Yesterday my sister visited (after a fashion) to give me a cloth mask that she'd ordered. It was the first time that we'd spoken face to face (sorta) since April - we'd set up an agreement whereby I'd call every day to report in. Philippa has taken the precautions very seriously, wise soul that she is. Apart from that, I have pals on Skype-chat, and another friend who calls mainly to express his thoughts on the pandemic and wonder what will happen to America.
All these make me think how rarely I've spoken to people beyond the bare minimum of shopping. On Monday, I remember how I felt better for a woman taking the time to thank me for making space on the pavement for her roller-blading daughter; a little exchange that's become meaningful.
I remember, too, the times I'd speak my thoughts on what's happening, and the phrase I so frequently uttered; "This is a time like no other." I didn't mean it literally. What I meant is that for just about everyone, in the West at least, there is nothing to compare with COVID-19. Eight decades have passed since the Second World War began, and a century since the (misnamed) Spanish Flu of 1918-1920. Generations that lived in the fear of nuclear destruction find that catastrophe had come upon them quietly, like... well, a thief in the night.
I have a slight advantage in dealing with this situation, inasmuch as I'm used to spending a lot of time in my own head, letting my imagination run free, and rendering them into stories. Róisín, I know, is coping by doing what she always does; the right thing by others.
Be well, everyone.
