that he said in "sarcasm" isn't being bought.  Sarcasm? At a time when hundreds of thousands of lives are being ripped apart, thousands and thousands of people dying, a whole world turned upside down and backwards? Not.

I digress. What I want to do here is just post my email from this morning.  I'm not going to write another word today.  I am confused. Never mind the big picture, confused about how and why we are subject to the daily blows to our intelligence from the White House.  I'm confused about the local level as well.  The keys to our survival.  The essentials and non-essentials. So here it is.

I don't know about you, but I am beginning to feel like the Howdy Doody Show when it comes to making local purchases.  It ain't easy!

 https://youtu.be/pnUGAe0yqz4

Howdy Doody Show, The (Intro) S1 (1947) youtu.be

Maybe it's me.  But I can't seem to navigate my way through some of the things people are telling me that they can.  Everything seems a bit dead-ended.  I really, really want to support our locals. I honestly believe that they will be our only hope sooner than we'd like to admit. I keep trying. 

For instance, here are some of my personal experiences:

1. Tried a dinner order from the Royal on Wednesday.  Constant busy signal

2.Called Kender and Sisters for a morning pastry order yesterday around 9:15 and got their recorded answer - "Thanks for calling Firestarters. Our hours are 4 to...... Don't leave a message." I found out later that yes, they were open.  STEP ONE, change your phone message when you switch over from evening business to morning business!

3. I left a message on the Agway site, trying now to order some garden boots for volunteer work at Bray Farm.  I know they are busy, but how do I know my order didn't just go to the moon?  They advise against calling to check.  Last week, we ordered some soil, got a phone call and that was the end of the story. No soil yet to be seen.

4.How the heck are you supposed to order from Dennis Public Market?  I tried and I consider myself fairly savvy when it comes to technology but really?  First of all, it appears that you have to download a form, fill it in, scan it and then email it to them.  What?? How are the "elderly" going to figure this out?  Good luck.

5. Capabilities Farm.  Pat told us that it was easy. She ordered, Drove up. Got her stuff.  But Pat,what did you get?  How did you know what they had? Help!  I'm just looking for marigold seeds, some plants eventually, and some damned soil - which I still don't know if I am getting from Agway

Keep on Keeping!  LG

!

                                               

Halfway Through April

Another chilly Spring morning.  I'm not surprised.  All Winter long, while everyone delighted in the fact that we hadn't any snow, that our days were relatively mild and that the Winter wasn't at all as bad as New England Winters have been, I warned.  I smiled my cat smile and predicted as if I had a crystal ball right there in my palms. "Just wait until Spring, then Winter will hit".  My belief in the balance of nature was validated when snow fell not once, but twice, since the arrival of Spring. We still need heat on in the house and it's too cold some days to stay outdoors. Those early morning walks to which I had looked so forward, are still not a part of my day. But then, every single part of my day, every single day, since early March (what was the exact date, anyway?) have not been what I could have anticipated or predicted.  Had I gazed into the best crystal ball in the world, I would not have seen one iota of what I see, hear and experience now, every day of my life in the New World that was handed over to us by a Coronavirus, now known to all as Covid-19.

The Boston Globe newspaper on Sunday, April 19th held fifteen pages of obituaries.  Fifteen. As of yesterday, there were 2,432,092 reported cases (God knows how many more have been unreported), and 166.256 reported deaths (here again, God knows). In my county of Barnstable, as of yesterday there were 632 cases and 21 deaths and two hospitals. The peak, we are told, has not been seen here.

A reminder here.  This is not a history book in the making. Nor is it a medical journal. Rather, I look upon what I write as a memoir in the making.  I cannot capture all that surrounds me. it is far too overwhelming. I cannot expect that more than a few faithful readers will get a glimpse at what is embedded in the hearts and minds of everyone, near or far. But, this is my space and I can use it, and will use it, to say a few, out of the million words that I could say, about life churned up and resources re-allocated and the complete and utter lack of control that resides in my own brain.


So, for the sake of posterity. The days?  They lack distinction.  Might as well just remove the prefixes. Mon, Tue, Wed, Thur, Fri, Sat, Sun. They're all just "Day".  But still,we try to give each of them a place in our lives.  Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings, weather-permitting, are assigned to group exercising on our tennis courts, led by my husband.  From a social distance, we bond as a group and each of our sessions is ended with an invocation, led by a member.

We're playing by the new rules. Social distancing while out of the house. Trips away from the house, for necessities if we will be exiting the car and entering any type of the limited retail places, are limited. Face masks. Thorough hand washing each and EVERY time we return to the house. Hand sanitizing, when we haven't reached our home destination. Raw hands. Sanitizing. Constant allergy symptoms that include itchy eyes, a rash on my face and some kind of a weird feeling under my bottom lip, from all of the bleach in the air. More laundry than ever. No touchy, no feely. We get it. I always did get "infection control" but rarely had to practice it outside of my workplaces.

