social distancing

Anyone who knows me, knows that I was made for this. 

But in all seriousness, it is extraordinary how quickly things have changed since my last post. So much worry and uncertainty is in the air now, perhaps as potent as the virus itself. 

As mentioned, my introverted ways make me well-adapted to the task, and the fact of living in an isolated area has ingrained the practice of laying in supplies as a contingency, though that's usually weather-related. 

A couple of weeks ago - back in the good old days, before we were all fighting one another for toilet paper - Tim plucked a banana from the basket in the kitchen, and I snapped at him that the limit was one per day. Yes, I was wrong to jump on him about it, but I explained to him that the reality of living in a place like this is that if you need or lack something, you've got a 90 kilometre round trip ahead of you. So you plan ahead, and you ration things. We're very fortunate to have a wonderful general store and variety store in the village, as well as various other shops, but any way you slice it, groceries are a day trip. There is no supermarket on the next block. Same with gasoline. The nearest stations to our house are 15 kilometres away, and are rather overpriced, because they have a captive market. You want gas at the same price as everywhere else? Drive 50 kilometres for it.

So yes, I've learned some useful lessons living here, lessons that can now be put into practice to deal with the three week social distancing that our government is encouraging us to embark upon. But there is no smugness, only resignation and worry. And yet, it's times like these that really make you sit back and remember what truly matters.

Things I am grateful for:

• Tim's school board has excused all staff for the next three weeks, and that eliminates a very real worry about him contracting the virus, since the board is the second-largest in the country and has a large staff contingent, to say nothing of the external traffic that comes and goes every day.
• My country, and its governments at every level, who are trying to react to a very fluid situation and contain damage and risk, not only health-related, but also real and imminent financial worries for everyday citizens and also businesses. So far they have acted with nothing less than transparency and compassion.
• At the same time, I am glad not to live in the U.S.A., where lies and chaos seem to be the order of the day. Again, not being smug. The USA has a long history of resisting, distrusting and mocking ''socialist'' universal health care systems, and a LOT of people are going to fall through the cracks before all of this is said and done. They have no-one to blame but themselves. Especially the ones who elected the current president.

There is no doubt that the list of worries and sadness is long, and ranges from personal and concrete to universal and abstract: the Boston marathon has been postponed, and we've cancelled the 2 week vacation on the East Coast that we built around it, including a visit with very dear and special friends, something we were looking forward to very much. I'm worried about my own health, and that of my family and friends, and of everybody in the world. I'm worried about my job and my income: I am self-employed, and if business grinds to a halt so too does my livelihood. I'm worried that things will get way worse before they get better. I'm worried that so many people remain so selfish and cavalier about the whole thing. I'm worried that this illness is the manifestation of all of the badness that has been festering in our world, and I worry if we can ever really fully recover.

All I can do is take each day as it comes, and savour the simple pleasures (all those books at my bedside, begging to be read, my somewhat-neglected easel, and the two new books I want to write).

It's been a long time since I've run to ''train'', so I'll keep going out, enjoying the quiet, contemplative rhythm of my own footfalls. Boston was never a goal per se, but rather a long run with 30 thousand more people than usual. Yes, I've invested a lot of blood, sweat and tears, pounding the pavement through snow and ice and wind, but that won't go to waste; it made me stronger.

I'll enjoy the gradual arrival of spring: I already saw the first robin, and the squirrels and chipmunks have been active for a few weeks. The arrival and awakening of the creatures has never felt so comforting. Nature is maintaining her cadence, and showing me how to maintain mine.

I will enjoy the companionship of Tim and the dogs. That's all I really need, and that's already plenty to be grateful for.