Patience

Brace yourselves! Boris will address us this evening (or already has, depending on when you’re  reading this). He will tell us how they plan to unlock us, though here in Wales, Mark Drayford, our First Minister has already told us that it won’t amount to much - a bit more exercise and open garden centres. Hmmm, I’m not sure what the logic is of that. 

We are ten days into May. How many weeks have we been locked down? The weather has been glorious and everyone is chomping at the bit to get to the beach or countryside, or go shopping, or go to a football match, a picnic, a pub, visit family and friends. I’m not sure how many are as keen to go back to work, though. VE Day on Friday gave people a reason to party at two meters distance from each other. The flags were out and there was a lot of virtual celebration through the media. Here at the caravan park you wouldn’t have known it was VE Day. We haven’t hung up any Union Jacks or bunting and Gareth would have looked at me askance if I’d suggested we have a 1940’s style tea party and dress up to dance to Vera Lyn. Each day for us is like any other, the greatest excitement being the appearance of sheep escaped from the field.

Yesterday was a bit of an event, however. The sound of cars coming down the lane signalled that something was occurring (a bit of Ruth Jones there for you, if you know ‘Gavin and Stacey’). Three cars pulled up on the grass across the way and a bunch of lads emerged noisily and with bags that looked to contain bottles and cans. I told them politely that they shouldn’t be here as the site and car park are closed. After trying to convince me that they were here because their mothers had chucked them out with nowhere to go, but refusing to report to the site owner as I advised, they all walked off determinedly, heading for the beach. Jan, of the other couple staying here, informed them that the police have been patrolling but nevertheless, off they all clanked, muttering expletively.

After a few minutes the clanking wanderers returned, got in their cars and drove off again, presumably because they expected us to call the police (which we didn’t; should we have?). I spent the rest of the afternoon feeling sorry for them; a bunch of young men who have each presumably been cooped up with family, the sunshine strong and hot, and patience run out. Young men their age have historically been the cannon fodder of war; the WW2 veterans are now at risk of being defeated by an invisible enemy, this bonkers coronavirus. Yesterday’s young reprobates may well have great grandparents who fought, died or survived to remember that war. I wonder what they would say to these boys. It has struck me how many of the wartime memories are of the sense of adventure presented by the opportunity of enlisting and of the camaraderie of fighting together. How does this war against a virus; the call to “Stay at home, protect the NHS and save lives” capture the imagination of young blood?

And it really was a glorious day, yesterday, but with much less pleasant weather threatened; such a temptation to head for the beach. Also, news has been circulating that lockdown would be eased from this weekend so people are getting ahead of it, thinking that the worst is over. But, apparently we’ve been too previous and lock down will continue for another three weeks. I’m not the only grandparent worried that the grandchildren will have forgotten us.

Last night we watched “The Darkest Hour”, a film about Churchill. We watched with the doors and windows wide open for the balm of the evening and the birdsong serenade to accompany our last bottle of red. Thoughtful and thankful for the massive sacrifices made for the freedoms we now take for granted, and the current sacrifices being made for our health, I took a night-time walk. Above the beach and looking out across the water, the lights of human habitation twinkled and glowed back to me. It’s a beautiful Earth and it deserves our respect. In a fanciful moment I flashed the torch a few times into the dark dunes. I had such a shock when something flashed back! I flashed again, and sure enough I received a reply. Oo-er!

Rather than check it out any further (a vagrant? a resentful evicted teenager? just another night walker?) I turned around and walked back through the caravan park. Unoccupied caravans, their windows eerily reflecting the dying light wait stoically. Some are accompanied by solar fairy lights,  like glow worms, softening the darkness and adding magic to the peace of the night. My own caravan, aglow and with life inside, beckoned me. ‘Where are those young lads now?’, I wondered.

Well, I hope they got something out of their system somewhere and gave some thought to the wisdom of their escapade. I fervently hope, too, that they aren’t infectious!

The ‘bloody blog’

Yes, this is my continuing and probably fruitless effort to make a difference and my son referred to it as my “bloody blog”. Nice. But all I have is words.

