Covid Madness

Odie has decided I’m barking mad and perhaps he’s right.  Nobody is used to staying quite as close to home as we are doing these days. I don’t mind being home.  There are lots of things to do and the advantage of growing up as an only child is that I’ve always been pretty good at entertaining myself. Part of my daily routine has been to check friends’ postings on Facebook. Most of us are trying to post amusing things to keep spirits up and I always get at least one good laugh. Today, in addition to the cat videos and bad puns, a friend sent me a link to a complete performance by the Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain. I’d seen the beginning of the performance before but today I decided I’d watch the whole thing. I put my headphones on and pressed play.

            While the first song was playing, I got up to make some tea and found myself swaying to the music. Richard was in his study watching something on his computer, so it was just Odie and me in the kitchen area. I poured the hot water over the tea leaves and began to walk rhythmically around the kitchen. I was having fun, and nobody was watching so I started to incorporate a couple of little running steps. Those led to a couple of jumps.  I didn’t want to try any twirls because nobody wants to break an ankle in the time of Covid 19. I started to smile, and the smile morphed into a grin. I did a couple of things with my feet and realized that those moves came from the aerobics classes of the ‘80’s.  That was when I thought to check my heart rate.  Quite acceptably in the exercise range. Carry on. 

            I figured I could get an even better workout if I got my arms involved, and I began to swing/ fling them about as I continued to bop around the kitchen. There was a moment where I thought that anyone watching would be sure I had lost the farm. The only one watching me was Odie; I decided to dance right over and include him in the fun. He was standing on his perch, perfectly still looking at me. He wasn’t upset because he wasn’t pinning his eyes or going into his ‘crouch before attack’ pose. He continued to just look without moving. I moved away and expanded my dancefloor to include the living room.  When I got back to him somewhere through the next song, he was still looking at me. I busted a few more moves just to see if he’d react. He may have cocked his head a little.

            About that time Richard came in, probably having heard the thumping on the floor.  He asked me what I was doing, and I told him I was dancing to the Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain.  He grinned and acknowledged that that sounded like fun. There are a lot of reasons I keep that guy around and one of them is that he accepts me whirling around the kitchen like a dervish as understandable, if not normal behavior for a sixty-something woman while she doing her part to stay off the streets and out of trouble during the Covid 19 pandemic. He didn’t run to get his phone so he could blackmail me with video, nor did he laugh – not even a little.

            According to my Fitbit, I got in 33 minutes-worth of aerobic activity and it was a lot more entertaining than walking on the treadmill. After a while, Odie recovered from being a witness to the spectacle and I don’t think he’ll suffer any permanent damage.   It was enough fun that he may just have to get used to it. I wonder if it will make any difference if I let him hear the music.  Perhaps I can convince him to join me eventually.

            By the way here’s the link, in case you should feel a little like dancing.

. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dK3PE9PIrfg

Yelling at your neighbours

Every day new cases of Covid 19 crop up and every day calls on our reserves of energy. It’s so easy to get into the ‘should’ mindset these days.  No question, there are things we all should be doing: following the instructions given by those who know about epidemics, washing our hands, checking in with each other, and ignoring the folks who tell us that 5 G networks are causing the corona virus outbreaks. I’m not talking about that kind of should.  I’m talking about the ‘shoulds’ we tell ourselves: I should clean out the garage, go through my filing cabinet, get at the mound of mending sitting beside the sewing machine. There are bigger ‘shoulds’ that nag us even more: I should volunteer at the food bank; I should be doing more. We are all, as I read in an article the other day, feeling a bit ‘wobbly.’ There is no one way to do what is best. We do what we can and what we have energy to do. and that looks different for each of us.

            People and organizations are reaching out in many different ways to help make this experience manageable. Museums are offering virtual tours. People are posting amusing videos as never before and local restaurants are offering lower prices on curbside pickup orders. Musicians whose gigs have been cancelled are posting their music online.  Today I watched a kitchen party from various places in Nova Scotia.  Someone took footage from each contributor and edited it so people made music together while remaining apart.

