Those of us fortunate enough to be #StayingHome have lost many or most or all of the markers that distinguish one day from another. . .
And some of us are finding the time that stretches ahead each morning inadequate, by evening, for accomplishing a day’s imagined activities . . .
Might just be me. I tend to juggle (or bounce) a number of balls (around the room) at once. Which means that even though I finished three handknit dolls and sent them off to their birthday recipients last week and baked bread and read two novels and did three live-streamed workouts and went for a few walks, I was at least as conscious of what I hadn’t done: didn’t write/sketch in my journal all week; missed four days of French practice (except for watching Un Village Français); did almost no Italian; didn’t write a Reading Blog post; definitely didn’t organize my office/creative space although I’ve been saying it’s a Must for almost two weeks now. Didn’t manage to keep up the Snail Mail writing and sending I’d planned. Didn’t get my paints out. A long list of reproachments. . .
Although I’m not so much reproaching myself as puzzling again about Time, how it stretches and shrinks, how we move in and out of it, how it cycles back on us in surprising ways.
The week we’ve just left was the third of staying home, the first having taken a few days to accept the full meaning of (we had the Eleven with us the Monday of that week and thought we’d see her on the Wednesday. . . by the weekend we’d realized we wouldn’t be seeing any of them for the duration). In the second and most of the third, I’d say, I oscillated between projects I was keen to work on: the French and Italian lessons, setting up virtual work-out possibilities, beginning those dolls, writing and sending old-fashioned mail. . .
And then somewhere early last week on a rainy cold day, I didn’t feel like doing much at all, and when I did, I wasn’t sure what the doing was worth.
However.
Perspective helps. Our Italian ex-pats are not just Staying Home. They’re “locked down,” very restrictively. . .
Whereas we can still drive to a beautiful spot only twenty minutes away and walk ten kilometres along a wooded path around a lake, breathing the restorative spring air. . . . and letting feet tell the only time that matters. . .
So we did that.
And if you’ve been visiting my blog over a few years, you’ll know how much I love skunk cabbage. I don’t think they’ve ever put on a better show for us — our timing was sublime. (and probably not just by coincidence, we were there onthe seventh anniversary of my mother’s death — those internal, subconscious calendars are powerful and surprising)
Again, consciousness of Time, on a vastly different scale. How many centuries, or even (more likely?) millennia, have these same plants grown in these wetlands)? (Here’s a link to an article that details their ethnobotany, the history of their cultural importance to Coast Salish peoples). And in the fourth photo from the top, if you look closely, you’ll see the seasonal time captured, leaves that fell last fall still visible, turning slowly (more time) into humus. . .
The times Pater and I walked around the path with my mother, all three of our earlier selves accompanying the two of us last week. . .
That day of her leaving, the grief softened, the absence still felt, March 31st marked by the loss for all the March’s I have left. . .
And what about the Time, my husband might ask, what about the Time it takes to walk ten kilometres when one’s walking partner stops with her camera at any skunk cabbage that catches her eye (or nose — they are pungent and wonderful!)?
So, this has been another “Thinking Out Loud, and Erratically at That!” post, brought to you by Lysichiton Americanus, also known as Western Skunk Cabbage, and also ts’a’kw’a’ and before that kw’u’kw. . . .
As much as I appreciate and truly enjoy your comments, I can imagine it might be tough to know how to respond to a monologue about Skunk Cabbages and Time (and death anniversary thrown in — awkward!). But perhaps you could tell me what differences you’re finding between whatever week of Staying Home you’re in now and that first week. Or compare this last week with the same week Five or Ten or Seven years ago. Or just tell me that you’re too busy checking store shelves for flour and you haven’t time to chat right now. . . That’s fine too, just a wave will do. Hope you’re all keeping well.
xo,
f
I remember hearing of skunk cabbages for the first time in Anne of Green Gables. Something about that line a "rose any any other name." And Anne thought that if a rose was called skunk cabbage she didn't think it would smell as nice. Or something.
I've been thinking today of your last post about your meltdown. I had a bit of a meltdown myself the other night. I was reading in bed, and I began to think of the fact that I'd had to cancel my trip home to New Brunswick. I'd intended to go at the end of March. And it dawned on me that this isolation might drag on for months and months and quite realistically I might never see my mum again. Okay, she is almost 93, and I've been lucky to have her for this long. But still. Wow. That thought actually hurt. And I bounded out of bed to the living room where Stu was still watching TV and kind of poured it all out, had a good cry, and then went back to bed. Just articulating it and having "good cry", as my mum always says, made me feel much better. Didn't change anything, just made me regain my equanimity.