We’re still in lockdown but our government is this week putting together a plan for how to lift it. Meanwhile, we’re either getting really tired of having to comply, or we’re getting so used to it that we aren’t in any rush to be unlocked. Many of us have had plenty of time to think about who and what we are, where the world is heading and how we got here. I for one have been up hill and down dale in my head; top of the world one day and deep in the shadows the next, depending on who and what I’ve been reading, watching or listening to. And do I have any answers yet? Of course not! 

Well, that’s not exactly true. One thing I do know - we can do so much better.

‘In what way better?’, you may ask. We are clever and can solve so many things with the development of better technology; apps, vaccines, green energy (whatever that might be - see Michael Moore’s “Planet of the Humans” on YouTube and discussions of it), but that’s not what I mean. I mean that we can do better in terms of self-restraint instead of voraciously munching our way through our planet’s resources. We can do so much better in terms of giving instead of taking. We know it’s possible; we see it in the self sacrifices at the front line of the pandemic and in the streets of our communities. We can all do SO much better.

How do we proceed from here, I wonder. What are the important changes we each need to make if we are to create the better world so many of us are dreaming of? Instead of identifying ourselves as humans we’ve got accustomed to being identified as consumers. The word “consumption” was a word used in times past for a wasting disease. Funny that we have all succumbed to a new wasting disease - wasting energy, wasting food, throwing away stuff that cost good money but was built to be quickly obsolete. What if we made more effort to make-do-and-mend? What if we all eat locally, seasonally produced food, not overbuying, not throwing food away, growing at least a few herbs and salad leaves and composting instead of throwing vegetable matter in the bin? What if we try harder to shop plastic-free? Shouldn’t we all be doing more to reduce, re-use and recycle?

What if we think twice, or even three times before falling for the seduction of a new outfit, trinket or gadget? Could we live like that, or have we been so suckered in to consumerism that we can’t imagine how?

Lately, there have been so few people around in this seaside hideaway that on our daily beach walk, the only sign that others of our species exist is the tide of litter spewed up on the sand. Now, bit by bit, after six weeks of lockdown, people are starting to emerge. When we are unlocked will there be a surge of beach-seekers; towns emptied as everyone heads off for a long awaited picnic or holiday? Will the snack and tat stores open wide to greedy gaping mouths and shopping bags followed by a fresh tide of discarded plastic to decorate the wonderful outdoors?

Trepidatiously I await. 

And this is the ‘bloody blog’ that hardly anyone will read anyway.

Prophecies

Nearly five weeks in and I’m starting to wonder if it’s real; the pandemic, that is. Am I like Alice in Wonderland, having drunk something peculiar and entered an alternative reality? Perhaps I am in The Matrix, cleverly deceived into thinking of my experiences as real. Well, every experience is real, of course, but how do we make sense of those experiences and from them construct a coherent picture of reality? What is really real?

Since my blog post about Perspectives, I’ve wondered about the ways people are interpreting this globally shared experience of a viral attack (if it really is shared; how do I know?). Some seem to think that there is a manufactured crisis and that we are being played; that we need to wake up and stop being deceived.

There is a feature of perception called ‘perceptual set’ whereby we see what we want to see. There have been lots of psychology experiments demonstrating this and it does indicate how easily our perceptions can be guided; manipulated even. Advertisers have found such psychological research invaluable, as have governments, of course, and anyone with an axe to grind who has access to the tools of mass communication. And there are many axes, ready for grinding.

Sometimes messages are ambiguous. There have been some interesting playful examples circulating on social media of how people see the colour of the same dress differently or hear a spoken word differently. The ‘how’ and the ‘why’ intrigues us, and we want to know which is the ‘right’ answer. In cases of genuine ambiguity, of course there is no right answer.

A particularly vivid example of this occurred to me while watching a film the other evening. The film was called “The Leisure Seeker” starring Donald Sutherland and Helen Mirren. It’s one of the current genre of films for baby-boomers, dealing with topics like ageing, bucket lists, retirement, grief, independence, death. It struck me that the film (beware, spoiler alert) possibly contained two slightly different messages: one, that we should hang on to our independence to the bitter end and live life as we wish to live it; or, two, that you should take your death in your own hands, disappear and release those on whom you’ve become a burden. Depending on our political views we might read the film quite differently. 

Also, without knowing whether one of those messages was intentional, I am likely to choose the message which best suits my own feelings about being older (I’m still thinking on that one...) However, if one of those messages is intended, how important is it for me to know which one and to know the motivation behind it? 

