I walk past it
Stately, silent, still.
A table for three generations.
Waiting as I wait,
For this to be over.
For this to be done.
For family to gather round it again.
Here we are, living the sequel to a movie we never wanted to be in.
Social distancing, masks, quarantines, lockdowns, not to mention the parents battling with online learning, the people forced into unemployment, the gruesome ICU statistics, and the ever present threat of contracting this nasty little virus.
Yeah, fun times. Now, imagine this…
Imagine living through a pandemic, not once, but twice.
Born in 1911, in Lauder, Manitoba, Jemima Westcott was seven years old when the Spanish Flu struck in 1918. There was no social distancing back then, no vaccine, and the schools stayed open. Jemima remembers having to douse her handkerchief in eucalyptus oil which was thought to be both a preventative and a cure. 55,000 Canadians lost their lives to that plague, but Jemima’s family and their farming community escaped the worst of it.
A retired teacher, mother to five, and grandmother to fifteen, Jemima is once again waiting out a pandemic. To keep in touch with the family who can’t visit now, Jemima has learned to make video calls.
The Canada-U.S. border hasn’t been shut down since the War of 1812, but it’s shut now. Thank you, Covid-19.
This unprecedented closure put a serious dent in Kadee and Jaxson’s wedding plans. With Kadee’s family in Montana and Jaxson’s family in Alberta, there was no way both families could celebrate together—under one roof.
Maybe not, but then, John Donne never lived through Covid-19. In 2020, we’re all bobbing corks in a sea of germs, desperately trying to steer clear of each other.
As the world pries open the prison doors, nothing looks the same as it did before…
Like this young woman at La Grande Motte in France, you may have to reserve your spot on the sand this summer.
Dining out? How do you feel about a romantic dinner for one?
At Bord För En, you have a Swedish meadow to yourself. The food comes to you on a pulley, no humans anywhere in sight. Rasmus Persson and Linda Karlsson’s restaurant, 350 kilometres from Stockholm, is a Coronavirus-free zone.
Sweden a little far for dinner? What about Virginia? Patrick O’Connell, chef and owner of The Inn at Little Washington has come up with an imaginative solution to the empty table syndrome social distancing rules demand—mannequins.
Okay, your fellow dinners are made out of fiberglass and plastic, but they’re quiet, and they’re not contagious 🙂
In the space of a few weeks our priorities have changed. The small aggravations of daily life, the larger worries that used to keep us up at night, seem trivial now.
Stuck at home, staring at our screens and each other, we redefine important. Find the things that matter to us, that make this drag of days easier, that make us smile.
For the most part, these sanity savers aren’t new. They’ve been right there under our noses, visible but unseen, ignored in the hustle and bustle that used to be our lives. Only now, do they step onto centre stage, now that our world has shrunk to four walls.
Prior to the Covid lockdown, windows didn’t play a big role in my life. I walked past them without thought. Raised a blind in the morning, lowered it at night, and never stopped to look.
When the world stops,
How do we go on?
When everything changes,
In the stillness of a halted city,
Amid the bombardment of the news,
Adrift in enforced solitude,
What do we have?
Cotton clouds and blue skies.
Spring rustling through awakening trees.
The chatter of returning birds.
The smile of a loved one.
The laughter of a child.
Music to keep us company as we stare out the window at an empty street.
We have what we've always had,