Category: covid 19

Risk? Living in lockdown

I had made a promise to myself that this was to be a time to do all those things that I never seemed to get the time to do. I was going to sort out that drawer, you know the one, where things just get put, like the remote controls for things you no longer own, odd bits of plastic or metal that are left over when you make up a bit of flat pack furniture, empty jewellery boxes and old broken pairs of spectacles. I was going to do that one and many others too. I was going to be living in splendid minimalism, only having things around me that bought me joy.

Before the lockdown I had been doing those sorting out jobs, slowly. I used the excuse of going out to work to explain why progress was slow, but now there’s no progress at all.

There was a plan attached to the task before; we were going to sell up and move to somewhere smaller. Our current home is bigger than we need, and basically we didn’t want the hassle anymore. Now the future feels so uncertain, making any plan for the future feels a bit ridiculous, so what really is the point in sorting out that drawer.

I used to believe that tomorrow would be pretty similar to today, next month and next year had a predictable feel to them. But really was that true? There has been a lot of talk about the risks that are being taken with this gradual release of lockdown, and the risks of staying locked down. We are all looking for answers, someone to tell us the way through these choppy waters. The truth there are no answers, or more accurately there are many answers, but no one knows which one will work out best. No one really knows what the future will look like, and they never did.

We have always lived with risks, some people are more comfortable with it than others, but we have been really good at recognising and managing them. We used to drive cars and motorbikes without seatbelts or crash helmets, as the vehicles got faster, and the roads more crowded we managed the risk of people dying in accidents by changing laws and designing safer vehicles. People still die in accidents, and we still get into cars and drive; sometimes too fast for the conditions.

Those old risks are so familiar we hardly even think about them. It seems we are going to have to learn to live with the risks this new virus poses. We will need to adapt and adjust, but we will get used to it. Maybe facemasks will be part of the answer, and we will be buying one in every colour to match our outfit. Articles will be written on which masks suit your face shape and haircut, and Primark will be copying the catwaik versions overnight.

In the meantime I’m going to get on and sort out that drawer, and tomorrow I’ll do the next one. Making plans for the future feels like the best thing to do right now.

Tags living in lockdown

covid 19

The D word

Death is becoming more visible, the word that was once hidden through metaphor and hushed tones is now the main item on the daily news. I feel quite lucky that the daily death toll is still an abstract concept for me. No one I know has yet been touched by the virus except for the restrictions on daily life that are affecting us all. Some of my friends have had some sort of illness which may or may not have been the virus, but no one I know has yet been hospitalised. For this I am grateful.

I had a small taste of what others whose loved ones are currently sick with it must be going through when my 86 year old uncle didn’t respond to my texts last week. He was fine, he had simply run out of credit for his phone, and unusually for a man of his age, he doesn’t have a landline. We are laughing about it now of course. Its story about our tough as old boots, won’t take any help from anyone, fiercely independent, Uncle Terry. I don’t want to change my view of him from that person to someone who is frail and vulnerable, and I’m glad that I don’t have to.

My view of human nature is changing though. Every day there is another story of human kindness that makes me well up. From people in the caring professions, the armies of volunteers that are helping out in their own neighbourhoods and beyond, but also the companies that are putting people before profit, at least temporarily. There are now hotels that who are welcoming the homeless in and across their marble foyers, rather than chasing them away from the pavements around their doors. The Michelin starred restaurant chefs who are now producing meals in containers for vulnerable people rather than intricate and beautifully presented dishes involving reductions, jus and heritage vegetables for diners with more money than appetite, served with a flourish by a waiter. How many of those waiters and others who served our coffee in the morning our sandwich at lunchtime are now in need?

One of the small joys of this pandemic is seeing society wake up to what is important; people, our health, our relationships. Is it a coincidence that the people who are the most important, the ones who we truly rely on to keep our lives and our society going all appear to be at the bottom of the earnings ladder. Will this experience lead to a wider change? I don’t suppose it will. Whilst I sometimes believe in some sort of universal justice, the opportunity to turn that particular injustice around is down to us. Society has a short memory. When we have eventually found a way to live with the virus without the daily death toll, I don’t suppose we will remember that no one ever stood at their door, or leaned out of their window every Thursday at 8pm to applaud and make noise for the bankers, the corporate bosses or the hedge fund managers.

Tags covid 19

covid 19

Now you can all go to your rooms

Post author By lynneeconnolly
Post date April 19, 2020
No Comments on Now you can all go to your rooms

Is this the planet fighting back? In my mind I have an image of mother earth losing its rag. Like a parent who has reached the end of their patience with their kids playing up, fighting or bickering. When the tone of voice changes from a calm even toned request, to something far more scary. That tone where the kids know they have gone too far now, and the naughty step or facing the wall or banishment to their room is probably going to follow. Mother earth had sent us warning signs, freaky weather, melting glaciers, strange diseases that had hopped from animals to humans, but had happened a bit too far away. We just carried on regardless, kept on polluting and destroying habitats, with our thirst for travel, for more stuff, bigger cars, and more food than we can possibly eat. We didn’t heed the signs; so she got angry and sent us something to make us stop.

In a few short weeks, which have simultaneously felt like forever and a single day, the air is cleaner, Images of Los Angeles and The Himalayas have appeared, both now looking majestic free from the pollution fuelled fog that usually shrouds them. The taste and smell of the air in my local area has changed, cycling and walking around the streets is a joy, with few if any cars to avoid, and those that are around, seem to be driven with more patience and awareness. No one is impatient stuck in a line of traffic these days. I sense the irony of those that suffer with asthma being both more vulnerable to the virus, but having easing symptoms from the lower pollution levels.

Saying thank you seems to be entering into daily life a lot more. Beyond the Thursday night clap, I hear a thank you being said by everyone who leaves as I wait outside the corner shop, one in one out. Queuing is in our nature, but these new two metre gap queues are full of conversation, not like before when everyone would be impatiently tutting, eyes firmly focussed on the front, willing the people ahead of them to hurry up.

I feel closer to nature even though I am denied my excursions out of the city. On my daily walk to the local park, I find myself stopping to admire the spring flowers that are emerging in the front gardens that have not been sacrificed to the god of off street parking. I stop and watch as a colourful array of tulips bob their heads in the slight breeze and spring sunshine, hoping that the door will open and I can say thank you to the person who planted them, and maybe even chat a while, from a safe distance of course.

I notice the stark lines and structure of the tree branches still distinct, but softened with pink and white blossom and a tinge of green as the leaves start to bud; showing me their secrets before the mass of leaves fill in the gaps, hiding them from casual view until next year. Why have I never seen this before? Too busy I suppose, head down, trying to avoid eye contact, now I crave it, just a nod from a neighbour that I’ve never seen before, that nod that says we are all in this together.