Applying the same critical eye to another film, “Captain Fantastic”, (yes, we’re having regular film nights these days, thanks to Netflix) the idea of non-conformity seems to be challenged. It subtly conveys the idea that to step away from the mainstream is unsustainable and dangerous. It’s done very sweetly, appealing to north-western/American values of freedom, autonomy, right-to-bear-arms, wilderness..... I don’t think the message is particularly ambiguous but it is clever in how it conveys the idea that ultimately might is right (for ‘might’, read ‘status quo’) without completely crushing those illusions about free will. Is this a case of the film industry being utilised to ensure compliance? Probably. 

The scary thing about perceptual sets (biases, stereotypes, prejudices) is that we don’t all see the world in the same way - our realities are not the same. And what happens when we are presented with an alternative view? Very likely we feel disoriented, upset and angry, maybe; confused, paralysed, galvanised into finding support for ones own view and defeating the other. Very few people are comfortable living with ambiguity, at least where it impacts on one’s life in important ways. For example, is the official response to this pandemic an effort to protect us or to subjugate us? That’s a question keeping lots of us awake at night.

There is another aspect to perceptual set. It’s the idea of self-fulfilling prophecies. Again, Psychology has revealed many examples of how human behaviour is influenced by the expectations of others such as parents, teachers, managers. This phenomenon is known in spiritual practices as ‘manifestation’, the bringing into reality by attention and focus, like healing for example. ‘Prayer’ is another word for it.

Without falling headlong into Subjectivism, I do believe that it matters hugely how we look at the world; that we actively create what we see, whether through prayer, meditation or just expectation. Our realities are what we make of them. We have enormous power including the power to transform pain and suffering - to grow out of it. My son taught me that when I was trying to heal a spinal injury. Our transformative powers can change the world. If we choose to see love and kindness, love and kindness grows just as if we choose to see malignancy, that grows, too. Fear feeds itself, but believe in the good and good is what you see.

A Day in the Life

Well, here we are at the start of week five having been told by our government that it’ll be another three weeks in lockdown. Sheesh! I’m getting rather used to it. My typical day is starting to look like this:

7.30 ish - realising that I’m awake I get up with a “Wow! Another day!” I open the curtains and the door, listen to the bird song and enjoy the peacefulness (at least while Gareth sleeps on). I open my iPad, and settle myself with a meditation app; unless the iPad needs charging in which case I potter about aimlessly and browse Facebook on my phone; unless my phone needs charging in which case I put the kettle on and stare into space for a bit.......which is all my meditation amounts to anyway.

8.30 ish - Gareth is usually up by now and on goes the news. I resign myself to the fact that I’ll be subjected to it several times before the day is over.

9.30 ish - one of us decides that it’s the other’s turn to make breakfast. Neither of us remembers which of us did it yesterday so whoever’s hungriest makes it. By now Gareth is buried deep in his laptop and I have been right through my Facebook newsfeed, about to start on Instagram, WhatsApp or Pinterest.

10.00 ish - I remember that I promised myself not to drop standards and I get washed, dressed, make the bed and wash the dishes (only if it’s my turn to wash them, mind you). Gareth is somehow ready before me and impatient to know if I’m coming for a walk. So are the dogs.

11.45 ish (often later) - we’re back from our walk and it’s time for a snack, a cuppa and a decision what to do with the rest of the day (Gareth has already decided - laptop). I pick up something intelligent to read and settle in for a long read. I manage 30 mins. The news will be coming on again soon anyway, so there’s no point getting too involved. I check Facebook, WhatsApp, etc. again.

1.00 - The News. Nothing new since this morning. Gareth decides its lunch time, even though he’s had a couple of snacks since the mid-morning snack.

2.00 ish - we each try to look busy so that the other makes some lunch. We eat while Gareth studies his laptop, I contemplate the new stack of dishes needing a wash, the clutter that has appeared around us and all the interesting and worthy things I could be doing. The thinking and the lunch makes me tired so I take a nap. 

4.00 ish - afternoon tea. That sounds posher than it is. The outside beckons again, if I haven’t been out there napping, and the dogs are wondering whether there’s a play opportunity. It’s an opportunity to meditate again; well, staring into space for a bit anyway.

