My province recently announced the inauguration of the long-awaited Phase 3 of its reopening plan, after 16 months of pandemic restrictions that stripped us of so many basic human needs: needs for safety, companionship, and freedom of movement; needs for familiarity and novelty, frivolity and meaning; needs for physical contact and emotional connection. These unpopular restrictions have been essential to the ongoing eradication of the cause of all this loss, and therefore had my full support. The threat has not passed; ongoing vigilance is necessary, and will be for some time. But I and those I care about have recently achieved “fully vaccinated” status, just when the powers that be have opened doors that have long been bolted fast.
And so it was that after a lonely year of disconnection and discontent, I found my way back to humanity, in the form of a modest road trip to see people and places from my Pre-Pandemic Past.
Tag: covid
Twice this year, classes in my school have had to quarantine for the holidays due to positive COVID test results in the building. I wrote this little ditty over the Christmas break, and added a special Easter update today. Feel free to sing along.
I wore my goggles and my mask:
Somebody sneezed on me!
I sanitized my withered hands:
Somebody sneezed on me!
I don't have plexiglass
In my cramped, crowded class:
I stepped sideways, but alas!
Somebody sneezed on me.
Now we're getting COVID for Christmas,
Students and teachers are mad.
We're getting COVID for Christmas,
'Cause Dougie's been nothing but bad.
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Ce virus minuscule se propage sur les ailes de notre liberté Enferme-le en nous enfermant Sans ailes nous tous tomberont Cette piqure magique: notre seule arme contre l'envahissement de notre habitat natal Sorciers, sorcières, donnez-la-nous, Nous, les becs ouverts dans le nid de notre folie Et puis, ayant été piqués, nos corps tremblants se lèveront Nos plumes repousseront Nous nous percherons vacillant au bord de l'inconnu
Continue readingDid you know that Daniel Defoe, author of the iconic Robinson Crusoe, also wrote a chilling Journal of the Plague Year? This year’s Gratitude List is a sort of Plague Journal as well, with a five-month preface and a seven-month inventory of hidden kindnesses in changing times.
And so, from 2019’s indoor festivals to 2020’s back yard Thanksgiving, here are 578 tiny treasures from an otherwise tumultuous year:
In the beginning we had Fear. Fear and Novelty. And that amounted to a bracing dose of quasi-Solidarity.
The fear was first conceived as mild disinterest in a foreign malady that would never find its way Here. It gestated in the womb of skepticism (“This will not affect us. We are different.”) and false reassurance (“We learned from SARS. We are prepared.”). And then, suddenly, driving home from a normal day of work, we heard government announcements of a province-wide shut-down. States of emergency. Clean out your desk. Tomorrow will be your last day.
That was when the Fear was birthed, attended by financial panic and the stomach-gutting realization that People Would Die. Real people. Our people. Right here. Everywhere. Store shelves emptied as the masses stockpiled toiletries in preparation for Armageddon. Doors closed. Everything stopped. It was Unreality, unfolding in unreal time. Things changed hour by hour. We hovered, breathless, over our devices, awaiting the latest statistics. Following the spread from one network to another, and eventually to Here. These are “unprecedented times,” said our bewildered advisers. We slept last night, and woke this morning in a blind Unknown.
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