A constant undercurrent of fear engendered by this looming viral siege makes me forget that it’s completely safe for me to go out walking in the open air, even therapeutic. On this brilliant March morning, sharp, clean gusts of wind worked to sweep away the detritus of winter. Pond ice lingers, shrinking at the edges each day, refreezing overnight. In the fields, a few patches of crusted snow cling to low points, or north-facing tree stands, or the shadow line of a barn roof. The bare branches of trees, stiff with cold, make metallic creaks as they click and slide over each other in the wind. Still, the oak trees’ twig-tips reach high into the deep blue sky, swollen and tinged with color in the morning light, preparing to begin their marvel of reproductive unfurling. The wind ruffles the dogs’ fur, flings my scarf across my face, wakes me up. I take a deep breath, smile. People say that March is Maine’s worst month – muddy, cold, lifeless. I disagree. March in Maine is rife with promise, even now. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 208: 178 words, TOTAL = 34,172; 25,828 remaining
0 Comments
Social media is bloated with coronavirus responses, some from silver-lining seekers taking note of the opportunity inherent in enforced self-isolation, slowing down, reconnection. These encouragements are essential for many of us, but don’t forget our healthcare workers. While some are leaving work and shutting down, others are ramping up to crisis mode. I’ve been a fly on the wall, observing Jonathan’s multi-faceted, many-teamed campaign with clinicians and leadership at the hospital to prepare for a tsunami of sick patients. From daybreak to late night, they are conferencing, strategizing – how to maximize available beds, how to train staff in cross-coverage, how to keep colleagues apart so as not to lose them all to illness or exposure, how to protect employees – housekeeping, maintenance, techs, administrators, nurses, physicians. Then there are all the ethical questions. What criteria will they use to decide who gets maximum protective equipment and who doesn’t? Which patients are sent home and which get a bed? Who gets a ventilator and who doesn’t? No one wants to face these decisions, but if they become necessary, they mustn’t be decided chaotically. Some of us face the challenge of isolation. Others face 24/7 crisis care. Be aware of your neighbor’s challenge, but make no mistake – both jobs have the power to determine another person’s life or death. Do your part. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 207: 219 words, TOTAL = 33,994; 26,006 remaining I am heading into the final stretch of manuscript work. With Jonathan home more often during the day to keep the doggies company, I can change my vantage point (no dogs allowed upstairs; I hate to leave them alone!). There’s a charming nook in an upstairs bedroom with - rare phenomenon in our house - a clear table and a view of the sky. I’ve cranked out three chapters of query integration today, though it seems there will always be more details to tweak. I’ve also been contacting archive librarians to see if they are willing to scan and send me photos for the book. I’d hoped to do this in person, but now that many libraries and museums are closed, I have to count on others. Amazingly, wonderfully, I’ve had several quick replies with scanned images – happy to help, complimentary! Archivists are the best. May 1st is my deadline for the complete manuscript and photos. It feels very close. Quarantine may actually be helpful. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 206: 165 words, TOTAL = 33,775; 26,225 remaining Here is Clara, modeling today’s ideal way to engage with the world. Back from Portland, I am wondering now if it was reckless of me to travel at all. I was only in my car, in N&M’s house, or outdoors on walks…but each day the line in the sand for acceptable risk changes dramatically. Having healthcare workers in the family raises the stakes. It’s not just their higher exposure risk, but the worry that they might become unable to care for patients if compromised. I hadn’t fully appreciated the critical nature of the grocery store, a business that cannot, must not, close down, even in crisis. I have been on two grocery runs in the last ten days, one in which I tucked supplies around Fiona in her car seat (A circumstance beyond today’s line in the sand). The second was for my mother-in-law, whose retirement community is now closed. I had to deliver all that wine and biscotti to the front door, but no further. At least I know she is well-stocked with contentment for a month or more. (okay, Nana, your list had healthy food too, but nothing like the wine and biscotti!) My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 205: 195 words, TOTAL = 33,610; 26,390 remaining My yoga teacher told us that some humans have what she calls “carrying arms.” It’s something to do with being double-jointed, or having an inherited, genetic ability to extend your arms in a particular way. I like the idea; “carrying arms” sounds like a metaphor for loving. My carrying arms are back at work today, here in Portland. Due to COVID-19 curtailing, my second week of Fiona time was reduced to about 30 hours. Today we took a stroller walk in the rain and met Tessa and Oscar halfway between her house and Nellie’s. Tessa has put a C-19 hiatus on her in-home piano tunings, and has some free time. Fiona gave Aunt Tessa some smiles. Tessa and I air-hugged, foot touched, laughed. She assured me that her cough was only saliva down the wrong pipe. We are all contagion-paranoid. I would have liked to wrap my daughter into my carrying arms, but that will have to wait. