|Bansky is working at home.|
|Fred and Ethel taking in the sunshine yesterday afternoon.|
Well, my last two cords of wood are here and ready to be loaded into the wheelbarrow and toted to my sheds for stacking. They came yesterday morning and I’ve not moved a single piece. Why? Because I went into the village to renew my car insurance, only to find that I have to do it via the Internet. My insurance runs out on Saturday; I doubt I’ll get the new decals by then.
So, I went to the nursery and had to join a line of cars waiting for access; they allow two cars in at a time. I waited for maybe fifteen minutes to get in, only to discover that they had no Skimmia plants. I got some herbs instead, and a couple of Geraniums and gorgeous Coleuses.
Then I walked her Highness and then I … well, I napped.
After my couch time, I watered the gardens, planted all my many herbs and the flowers I got in the morning, and then I got a really good start on the Wildflower garden. I’m thrilled with what I’ve done there.
Then it was another walk with Sheba and a spectacular late-in-the-day spa before calling it a day. The older I get, the lazier I get.
I’m going on a walk with Eoin and the Whippets this morning, and then I have a telephone session with the mental health nurse. After talking with her, I’ll start on these last two cords of wood. Then I want to get to get back to the Wildflower garden. And…I’ve got to mow the lawns. So much to do; so much to do!
Who notices isolation when you are napping or so busy in the yard and gardens?
What’s worse: The disease or the endless discussion of it? I say, it’s the discussion. The discussion affects everyone; suddenly everyone’s an expert, a monitor/advisor, or both. The subject fills my inbox, Internet connections, phone calls, ads and the news on television and hosts on CBC radio programs. It’s like there’s nothing else about which, to talk.
Well … hooey! I’ve not met a single person who’s had it or spoken of a friend who’s had it. I’m not diminishing the risk; I live all day every day with full awareness of it. But I’m also sick of it. My delightful neighbour, Tracy, had a “meltdown” the other night.
“I just started bawling and I had no idea why. Keith didn’t know what to do so he just gave me a big hug and said everything would be okay,” she said.
I think she has the Virus Overexposure Syndrome (my invention)—VOS—as do I.
Thank God for this spectacular (if overly dry) Spring weather, endless chores to do that keep me active and outside and for dog walks. These things get me away from the radio and Internet, away from the news and away from the virus.
Oh, poor me. No, that’s not my concern. Tracy’s meltdown and my sense of VOS tell me that a large percentage of the human population are likely feeling psychological effects of this pandemic. The path of this storm is wide.