            People are finding ways to connect by doing small things for each other. We had dinner with friends using Skype the other night. We laughed and chatted and commented on each other’s menus. It was a ton of fun and nobody had to drive anywhere.  We’re going to do that again. Children are making art on the sidewalks and people are posting drawings and cut-outs on their windows to give their neighbours something cheery to look at and, perhaps, to look forward to when they are out walking.

In the last few days I have noticed another phenomenon that seems to be gaining in popularity: yelling at your neighbours.  When I’ve been out walking, I’ve noticed people having conversations loudly from quite a distance away. I’ve been involved in a few of these myself. It may not be as elegant as Italians singing to each other from their balconies, but it will keep the vocal cords in shape so that Canadians, who are of such a mind, will be able to go right back to yelling during hockey games when hockey can be played again. It’s not subtle communication and there’s a kind of naughty freedom to carrying on a conversation at the top of one’s voice. So, let’s keep opening our doors and yelling at each other across lawns and from front steps and sidewalks. As long as there is good humour and kindness in the yelling, I’m all for it.

Vested interest part 2

The vest

This is a quick update on the travel vest situation. I asked a friend if she would be interested in taking on the project for me. She is excellent with fabric arts and had just finished a large commission. She agreed to make the vest in exchange for a set of wooden kitchen tools. I sent her the pattern along with some photos of colour combinations I like to wear. I thought it would work better if she picked the fabric.  I don’t really know what I’m doing or what will work and what won’t.

It's reversible!

            After about a week, that’s right one week, I got an email saying she had finished the vest and it was on its way. She took pictures but didn’t send them as she wanted me to wait until I could see the real thing. Wednesday March 18 it arrived. I’m over the moon about this vest and I don’t often get that way about a piece of clothing! Her taste in fabrics is perfect; the vest fits well with lots of room to put stuff in the pockets. I know it’s going to be something that will make me smile each time I put it on.  Now I have to get busy making and assembling the best set of wooden kitchen utensils I can put together. I particularly enjoy making things for specific people. I keep them in mind as I work and send them care and attention through the pieces I make. I hope she will enjoy using the kitchen tools as much as I will enjoy and treasure my vest.

            In this time of economic uncertainly I’m thinking about the possibilities of barter. I feel good because someone appreciates my work; the other person gets something they want or need; and no money changes hands. I remember my mum’s stories about doctors being paid for services in chickens during the depression of the 1930’s. It’s one more way that the current situation encourages me to see things a bit differently. Oh, and by the way, we saw our first robin yesterday.

Where are the good bits?

Thanks R for today's window decoration

Let me be really clear: there is nothing cool about the covid 19 outbreak itself. There are, however, some cool things happening because of the situation in which we now find ourselves.  Yesterday someone posted a photo of a silly-face drawing taped up in a window.  I didn’t know anything about it, so I asked for more information. Neighbourhood window walk encourages people to post drawings on different topics in their windows so that folks who are out for a walk have something different to look at. What a great idea! The suggestion for March 23 is animals. Now when I’m walking in the neighbourhood, I’ll look for window decorations. I have never seen so many people out walking as I have in the last few days.

I’ve found myself enjoying photos from the Facebook groups Alberta Bird Photographers, Alberta Wildlife Photographers and How to Photograph Birds. Alberta Wildlife Photographers posted that they have had 85 new members join in the last week. And, the number of photos being posted seems to be increasing as well. A cousin sent me a link to Cornell Ornithology Lab and from there I discovered several real-time cameras set up at feeding stations. There was a ruffed grouse doing an elaborate display and a time lapse of an owl’s nest from eggs until the time the owlets fledged. I know that birds are not everyone’s thing, but I assume that there are groups out there for just about every interest and that they too will be ramping up their content.

The National Arts Centre and Facebook have teamed up to provide concerts online and the artists will be paid. Here are a couple of links.

·      https://nowtoronto.com/music/national-arts-centre-facebook-livestream-grant/

·      https://nac-cna.ca/en/media/newsrelease/25880

Thanks C, C, and N!

