Karen and I are a week into our fifth fortnight-long quarantine since the pandemic began. I can tell you, it doesn't get easier with repetition.
The first was last March when we returned from Europe after our usual winter away. Then we went back to England in September, quarantined, by order of Boris, for two weeks at Caitlin's and Bob's in Corbridge, flew home after six weeks, and had to do it again at the behest of our own government.
Finally, it was back to England at the end of November for Christmas, two weeks incarcerated at Riverhill Cottage again, then home a week ago to face another fourteen days of confinement here.
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| Lolly and Louis, Christmas 2020 |
The last trip was definitely worth it. See evidence above. But just to be clear: we won't be travelling again before we get a jab.
When we're home or at Caitlin's and Bob's, it's fine, we can take all precautions. But when you have to navigate airports and sit on planes for hours with other people, too often sitting too damn close to them, it gets downright scary - especially in the UK, where according to one estimate we saw, one in five may be infected.
But we're home now, nervously monitoring our symptoms. So far so good.
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Self-isolation definitely doesn't get easier. And this time, of course, it's darkest winter to add to the tedium. The apartment is brittle-dry with the electric heating. Our sinuses feel like they're lined with sandpaper.
I bundled up and sat outside on the balcony yesterday and the day before, working my crossword puzzles, just to get some (relatively) fresh air. (It felt surprisingly good, although Karen tells me a polar vortex is about descend - whatever that is - so sitting outside may not be feasible much longer.)
Today, the Weather Channel said it was -4C and felt like -11C. I still managed 20 or 25 minutes on the balcony before my fingers started getting nipped. I wear fleece joggers over my cold-weather joggers, my Scottish fisherman's sweater, puffy jacket, wool hat, scarf and mittens. The mitts have fingerless gloves under the fold-back end - so I can manipulate the device, you see.
So here's a picture of me being very brave and Canadian.
Part of the difficulty for me is filling time - which is why I'm here, writing another entirely inconsequential blog about...well, nothing, really.
Karen has fewer problems with boredom. After years of dabbling with art and taking lots of classes and meetings about art, she has finally become consumed with actually making stuff. It's great to see.
She spends hours in her workroom watching video tutorials and working on mostly mixed media projects, often involving making books and journals.
Here's the book she's been working on since we got home.
She used the cardboard from a box that a Christmas present came in for the cover. The covering is some fabric from her "stash" - as she calls the plastic boxes of fabric samples and pieces in our walk-in closet - which she glued on. The outer border of the central image is "faux-handmade" paper, which she manufactured. The central image is cut from a Christmas card. The dotted border was done with acrylic paint. And the metallic plaque with the year on it was made from a coke can. Kind of cool, I think.
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So what can the vanishingly small number of friends and family who might actually read this blog expect from it? I frankly don't know. I'll admit, this is mainly therapy for me. But you're welcome to eavesdrop.
I'll post some photos, probably. Well, I already have: the shot near the top is one of scads I took of Louis over Christmas. Here's one I like of Bob's two older boys - our step-grandchildren. Ed is eight, Will ten.
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| Ed and Will playing vintage video game |
I might make unwelcome recommendations of books, music and TV with which you can while away the lockdown hours - or at least make note of what I'm reading, listening to and watching.
I might occasionally comment on the general craziness of the world. But who knows? This blog might just peter out after a few uninspired posts. We'll see.
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A final word: the illustration in the banner seemed like a natural - maybe a little too obvious, in fact. It's a reproduction of a 17th century plague doctor's mask. (Probably not a design used in the first plague years of the 14th century, though.)
Physicians in those days believed illness was caused by "bad air" - miasma, as they called it. The bird-like beak on the mask was stuffed with herbs and perfume that were supposed to filter and cleanse the bad air emanating from the infected.
It's bad science, of course, but is it really so different from the purpose of the masks we wear today? I would have thought Covid-laden droplets and aerosols pretty much qualified as bad air.
Here's an interesting article I found at the fabulous Art UK website about art in times of plague. And did you know that you can buy your very own plague doctor mask - at Walmart, among other places? (It's a Hallowe'en thing, and the look is also popular among "steampunk" nerds, apparently.)
One last pic: our little family in England. (Sadly, we were never able to wrangle the big boys into a group shot.)
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