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 204: 158 words, TOTAL = 33,415; 26,585 remaining Approximately a billion robins mobbed the backyard today – flittery clouds of wings, a choral cacophony of chips and chirps and cheeriupping. A few red-winged blackbirds buzzed their spring song, and I spotted two dapper cedar waxwings in an apple tree. Speaking of apples, my clinging apple has at last disappeared from the pond tree. Among all the possibilities for its final fall, I never anticipated bird consumption, but I think that’s exactly what finished it. Pussywillows decorate the twig tips near the Heron Cove end of our still iced-over pond, though the ice is developing a porous, milky look. The temperature is 12 degrees Fahrenheit, but spring is in the air. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 203: 111 words, TOTAL = 33,257; 26,743 remaining My mom died six years ago today, March 15, 2014. On the first anniversary of her death we were traveling, staying with friends. I was aware of the one-year milestone, still grieving, with no mechanism for processing my grief. My WASP-y upbringing encouraged the stiff upper lip, the downplay of emotion, the everything’s-fine-best-foot-forward approach. Our host, Teri, learned of my situation and told me, casually, gently, about the Jewish tradition of the Yahrzeit (“year’s time”) candle. You light the flame at sundown on the eve of the anniversary of the death of a loved one, and it burns for 24 hours. “You can just pick one up at most grocery stores,” she said. It was exactly what I needed. I’ve adopted the practice, a quiet, daylong reminder. We remember you. You are not forgotten. Not long after Mom’s death, I pulled out my long-neglected notes on the Rachel Field biography and began to scan through. A jolt flared to the tips of my limbs when I came upon the date of Rachel’s death – March 15, 1942. Rachel died 78 years ago today. Jonathan suggested I light two candles this year, for two women who transformed my life, each in their unique way. Given my total immersion in Rachel’s life and memory right now, I was moved by the idea. As we putter along through our day, the two candles flicker on the kitchen counter: We remember you. You are not forgotten. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 202: 241 words, TOTAL = 33,146; 26,854 remaining Zoom in to see the purple martin condominium complex across the pond One positive to carry forward during this COVID-19 disaster is that we are safer outdoors, and outdoors is increasingly alluring this time of year. Our young neighbors Henry and Warren saw us heading out with the dogs, and they suggested it was a good day to put out the birdhouses. They helped us haul twelve birdhouses out of the tractor barn, twist them into place on their elaborate rack, and crank the whole bird condominium complex up the high pole. Then they joined Jonathan and me in a stroll around the pond and fields. Without any contact or crowding, we examined the thinning pond ice, checked out the downed porcupine tree, looked around the glade. The wind is blowing; the sun is out. It’s nice to remember that social isolation doesn’t have to mean holed up indoors. Just remember to wash your hands when you come in. Hang in there. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 201: 150 words, TOTAL = 32,905; 27,095 remaining I have passed my prelims - an intensive babycare week with Fiona. Here are some takeaways:
Sadly, Mike’s work shifts next week suffered covid-19 cancellations. I won’t have my second full week with Fiona, but will likely still come for a couple of days. I’ll miss her! We found our rhythm, and she has snuggled deeply into the recesses of Grandma’s heart. Anyway, what a wonderful time we’ve had. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 200: 197 words, TOTAL = 32,755; 27,245 remaining There aren’t many ways in which the COVID-19 pandemic is affecting me personally, here in Portland, Maine. When I was introduced to two women outside Nellie and Mike’s house the other day, they both shook my hand. It was automatic, but I thought about it afterwards, might have washed my hands more quickly than usual. A college reunion event scheduled for early April has been cancelled. My writer’s retreat for mid-May is still on, but they’ve warned us to “stay tuned.” That’s about it. For those of us who are not currently attending a workplace in the public sphere, whose work is mostly at home or online anyway, we don’t feel it so directly. However, when I took Fiona to the supermarket today, I wasn’t able to get toilet paper. This still dumbfounds me, frightens me, in fact, much more than the virus. Human beings in irrational panic mode are terrifying. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 199: 151 words, TOTAL = 32,558; 27,442 remaining |
AuthorRobin Clifford Wood is an award-winning author, poet, and writing teacher. She lives in central Maine with her husband, loves to be outdoors, and enjoys ever-expanding horizons through her children, grandchildren, and granddogs. Archives
January 2024
Categories |
Proudly powered by Weebly