In a way the simplification of life is a refreshing gift. Many of the tasks on my long-term To-Do list are on hold and I don’t need to think about them. Get some electrical work done around the house: on hold. Get the locks fixed: on hold. Call someone to get the trees trimmed: on hold. Have a look for a replacement for the pot that is chipping: not right now. I’m grateful that most of the stuff around our house is working and that we are well.  Today we spent a few minutes sitting on the step outside the shop. It was spring-time warm and sheltered from the wind. We watched drops of water fall as the snow melted and Richard played his ukulele. It’s safe to say that I wouldn’t have even noticed the opportunity to enjoy a moment like this if not for covid 19. I’m not saying that I’m always Little Mary Sunshine about this – far from it. I’ve had days when I didn’t even want to raise my head but, at the moment, I choose not to write about those: I want to spend as little time there as possible.

A former teaching partner used to talk to the kids about looking for the ‘good bits’ in a story or poem. Not exactly the correct literary term but the kids got it. I intend to also look for the ‘good bits.’ Today in our mailbox we found an envelope that had been hand delivered. Inside were three pieces of origami done by the kids who live across the back alley from us. We are finding ways e to stay in touch and to make moments in the day just a little brighter for each other and that, to me, is worth celebrating.

And now what?

Business as usual?  Not quite. With the covid 19 pandemic in full swing health care systems are overwhelmed; the stock market is tanking; businesses are cutting back their hours; classes from K through post-secondary have been suspended; people are wondering how to work from home and take care of the kids; some people are wondering how to pay the rent. But you know all of this.

Social contact /physical distance

I’m surprised at how normal life in this neighbourhood looks. I had occasion to go to the grocery store today. It was mid afternoon and the parking lot was full. The store was about as busy as it usually is. No one was wearing a mask. I took this as a good sign because, as I understand it, masks unless specifically NIOSH 95 rated are only good at keeping those already infected from infecting others. saw people out walking their dogs and a few others just walking. The traffic seemed to be what I would expect for the time of day. I don’t think people are taking this lightly and it makes me wonder where everyone is going.

            What didn’t look usual were the empty shelves in the grocery store.  I didn’t check the toilet paper; we have enough for a month or so. There were no eggs and there was no 2% milk. The cereal aisle was pretty light on some things, no steel-cut oats or large bags of slow-cooking or quick-cooking oats, very little pasta. There was a sign up at the pharmacy telling people not to ask for hand sanitizer, alcohol, wipes or masks because there weren’t any. There were also empty spots on the fruit juice and tea shelves. I don’t drink coffee. Fresh produce was abundant although there was one empty bin where potatoes usually reside. There was lots of bread and no shortage of meat.  I don’t think there’s anything I particularly need to stock up on. If we need to stay put for a couple of weeks, we won’t starve but we might get a bit tired of eating rice and beans. Neither of us has a cough or cold symptoms so we can still get out of the house.

            Am I worried, scared, anxious?  I’m not sure. Being in a high-risk group is something I’m not accustomed to. I wouldn’t be doing anything differently if I weren’t in a high-risk group but being on the wrong end of the statistics is sobering. Despite the apparent sameness of the grocery store scene, this virus hits close to home.  I know four people who are isolating themselves because they had contact with someone who tested positive for covid 19. Choir practice is cancelled, attending church in person is cancelled, visiting other people’s homes is cancelled.

In a strange way this virus has given me permission to slow down and I’ve been spending a lot of time online. I’m heartened by the number of people posting silly, witty and amusing things on Facebook and Instagram. I’m getting lots of laughs every day. People with regular YouTube channels are offering courses for free and libraries and museums have opened up their virtual doors even as they have closed their physical ones. I spent an hour yesterday taking part in a live-stream ukulele lesson. Although my ukulele building has been curtailed for the moment, I can work to improve my playing. We are working with the technology we now have to help keep each other’s sprits up.