I'm trying harder to channel Pollyanna these days. 🙂
I've just come out of the travel quarantine but I have no desire to go anywhere other than for a stroll outside the apartment. I wonder how we will be in a few weeks (months?) But then I think about the people who might not have food, homes or medical care and my concerns about how I spend my day seem really insignificant. Skunk cabbage is a colourful sign of spring. Probably you will always feel sadness on the anniversary of your mum's death. With this pandemic, I become aware of advancing age and fewer opportunities. How many more trips to Paris? What will I be doing 5 years from now? There is uncertainty.
I guess all we can do is wash our hands, stay apart and wait.
I finish my travel quarantine tomorrow. All I really want to do is go for a long walk and see if I can get some chicken for dinner because that has been impossible to get in my neighbourhood. I am fortunate to have got a flight back to Sydney. It seems that borders closed without considering travellers. I understand countries need to protect their residents but a bit of warning would have been good. I think international travel will be off the agenda for the next 12 to 18 months so in the meantime I will plan my next trip.
How we all use our time is interesting, I am not worried if I do nothing in a day because that just be what i “needed” to on that day to look after myself. I have done a bit of reading, both fiction and nonfiction, cleared out a few cupboards and am reviewing my wardrobe. Maryann
I oscillate between days when I am content and really enjoying the release from pressure to do anything other than potter in the house and garden cooking, reading and catching up on various projects; days when I vacillate aimlessly unable to settle to do anything meaningful for more than a few minutes; and days when the panic about the future -for those who are not as fortunate as my family, for the economy and the future well being of our children and their children is almost overwhelming.
And most days now I experience all 3 states throughout the day!
I am finding the inaction difficult as I am fit and well and would love to get involved in any of the calls for volunteers that are needed but as my husband's health puts him "at risk" I have to be careful and effectively self isolate with him.
So, I try to accomplish at least one practical task each day.
My pile of recipes torn from magazines etc is now beautifully stored and catalogued in ring binders — although whether I will have the energy or ingredients to cook is a different question.
I'm about to turn to 15 years worth of photographs!
Stay well everyone
The grief of losing one's mother doesn't fade easily.
I am a city person at heart and love nothing more than the "bain de foule" but these days I'm grateful to live in a place where I can go for hourlong walks and not see another human, even from far.
Your skunk cabbages are indeed gorgeous, and so plentiful! Here we have wild orchids and wild daffodils (very tiny), which, I'm told, grow only if there isn't too much pollution.
So far, coping better than I might have thought. Certainly better than I would have a few years ago. Am perfectly reconciled to being confined to my house, my village and only concentrate on that. Refuse to go down the road of being anxious about my children, far away. As soon as that happens, I put myself somewhere safe with a book. It can do no good. Today, I woke up and thought: why don't you do some sewing? This is not a natural skill for me and the machine is broken but I have the time, I have the material and I have the pattern so I will do it by hand. Just like people did until quite recently. No reason why it shouldn't work. I like there being no time constraints, don't mind admitting that, but abhor the reason for it. My son tells me there are storm clouds in London so that might keep idiots at home for once, following a weekend of insouciance re distancing.
That skunk cabbage cheered me right up-nothing like a yellow flower in the wild to do that. I agree nature cues us to do certain things; draws us in this direction, repels us from that direction. So,so mamy times have I experienced that.
The time from day one of these restrictions until today feel about the same to me. I am hard-wired to cope in a crisis by early life experiences and several times way outside my control since. It is my nature, honed by experience and reinforced by the Serenity Prayer I have said daily for so long. The fact that this period has followed a 22 month period of unbearable stress in every aspect of my life, save my relationship, when there were tiny, tiny glimmers of hope that it was all shifting and improving is a disappointment, of course, but, "there will be an after" is my mantra. It has been so through so much testing before; I am certain it is true now and that makes me feel at peace.
Sue B., you lovely high-heeled lady in the wilderness, when I read what you said about your mother, I had a few welcomed tears. This, too, is my situation with my mother… the only thing that I feel despair about really at this time. While in Maine this last Fall, she nearly died of an infection,spent weeks in the hospital where she was diagnosed with leukemia. Due to be there in March for weeks. Will something happen where I can not get to her? I needed that cry this morning-so thank you. x
A.in London
In our province and city we are asked not to leave the neighbourhood, not to take drives anywhere that are not essential. So, I walk in various directions on city streets. I am sad to see all the businesses locked up and know the worry behind that. The walk is at once calming and distressing.