So, daily life, played by the rules, so far, is not all that difficult. Other than suiting up as if we were going to be taking on the Battle of the Buldge every time we must go to a store, we are rolling through those "days" with ease.  We're never bored. I'm rarely tired. We probably get on each other's nerves but we have had lots of practice with being together in confined spaces and taking on new challenges. I think upon our last Italian vacation as Boot Camp now. I think upon it also as a gift, unmatched and precious.  While we have already made reservations for Christmas at the B&B owned by friends in Umbria, we're still unsure of the plans that were in the making for an extended stay this year. I pray a lot every day.  Always have. But now, the prayer list is extensive. I pray that I can escape if only for ninety days, following the next election. I know that the same people who claim responsibility for having elected the current president, will repeat their performance and I don't think I can bear the resulting anger and grief.

Television viewing has, of course, become a staple in many homes during the days of confinement. I have friends who spend the entire day watching the news and they say that they want to break the habit but are finding it difficult. We are not having that problem.  We tune into CNN maybe once a day and avoid anything related to FOX News. We think Anthony Fauci is a fearless warrior but he is not alone. Andrew Cuomo in New York is also a warrior and a fearless leader.  Leadership. We're lacking it from our "leader".  I think he may finally get it.  It's early in my day at the moment and I don't want to ruin the rest of the "day" by reminiscing about the actions of Donald Trump so here's a quick review for those of you who want to acknowledge the truth:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/graphics/2020/politics/trump-coronavirus-statements/

You can't make this stuff up.

And please, don't tell me that this news is "fake".  It's not.

So, we spend time, real time, because that's all we have. The moments. We get lots of fresh air and exercise, feeling a sense of relief and joy when we hit the beaches for walks or use the trails and bike paths that surround us in multitude. While so many are sitting at home watching T.V., these places are wide-open and never crowded so keeping a safe distance is not a problem.  Bad weather, we have both a cardio stepper and a cardio stationary bike and YouTubes by the gazillion so our needs are met and we're constantly learning new fitness routines. I often bend down and kiss my beloved Keen hiking shoes. Best birthday present I ever bought myself.  We've had some remarkable adventures together.

Everyone is cooking and baking.  Hard to find flour and yeast on the shelves. Almost as difficult as finding toilet paper and paper towels.  That's going to be a funny story for readers of the future. Of all the damned things to be talking about. But, if nothing else, it's a distraction from the horror of the numbers and the insensitivity of our president that worsens with each hour. The true story of the disappearance of toilet paper? It's two-fold (sorry about that).  Number one, it has to do with the production and distribution of the product.  It's bulky. Hard to store in manufacturing sites and in the markets, so it's not produced in the same volume as, let's say, Handiwipes. Number two, greed and lack of respect for other people on the planet.  When it does appear on the shelves, or, rather, when it did appear as per usual, people were grabbing in large quantities, never thinking that perhaps there might be other people who also needed some.  Stores started putting limits on quantities per shopper but the shortfall has resulted in less and less being shipped to the markets.  And, there are those same greedy folk who get up and out with the chickens and pull their allotted two packs off the shelves on a regular basis.  The new status marker is how many you have stored in your basement. Unbelievable.

I cook. I bake. I try to bake.  It's not a strong point. I make a lot of soup. Soups are shared. I make deliveries in my condo community. Soup is warm. Warmth is what we need. I am a frustrated nurse. Frustrated, because my age and my distance from the technical world of nursing have kept me from helping in ways that would validate me. I renewed my license. I joined the Medical Reserve Corps. My assignment has been a pick up of face masks and a delivery to a designated site in Hyannis. I used to be an Occupational Health nurse. I built wellness programs and ran small emergency departments. I nursed nurses. I wrote volumes on bio-terrorism response and emergency evacuations after working through two World Trade Center disasters and one big Summer blackout of the world's leading city. But, delivering face masks I did with honor and pride.  I am proud of my colleagues. I pray for them, knowing what their lives are like, knowing their frustrations and heartbreaks. I wish that I could be there, if only in the capacity of nurse to the nurses again. I've seen meltdowns over far less than their tribulations.

Communication has taken on a whole new life.  Sick and tired of playing with the new technologies, many of us have taken to using the old, tried and true forms of communication.  Telephone calls have become very popular.  I have heard from some old and dear friends and some newer ones. What a treat a phone conversation is. What blessings friends are.

I can hardly bear to think about the changes that our two granddaughters are now forced to endure. Their lives have come to a halt, abruptly, for reasons that they are trying to understand.  Teen-age-hood is filled with rights of passage and now, those rites have been altered beyond the beyond. They are restless and sad, especially the fourteen year old who had visions and dreams of Eighth Grade. Eighth Grade, what an important rite that is.  And now, as of yesterday, the year is officially ended. No graduation, no social events, no sharing with friends, no time to finish what Kindergarten started. No place of honor in the hierarchy of the grade school world. No time to shift the gears and gain the traction needed to enter the lowest rungs of the high school world. Sad, and there is nothing we can do to soothe the pain, to lessen the blow, to make it all re-appear as the hormone-fueled, crazy but wonderful time that once was. My heart breaks for her and for her younger sister who also is feeling the pain.  Sixth Grade had its own virtues, its own set of rituals.  Dashed.  And then, there is Summer camp.  Will it happen?  Most likely not.

