Life in the Time of Corona Part 4
I don’t mind admitting that, today, I have felt tearful.
It’s Mothering Sunday and for many, many families this year is going to be tremendously hard. Being apart from family and friends due to lock-down is the toughest aspect of an enforced isolation. My mother will be 92 later this year. She has Vascular Dementia and is in a care home in Hertfordshire, with no real idea of what is going on outside. The care home has been locked down for the past couple of weeks, and the residents are cocooned in some hermetically-sealed capsule, removed from the world and hoping beyond hope that the protective seals are not breached. I worry constantly about the catastrophic repercussions should Coronavirus be allowed to permeate these most protected and most vulnerable corners of our communities.
There have been many people voicing opinions over the past few weeks, faced with the consequences of this virus, stating that perhaps older people have had their time and that the virus is just speeding up a natural process. I don’t enjoy seeing my mother with dementia, but I wouldn’t say that she is suffering. She still always manages a smile and a laugh, even though she is largely oblivious to whatever is going on around her. My mother, as I know and love her, is not really present in the frail body that still manages to exist, but would I wish for Coronavirus to expedite nature’s natural course? Of course not, and Coronavirus has brought that reality into sharp focus, particularly when I see so many people carrying on as if their actions have no effect on others around them.
We miss our families and friends.
Yesterday, the President of the Spanish Government, Pedro Sánchez, gave another measured and calming press conference in the face of ever-rising numbers of reported cases of infections and deaths. He warned that the worst is still to come, and further measures are being put in place to ensure that people stop moving around the country. Today, we learned that the lock down will now be extended by another 15 days, until 12th April. This coming week will test our combined resolves to the limit and will put immense strain on the health system. In the face of some criticism over the speed with which the government initially reacted, Sánchez admitted that the responsibility for all decisions lies with him, and with him alone. Time will tell whose actions saved most lives, but I am not sure we should even be considering any sort of apportionment of blame; we should simply learn how to cope better if such a crisis ever arises again, which it undoubtedly will.
Anyway, life here goes on and little seems to dim the stoicism of our lovely neighbours. At the start of this week, one of our friends in the village posted a photograph of some asparagus that he had picked and I asked if he had any to spare, that we could buy. At the time, he didn’t, but yesterday he arrived on our doorstep, in mask and protective gloves and at safe distance, with a bundle of wild asparagus. Later in the day, I saw that same friend, sitting on a rock on his land surrounded by this spectacular scenery, far from anyone, losing himself in a book on his Kindle.
We have, as always, been on Whatsapp with Mari-Petra, our neighbour in the house opposite our own. Today, she delivered the most delicious, freshly cooked Roscos - sugared, doughnutty little rings of loveliness. Warm and wrapped and placed in our little food exchange spot - the flower bed below one of our olive trees.
As we go about our limited business (the occasional short trip to get food, dispose of the rubbish or do the recycling), we see at a distance other neighbours, doing their best to remain at home but clearly keen to catch up on a bit of gossip with a friend up the road. It is hard to restrain oneself in such a convivial society, but they are managing, and without complaint. There is always a smile as we say hello and give a safe wave. Everyone is finding their own way to cope with their confinement, and there is a huge feeling that we are all in this together and we will get through it together. We love this place and the people who live here.
A new week is on the horizon, and we need to find ways to fill it. Andrew is doing a fabulous job on the garden, building retaining walls, creating a vegetable patch and planting bulbs. It is an escape from the studio for him, an opportunity to get away from work for a moment’s respite. Alfie tries to help but is evidently not the most green-pawed of dogs. He does like to dig, but mostly in the spots where bulbs have just been planted. I took him for his permitted afternoon walk today, just as it started to drizzle and the clouds hung heavily over Granada and the Sierra Nevada beyond. It dawned on me, as we wandered through the woods in splendid isolation, how incredibly lucky we are have to have this little scrappy nitwit to keep us company. Strangely, he seems to sense that something is different in the household, and that we are here constantly, by his side, and as a result he has become much more in step with what we are doing. He certainly makes the sadness of being apart from the rest of our family that bit more bearable.
The light is fading, there is a vat of chilli con carne simmering on the hob, Andrew has baked a loaf of bread and gin o’clock is fast approaching. We have stocked up on snacks, and the fire is glowing. A damp Alfie, worn out from assisting in the creation of the new vegetable patch, is having a snooze on his towel. A moment of calm in a topsy-turvy world.
Happy Mother’s Day.
If you’d like to read our other ‘Life in the Time of Corona’ posts, the links are below":
‘Life in the Time of Corona Part 1’
‘Life in the Time of Corona Part 2’
‘Life in the Time of Corona Part 3’
‘Life in the Time of Corona Part 5’
‘Life in the Time of Corona Part 6’
‘Life in the Time of Corona Part 7’
‘Life in the Time of Corona Part 8’
Please feel free to leave a comment below, or share this with anyone you think may be interested in our account of living in Spain’s lock down.