We too have a situation with an elder, my father in law, who is in a long term care facility and we have been told lives for family visits, which were every day or two and now, he can no longer have. Our closures have just been extended by another 2 weeks "at least". Staff there are overwhelmed because a number have quit.
They cannot say whether they will have time to read the notes we send. They have had outbreaks not only of coivd but of other infectious disease. While I miss seeing our adult children, that this lovely man must spend his last days alone just breaks my heart. (Moving him out is out of the question because of his condition.)
Just read an article on the Harvard Business Review site that might touch a cord for folks:
hbr.org/2020/03/that-discomfort-youre-feeling-is-grief
I am sorry for the loss of your mother, Frances. I am thinking about my father, 11 years now he has been gone. I see him in my brothers and their responses to these strange times we are living through.
Skunk cabbage makes me think of growing up in the NWT and glorious muddy spring there (in June usually!)
I posted on your last entry and am going to repost it below as it is about my mother.
"I completely understand the meltdown. I had one three days ago when D spilled cola on the carpet. I am much more on edge that I thought. Thanks for the lovely poems which I remember from my childhood. I then realized I had a copy of "When we were Very Young" on my shelf! James, James, Weatherby, Weatherby…." I might dig out my Robert Louis Stevenson poems as well. Yesterday I stood by a purple azalea and a white magnolia outside my mother's window at the care home and held up a sign wishing her a happy 86th birthday. We spoke on the phone. The workers gave her a sweet stuffed cat, and she had numerous phone calls and a cupcake and seemed happy, saying she understood why I can't come in because of "the thing." Then I went home and had an allergy attack and immediately thought it was "the thing." All safety and health to all those who post here. Brenda"
April 3, 2020 at 10:06 AM
I love skunk cabbage and used to love seeing it come out every spring when I lived in New York. I completely understand the meltdown. There are days when I get quite a bit done, days when I am happy to sit and knit or sew and do nothing else, and days where I am at loose ends. There are days when the solitary life is quite difficult, but that does not mean I am going to cuddle up with the first possible contender. So there we have it. I am lucky to have a house and a yard. I rarely venture beyond my neighborhood. I could I suppose, we are allowed to go to go our for exercise.
love the way you write about the stretching and shrinking of time. Sometimes I feel like a do little yet the day seems full. Other days the opposite. Are you listening to Patrick Stewart read Shakespeare? Somehow that anchors my days and calm my racing thoughts.
Very home-centric here. We're allowed one walk a day, but driving anywhere to exercise is not allowed. Needless to say some numpties (idiots) are still doing it. Very disappointing actions by our Scottish chief medical officer, who went twice to her second home in a small village outside Edinburgh while simultaneously telling the nation not to do that. She has now resigned. Husband and daughter are still working very hard remotely. I dig the garden, plan sowing and planting,and cook. I'm fuelling my "after" plans by watching French tourism videos and researching wine chateaux and vineyards to visit! I'm aware that I'm slowing down. Yesterday I paused in my weeding and just sat for a long time on the grass, looking and listening.
These anniversaries can take us by surprise, even when we think we've got over them. I realised out of nowhere yesterday that 30 years ago we received my mother's diagnosis of terminal cancer, and that 3 weeks later she was dead. I try not to have it as a consciously remembered date, but it sometimes catches me out. Hugs to you.
I am with you on the lists of things achieved and things not done. Last week I sent two mails with assignments to my students and uploaded the corresponding reading materials. I sewed two face masks and finished two more knitting/sewing projects (including a new pair of socks for myself). I did some gardening, baked two yeast braids and some quick bread, took an online yoga workout and went out on my bike for an hour every other day. On sunday I staged a one-woman-protest in front of my local district town hall, by putting a handwritten poster on the ground demanding that the government take action to help shut down the refugee camps in Greece. (Weeks ago, they promised to receive at least some children, and still they have not done a thing. The poster is now hanging from my balcony.) That seems to be quite a lot of things, but what I see more clearly is that I did not do any Italian in these last weeks, that I did not even touch my accordion, that my house is in a mess as usual (no cupboard cleaning for me), and that the list of people I want to write or email is getting longer every day. The other night I had a minor meltdown in my kitchen in front of a mountain of dishes. My dishwasher has chosen this time for breaking down, so I have had to go back to doing the dishes by hand. I try to take it as a form of practical meditation every night, but it doesn't really work. First world problems indeed.
