Pandemic

When I was a young child my mind had – and still has – an uncanny but undesirable ability to remember scary, dreadful things just as I was trying to fall asleep. Literally, as I felt myself start to loosen, I would be snapped awake by the image of a grinning, menacing rocking horse that was moving independently (when I was five) or a collage of swirling, terrifying news bytes which happen to be true (last night).

Looking back over the last few weeks with a critical eye, I notice that the media has released much of this information in carefully, titrated dosages; firstly, the virus was like a “really bad cold” most of us would recover from, if/when it ever became ‘community spread’ which seemed unlikely; then the term “pandemic” was gingerly introduced, by Dr. Anthony Fauci who has since become a sort of Churchillian figure wheeled out every day for another cautious chapter; a steady torrent of alarming statistics worldwide followed, with each day bringing something worse.  Now fast-forward to worldwide self isolating which is starting to feel almost normal. Almost. I mean, I often don’t see my sons in person every week but now knowing I can no longer hug them, to encircle their sharp shoulder blades as they crush me closer is devastating.  And, I worry about whether their vigilance is enough. Are they washing their hands while singing ‘Happy Birthday’ (there is NO chance of this, by the way) … Daily reports of people dying alone is also more than I can bear.

The Queen’s recent, heart-felt message moved both The General and I to tears.

The daily pattern that has emerged lately is that I can only maintain any kind of oblivion for about 48 hours. During that time, I clean out closets, rake wildly in the backyard, make tentatively hopeful future plans and have baked more than a few cheering desserts. Other days I do literally nothing, including showering and those are the worst days of all as I slowly descend into dread and often, self loathing since reflecting on one’s mortality seems to be a fast-track to reviewing all the mistakes I have made in my allotted time on the planet. I am also conscious of suddenly cooking as though we are living through World War II – finding some forgotten frozen peaches is cause for much celebration and we cherish the cinnamon smell soon emanating from a homemade cobbler.

One of the first things I did in ‘isolation’, which brought me brief and illogical calm was to pile the chicken carcasses from my freezer into a massive stock pot and make a golden, savory broth. But my mind knows I am stalling because every day is punctuated by grim, necessary news updates and the reality of what is happening returns. A friend of mine who had received a serious cancer diagnosis once commented wistfully to me that what she really missed was making dinner – and the luxury of just being able to think about making dinner.

The General and I take turns propping one another up. I must say, as a Sagittarius, this is one of the many areas in which The General really shines. Like my first serious boyfriend (also, a Sagittarius if you care about such things) he has a disposition which is auto-set to “sunny” and, like Tigger, is full of bounce as soon as he wakes up. Not in an annoying way either. Just calm-clever-naturally funny. I once read that my own personality (which can sometimes drift towards worst-possible-scenario-melancholic) is nicely balanced by having a Sagittarian close by.

(Also, these Sagittarians really, really like dessert).

I will talk about my new puppy very soon here on the blog not because I am shallow or vapid but because it is pleasant to read something other than pandemic statistics, isn’t it?

Also, new readers? I see you out there in my stats! Thank you for visiting and please! Do leave a comment – it’s always wonderful to hear from you but especially now.

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