            I’ve been accessing TedX talks. This year, for the first time, I have tickets to TedX in Calgary and that has also been cancelled. I sit, listen, take notes and realize what a predictable creature I am. I do what I have always done, search for something to learn and take notes because it gives me a sense of control and that’s comforting.  I may never look at the notes again but that doesn’t really matter.  Writing, pretty much any kind of writing, takes me to a place of intense focus and there’s no room for worry in that place.

            There are other things that give me absorbing experiences. I walk, sometimes outside and sometimes on the treadmill. I draw regularly now. I’m getting better at it although it goes in fits and starts.  One day I’ll do a drawing I really like and the next day the one I do will make good fire starter. Of course, woodworking always takes me to that place of intense focus and there are audio books and podcasts.

            It is surprising how many times a day I think about what clothes I will take on the now-cancelled Arctic trip planned for the summer. I find myself wondering what kind of drawing tools I should take and whether I should take all the lenses for my camera. Then I remember that I won’t be going. Perhaps one of the most puzzling things for me is the inability to plan for the future in a way I’m used to doing. I get swept away in ordinariness only to wake up and realize that things are different now.  I’m doing my best to sit with that and appreciate what each day brings.

Today walked into the cold wind and when I turned away from it, I was almost too hot. I heard a flock of sparrows in the bushes as I passed. I video chatted with friends and we laughed. I enjoyed cups of tea. Richard and I played duets on the ukuleles. We made mistakes and we laughed. Odie tucked his head under his wing and closed his eyes while I sat at the table and looked at photos by Alberta bird photographers. All the other things that clog my ‘To Do’ lists can wait.

I wish all of you, but particularly those who must meet this virus head on, strength, wisdom and peace.

We are not amused!

The state of the world does not amuse me at the moment. I’m not even going to get into the stupidity I see from my fellow humans, not only those who are in power and misuse it but also those who believe and act on information from less-than-credible sources. Sometimes I wonder if there’s any hope at all for humanity. Then I look at some of the postings on Facebook, earrings with miniature rolls of toilet paper attached touted as a keepsake from 2020, a photo of many rolls of toilet paper individually wrapped in Christmas paper with the caption “My Christmas Shopping is done.” There are many others that make me smile and I’m grateful for those folks who take the time to make me laugh. I know some people say that there are certain things that are too serious to laugh about.  I’ve always maintained that those are the very things we need to laugh about.

            Somewhere in the deep recesses of my brain there is a conversation held in a university drama class. We were debating the differences between comedy and tragedy and there were logical arguments aplenty. Someone ventured that comedy occurred when the serious consequences of an action were removed and proceeded to site examples of what happens to cartoon characters when they get pushed off cliffs or hit over the head with frying pans. The birds chirp around their heads briefly and then they get up and get on with it. The speaker just about had us convinced when the prof, a man who, with his neatly cropped hair, neatly trimmed moustache, and white button-down shirt, looked a bit out of place in a 1970’s drama department, interjected with a story of his own.

He was in a tank unit in WWII. One of the tanks became stuck and there was close enemy fire. He drove his tank up to the stationary one and yelled to the man inside. He said a very red face popped out of the turret and out of the mouth came “The fu**in’ fu**er’s fu**ed!” The head then disappeared only to reappear a second later with the final words, “fu** off!” The prof said despite the seriousness of the situation, he wept with laughter. I don’t remember if he even told us what happened to the stranded tank.  Clearly, he returned to tell the story. He followed up with an observation that the line between comedy and tragedy is a very thin one. 

One of the ways I deal with situations, such as the one in which we currently find ourselves, is to skip back and forth across the line. So I will be washing my hands; I will be staying in far more than I am used to; I will be watching parrot and cat videos and I will be saying ‘thank you’ not only to the people on the front lines and those who must make hard decisions in the face of this pandemic, but also to the ones who take the time to point out the ridiculousness of some of our behaviour and, who by doing so, make me laugh.

            Wash your hands, keep in touch with each other using all the wonderful technology we have at our fingertips and, if you can, give someone the gift of a laugh.