Anniversaries are tricky. Even if we do not remember them consciously, our body seems to react to them. Both my parents and my aunt died in march/april, and for many years now I have noticed that in these six weeks I feel my asthma (which is very well under control the rest of the time).
Sue Burpee: I'm really sorry about the separation from your mother. . . . . as for the skunk cabbage, yours is even cooler (or warmer, I should say!) than ours because Thermogenesis (makes its own heat to melt the snow as it emerges. . .
Mme: Yes, to everything you say. And to the moving from topic to topic, all of them connected by Covid-19. . . .
Maryann: I'm glad you got back home and are sheltering comfortably. I suspect Travel will not ever be the same again. . . (painful as that suspicion/recognition is for those of us with loved ones far away)
Ceri: Oscillating and vacillating, those two verbs stood out in your comment as ones that describe me right now as well. Also, the frustrated wish to help weighed against the health risks to others. In my case, I'd love to help with my grandkids, but despite our fitness and health, recognizing that statistically we're close, age-wise, to the demographic that would drain resources if we were infected.
TofFrance: You are so fortunate to be where you are right now . . . and I'm sure those wild orchids and narcissi are delightful. . .
Skunk cabbage will always be connected with you,Frances (and your mother)- I didn't know how it really looks before and I love all the yellow flowers . indeed.
We are somewhere between lock down and self- isolation,with strong recommendations not to go out even for a walk or grocery shopping (with pretty good results,so far) and we need special permits to drive outside own cities. I've got accustomed to it- things are as they are,everything is on hold,we'll make even the earthquake reparations after quarantine. Life goes on.
I've started to drink my "kava sa šlagom" at home again (little comforts…)
Stay well all,
Dottoressa
Annie: You're lucky that/if you can simply refuse to allow your anxiety. I suspect what you mean (correct me if I'm wrong) is that you haven't much choice about anxiety living in your head and your body but that you're not indulging it. At least, I'm doing my best not to indulge my unquiet about my four grown children, their four lovely partners, and my six grandchildren, but it knots my stomach just the same and tightens my back and my hip joints. . . Not to mention siblings and niblings. . . . Good luck with the hand sewing! That's taking Slow Fashion very literally. Hope you have a thimble for those thicker seams! 😉
A in London: So sorry about your mother, and I'm glad the cry helped. We really needn't be strong all the time. . .
Duchesse: And I'm sorry about your father-in-law, as well. So tough not to be able to take action when we're so conditioned to do that.
Mary: This is an excellent and, I dare say, important article. Thank you!
Brenda: Thanks for re-posting this comment — I find it very moving, that image of you holding up that message for your mom, then her understanding of it as "the thing" (I can easily imagine my mother using the same term in her weakened cognitive state, her last year) — and then the comic relief — except that it won't have been for you — of thinking your allergies might have been "the thing." xo
Mardel: See my reply to Sue Burpee re the Eastern Skunk Cabbage — self-heating!! Easy for me to say, I know, but I think I could tolerate occasional, even regular, loneliness better than I could handle having the wrong person around, full-time. . . You're wise to be very discerning. And no, hadn't known about what PS is doing, but I'll be on that now — thank you!
Linda B: Smaller, remote, vulnerable communities here are working to keep second-homeowners away for the duration. . . shameful your minister would do that. We've been very lucky here to have stellar leadership at the provincial and federal levels. . .
Eleonore: Brava to you for your efforts to keep visible the ongoing plight of those who are at risk of being completely ignored and/or forgotten while we shelter in our comfortable homes. That said, I imagine that any and all government workers and politicians right now are overwhelmed with keeping our systems functioning. How vulnerable all of those systems are revealed to be.. .
Considering your reply re anxiety. It has become such a hot topic in the past couple of years that it can be difficult to differentiate a personal response to a situation (concerns about friends and family in a pandemic) from anxiety disorder, something quite different. I suspect there will always be an overlap to some degree. I can now pick out the imposters (negative thoughts, strange nagging voices, destructive behaviours) from the genuine alerts. The former get a boot up the backside, the latter are put on a mental shelf until they are required or can safely be dealt with. In times like this we are necessarily thrown back on a lifetime of learned behaviours, negative or otherwise, but without access to the antidotes normally applied. I do think it would make a great topic for a blog post, though it really would need careful writing because I have discovered that it can unleash strange reactions when discussed – either A lot of fuss about nothing or You have no idea how I feel. And perhaps now is not the time. I shall mull this over. But not ruminate. Therein lies the pit.