It's hard to come to a conclusion of what I am writing here.  I wish I could conclude.  I wish I could say that the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel will soon shine, but I fear not. I look for words from the wise, not from the politicians.  I pray, meditate, work out and ponder.  Not much more I or anybody else can do right now as we watch the destruction of our civilization and the nauseating bile that our president spits forth on and on and on.  In a few days, we will see more death and more destruction of our society, more insubordination, more shocking disregard of what has been our attempt to stem the tide, as we see states loosening their Stay Home policies and "re-opening".

I've treated many a wound in my day.  My parting words to the people who I have tended, after a review of the signs of infection,  were "this should be improving every day, not getting worse, so if you don't see the improvement, come back.  Maybe we will have to try something different or have your doctor take a look at it"

But then, what did I know?  I wasn't the President of the United States.  I was just a healthcare worker. I was doing what I had been taught to do and allowing someone who had more wisdom to weigh in for the benefit of my patient. Hmmmmm.

The Peace Bell

''This encounter at Assisi is an act of penance. . . . Either we learn to walk together in peace and harmony or we drift apart and ruin ourselves and others,"

These were the words of Pope John Paul II, spoken in an unprecedented address in Assisi, Italy on "The World Day of Peace",  October 27, 1986. Not coincidentally, it was the birthday of St. Francis of Assisi. 

Gathered together, in unity, along with Pope John Paul, were leaders of the World's 12 main religious groups. All, at his invitation. Truly a day that will always be remembered as one of harmony, peace and mutual respect. Only the actual physical presence of Francis would have made this more of an occasion for the history books.  

This glorious monument, the Peace Bell, stands in the Bosco di San Francesco, one of our favorite places in Assisi.  Quite possibly, one of our favorite all time, anywhere places.  Blissfully, we've hiked the Bosco several times and if you were to ask us to describe Paradise on Earth, surely my husband and I, in unison, would pronounce the Bosco to be the answer.

So, with all that there could possibly be to reflect upon at this moment in our own history, my thoughts come back to the Bosco, the Peace Bell.  I've stood there and breathed in the forest air, listened to the soft sounds of woodland birds and taken in with my eyes and heart, the carpets of growth which have welcomed our footsteps.  

Each day, when I consider my gratitude, I always, always remember places like the Bosco.  I never take peace for granted, nor do I assume that everyone in this world will honor the codes of respect for the beliefs of others and their pursuit of righteousness, whatever that may entail. 

One day, oh how I hope it will be one day soon, we will return to Assisi and when we do, we will start a new series of hikes in the Bosco.  Our recovery from the virus that now threatens us so vehemently will, in large, depend upon our willingness to respect first ourselves and then, others.  

Assisi on My Mind

Yesterday, there was sunshine and warmth all day.  The sky was blue and our outdoor fitness class was pure joy underneath that gorgeous top of cloudless perfection. The rest of the day progressed in sunshine and as we drove off on our way to one of our favorite beach walks, we passed through our condo property and onto what, in other times, would be a busy Main Street.  Driving along the route, we realized a sense of peace and tranquility, one that reminded us of the atmosphere in Assisi during the non-tourist months.  We carefully avoid the other travel months, knowing that we will not have the same experiences when the streets become clogged with people who are simply there to check off the box.  Ahhh, we said, this is the way it should be. This is why we chose to live here on beautiful Cape Cod and this is how it should always be. Sadly, when the Virus has finally given up its foothold, I suspect a return to most of that "other" life.

While we look forward to the end of the nightmare, we have made a conscious decision, like so many others, to live in the present, knowing that we simply have no other choice. But, our days in the city of Peace and Love have imprinted us.  We can easily take a deep cleansing breath and find ourselves in the early morning light of the home of St. Francis.  Our minds drift and we're bathed in the warmth of a bliss that has to be experienced in order to be fully understood.

So, during these hard, hard days, we keep going back to Assisi.  We drift through the beloved town and we see the faces of our friends, we feel the warmth of the embraces, we hear their kind words and we make a promise together that one day, as soon as we can, we will physically rejoin all of that and have a celebration to end all.  For now, we enjoy peace, stillness, harmony with nature and good will.

Months spent in Assisi, it turns out, were investments in the future.  We studied in a classroom, we had great teachers.  Little did we ever know that one day, we would draw upon all that we learned and we would see light on a landscape of darkness and hope in Spring flowers and the sound of birds.

And, a tiny little side note.....our Italian language skills should be so much better when we do return.
Being at home does have its advantages.  Home-school Italian Lessons!!

Camino From Home Guest Post

Sitting back, taking a break.

Guest posting instead.

Enjoy!

https://thecaminoprovides.com/2020/04/05/camino-from-home/