Life in the Time of Corona Part 8
Anxiety,
panic,
sadness,
irritation,
anger,
bitterness,
love,
tranquillity,
elation,
despair,
frustration
and grief.
These are just some of the emotions that arrive with the same frequency as a London bus through Piccadilly Circus as we embark on our fourth week of lock-down in Spain, looking forward to the same until 26th April, and maybe beyond.
There is something tortuous about life at the moment as we are surrounded by one desperate story after another. Bad news seeps through windows and doorways; invisible sinewy tentacles that threaten to entwine themselves around our lives and squeeze the very breath out of us both. Our battle at the moment is to insulate the house to prevent this uninvited and unwelcome guest. This is the only protection we have and we only manage by sealing the gaps.
Conversely, we try constantly to remain positive, finding new ways to face the future proactively, and keep our various business ventures alive. We both feel like the proverbial donkeys chasing the carrot on a stick, rescheduling dates, encouraging guests to rearrange dates, planning for 2021 but without any idea when the future might start. Yesterday, the travel industry was dealt yet another body blow when the FCO (Foreign and Commonwealth Office) advised against all non-essential foreign travel “indefinitely”. It is the choice of word that came as such a shock to any of us involved in travel or tourism. Indefinitely is on a par with infinity…endless, without any sign of relaxation of travel restrictions. Clearly, no-one can predict when it might be safe to travel once again, and when we do start to fly to other countries, we have no doubt that the experience will be very different. However, we all need some hope.
Hope is a tricky emotion to manage at times like this. We consider ourselves to be very lucky living in Spain as the government’s approach was very definite, once the decision was taken to lock down the country. The commitment to follow a chosen path to restrict the spread of Coronavirus and minimise the strain on the health service gave us hope that we were in good hands. How do you give people hope when the situation can often seem so hopeless? Conviction is vital, and a strong belief in the right way to deal with an issue can go a long way towards quelling that feeling of hopelessness.
Today, we have seen many comments on social media from individuals who found yesterday a very difficult day, and we probably all felt some of the darker emotions listed above. We rely on people around us to give us hope, and it was for that reason that The Queen’s message to the nation on Sunday evening was considered to be pitch-perfect. Well-chosen words have huge power to give hope, so we can understand how feelings of hope were dashed when it was announced that Boris Johnson was moved into Intensive Care yesterday as he was clearly showing signs of a deterioration in his condition. The Prime Minister had done his best to maintain hope by trying to convince the population that he was still in control in the battle against this disease, when it was becoming evident that he probably wasn’t. Carefully chosen words can give hope; inadvisedly used words can, just as quickly, destroy hope. I think yesterday we were all left with the feeling that we were up the proverbial shit creek without a paddle.
Here, at home, the weather on Sunday was beautiful. Sunny, with the first real warmth we have had since the lock-down began. Being able to sit outside in the sun, with a good book, was exactly the tonic we needed - being able to shut out the relentless bad news and take a breath. We never forget how fortunate we are to have a garden and views that go on forever; we find it hard to think about being in our former small house in Bermondsey, south London, with the tiniest patio and frosted ground-floor windows.
We lock the door, Andrew continues to shape a beautiful garden, we cook and bake and create; we watch Glee on Netflix as the ingredients meet our needs right now. We don’t want to think too hard about the life beyond our village.
Casa Higueras garden planning
Then, when you think you have found one way of handling the extraordinary existence that has replaced the existence we had before, one of those sinewy tentacles finds its way into your hermetically sealed cocoon. My 91 year old mother, who is in a care home in the UK with dementia, has decided that she no longer wants to get out of bed, eat or drink. The GP is no longer able to visit residents of the home, so it is down to the care home staff to handle any such occurrences and hope for the best. Instead of feeling safe in our home, you feel instead that your face is pushed up against a soundproofed sheet of glass, with your family on the other side unable to hear you, see you and although you can see them you are miles and miles apart.
The Queen’s carefully chosen words on Sunday evening assured us all that we will meet again, but deep down we probably all feel, and know, that there are people close to us that we won’t meet again and that is heartbreaking.
Those are the tentacles; those corrupt, rapacious limbs that pervade our personal spaces.
One word missing from the list of emotions at the top of this post is “happy” and it would be erroneous to include happiness in that bank of ever-changing definitions of our state of mind. Happiness might be missing but love certainly isn’t.
So, we move forward. We still look forward to getting up every day to take Alfie for a walk, make a delicious breakfast, go and survey the developing garden that represents our world right now. We chat about the little things in our lives, and make sure that we have chilled manzanilla in the fridge for a midday pick-me-up. We have to think about what we can do to keep our business interests alive, and despite the carrot dangling temptingly before us with very little immediate hope of getting our teeth stuck in, we cannot wait to invite guests, family and friends back here and know that, when that time comes, this period in our lives will start to take on an ethereal quality. We will look back with disbelief on a time that changed so rapidly and dramatically, and happiness will take over.
Looking forward will be our way to leap-frog the FCO’s indefinite timescale. We always look forward to catching up with our families and friends online. We look forward to eating cake. We particularly look forward to gin and snacks as the afternoon blurs into evening. We look forward to dinner followed by an episode of Glee accompanied, invariably, by chocolate. Andrew looks forward to digging the garden, assisted by Alfie, and I look forward to seeing the results. We look forward to new furniture arriving for the terrace. We look forward to warmer and longer days, and a good book. We look forward so much to seeing everyone again and we look forward to quashing those feelings of anxiety, panic, sadness, irritation, anger, bitterness, despair, frustration and grief.
If you would like to read earlier posts in our chronicles of Life in the Time of Corona here in Spain, please click on the links below:
