Out of Touch
That sums up my feelings this Monday morning. The world is still out there but it's largely inaccessible, out of contact, and removed from my daily experience. All the web communication technology which to me at first offered an exciting and even fun way to connect, at eight weeks on is just not good enough. I miss the total sensory input of connecting with people in person. I miss seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, and touching the experience of meeting together.
Sure there can be opportunities to meet at a distance, but the locations are not normal. They have to be fabricated - a parking lot, my yard, their yard, not the usual restaurant, not the office, not the grocery store, not the coffee shop, not even the park. And there isn't a darn thing that I can do about that.
Last weekend I discovered that finding and doing "normal" things was an antidote. This weekend I discovered that it wasn't fully effective (sounds like the vaccine process?). As I continued the normal job of raking the yard this past Saturday and Sunday, a sense of isolation sprouted in my soul. An obstinate growth that the sight of bright yellow forsythia blossoms, the smell of good earth, the touch of warm spring air, the lively chorus of magnificent birdsong, the taste of a fine merlot that I sipped while sitting in my Muskoka chair outside, could only slow but not eradicate.
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| (this photo from last year) |
I guess I'm going to have to settle for that unwelcome weed in the garden of my soul, and continue to use all the tools at hand - rakes, shovels, lawnmowers, and weed-whackers - to intimidate any growth. There is good news today - the garden centres and nurseries have been allowed to open (curbside pick-up only). I think I'll order up some colourful baskets of blooms this week. In the meantime, the hummingbird and oriole feeders are ready for customers and the goldfinches are gossipping about it.
Have a happy week eight.
We can do this.
Together Apart.
©2020 April Hoeller
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