4.30 ish - I’m motivated to do something useful and/or creative so I spend about 30 mins browsing Pinterest for ideas, then send some messages on WhatsApp.

5.00 ish - it’s the Government daily briefing so on goes the TV. The news is grim. TV stays on into the main and regional news and suddenly it’s time to argue about whose turn it is to make dinner. I’m the one who has to come up with a meal plan otherwise we’ll be eating tuna pasta...again (which would have to be pesto pasta as we don’t have any tomato sauces left and I still can’t get tinned toms anywhere)

8.00 ish - the TV is still on, we’ve started on the wine and there seems little point in doing anything very useful now. It’ll soon be bedtime anyway, so we settle to watch something, anything that is vaguely entertaining........ before The News.

9.00 ish - snack time

10.00 - The News

11.00 ish - Gareth comes in through the door with the dogs and I realise I’ve been asleep on the sofa. Time for a bedtime drink.

11.15 ish - I climb into bed with a nice little read leaving Gareth in the sitting room with his laptop. I snuggle down with my book, read a paragraph...............zzzzzz

It’s a Beautiful Day

                                          




“Hail to the sun!”. The big hot orange rises as reliably as ever and casts a glow across the morning fields. Dew from grass and sheep mists the air. Sleepy daisies peep through their petals, yawn and stretch towards the day. Birds are busy in song, the sea breaks lazily onto the sandy beach and another lock-down day begins.

We’re into the fourth week. Easter weekend passed with the Archbishop of Canterbury leading a virtual Easter service from his kitchen, the Queen spoke again to the nation (I think she did; I missed it), family gatherings were on Zoom and the beauty spots were deserted. 99 year old Captain Tom Moore began his fundraising marathon walk of 100 laps of his garden and now it’s Thursday, the day when our government (poor sods) are to announce an exit strategy. We’re all waiting with baited breath to know how we’ll get out of this situation. Will children be going back to school soon? Probably not. Will everyone go back to work? Some will, perhaps - it depends. Will the 70+ and other vulnerable individuals have to continue their isolation? Yes, for sure but it might be longer than 12 weeks. Will the shops open again? Will/when the economy bounce back? Will life get back to normal? Do we want it to get back to normal?

So many questions and so few answers.

There is no doubt that this event is transformative, and that’s not really a big enough word to describe it. In my ‘Sorry Mum’ post I likened this ‘grounding’ to children being made to think about their misdemeanours. Most are taking it on the chin and amusing themselves within the confines of whatever home they are locked down in. Creativity and imagination has time to flourish. We have time to confront the question of what is really important to us and many are finding that we had enslaved ourselves to consumption, that we don’t actually need so much of what we’d been persuaded to need. We are finding ourselves and looking to each other.  We may be physically distanced but we are reaching out with our virtual arms wide open.

There is real suffering too, though, and I am struggling to reconcile that with my own, very fortunate comfortable situation. I can’t do much except donate to fundraisers, sew some masks and clap the frontline every Thursday evening. While Captain Moore’s fundraiser has today reached over 13 million pounds and inspired people the world over, I am complying with the directive to ‘Stay home, protect the NHS and save lives’. Home for both of us here is a lovely place and this time of reflecting has brought me to the belief that I must cherish the good and the wonderful in humanity, nurture my spirit, celebrate the gift of life, and live each day that I am lucky enough to wake into, with Awe.

Keeping a Perspective

It’s the third week of lockdown with the Easter weekend and good weather approaching. What a crazy situation. The PM is himself in hospital with the virus, the police are trying to ‘encourage’ social distancing and the Queen has made a rare TV appearance promising, like Vera Lyn, that ‘we’ll all meet again’. When is that, we’re all asking; soon, in a month’s time, longer......?

Trying to keep a sense of perspective depends on your particular set of circumstances. Pardon me if that’s an obvious statement, but I guess the question of whether this is ‘just another flu and why are we making such a fuss about it’ isn’t forefront in the minds of the doctors, nurses, care workers and others at the ‘front line’ dealing with the constant flow of Covid-19 sufferers into hospital high dependency beds of which there aren’t enough. There isn’t enough protective equipment for them either.

From the standpoint of a politician, the economic perspective, countering criticisms about how the crisis is being handled and prospects of being re-elected after the crisis is over must figure pretty large in the mind, I suspect.

If you’re a parent, concerns about whether you’re doing enough for your children’s education and well-being must weigh somewhat, as well as financial prospects going forward.

If you’re elderly, vulnerable and self-isolating, one’s mortality will surely feature quite a lot in one’s thoughts.

If you’re a runner, an athlete, a surfer, a walker, bird watcher, or whatever, it’s a draconian measure - an infringement of liberty to be prevented from a run in the park, a swim in the sea, an hour surfing the waves, a walk in the woods. “What are the chances that we aren’t giving away our freedoms in the longer term?” many ask. 

Every one is concerned for different reasons and there are many ideas about what is ‘really’ going on; they pop up on social media every time I look at it. There’s the idea, for instance, that 5G is the culprit so masts are being destroyed; or this is a virus that we’ve known about for a long time so this is fake news; or the virus is a creation that has been deliberately let loose so that a nation or some evil capitalists can take advantage through the stock-market. We can be very imaginative with our conspiracy theories and the human mind is certainly capable of coming up with a good collection of them.

The fact of the matter is that for whatever reason, something has happened, we weren’t properly prepared and no one knows where it’s going. We’re all trying to figure it out as we go along, including the politicians, scientists, the economists, the health service providers, suppliers and transporters, farmers, airlines and travel services, businesses large and small, teachers, families and individuals. 

So......to keep a sense of perspective, what is the bigger picture that the journalist, Jonathan Cook, in his blog, asks us to remember? A phrase that my great-grandmother has passed down through the generations is “There will be wars and rumours of wars, but let ye not be troubled” and I guess ‘crises’ could fit nicely into that instruction, too. Another of these inherited sayings is “Count your blessings”, as well as “Don’t worry, it’ll all come out in the wash”. The wisdom of those generations filters through as I seek perspective, listening to the birds and feeling the sun as it shines through the window.

This will pass.

Relevance

 I’m not too sure what day it is anymore. It was reported yesterday that the death toll world-wide from coronavirus now stands at 53,000. I guess there will also be many who have just passed away unnoticed and unaided. 

Our TV/radio is our window on the pandemic. Our wobbly phone signal and internet connection is the only way to maintain contact with anyone because here, looking out from our windows, all we see are empty caravans that by now would have been reverberating with human activity. Outdoor furniture sets lie in wait for bikinis and barbecues; bikes and trikes for excited children; canoes, surfboards, buckets, spades, paddling pools.......all quietly waiting; very quietly. 

This quietness is like the quietness we’d observe at a funeral. That’s one way to feel about it. But if we didn’t know that a pandemic is raging ‘out there’ Nature in its bliss would predominate in our awareness. Bird song is more evident, rabbits are running amok, grass is no longer in fear of lawnmowers. 

It’s surreal.

I have wondered about my relevance in all this, and whether I should presume to have any part to play. In the bigger picture I am just a statistic. Our government officials each night present us with graphs of how this thing is progressing. We are shown the faces of a few who have died, some of their stories told in order to remind us of how tragic this is, because the bodies are piling up and inside every body bag are the remains of a lived life.

Our NHS are our heroes right now, badly treated though they have previously been by Trusts, government and by so many of the general public. We clapped them again last night, from our remote hideaway, joining with the rest of the nation to thank everyone on the front line. But do they want thanks? It must help their morale, I guess, but what they really want is enough PPE to do their job safely, and to be tested for the virus or immunity. And I’ve been wondering if there’s anything I can do to help apart from staying home as directed, doing ‘fuck all’.

I’ve made some attempts at helping out remotely with the grand-children; creating a few little on-line amusements within the limited scope of my technological abilities. I’m hoping it’s sufficient to maintain a connection with them, to remain relevant to them. They are growing up so fast and no one knows how long this will go on - how long before families can gather together again.

Last night I found a Pinterest post of instructions to make face masks. It was created by Jessica Nandino, a nurse who produced her own face masks in the absence of sufficient workplace supply. She requests that no one use her pattern and instruction for monetary gain but to make them and give them to the front-line. If that’s all I can do to have some relevance in these unprecedented times, I’m on the case.