I thought I was handling this isolation  - I really did.
    I really thought, I could pack up all my disappointments, stuff them into a drawer and live through the long Easter weekend without breaking down.  
​        In fact, I was going to take the high road, and let this vicious virus steal my Easter. This morning I had this wonderful idea, that Cliff and would play the Easter bunny and drop some goodies at the doors of our grandchildren - even if some live  in Winkler - a hour and some away and the other set here in Winnipeg. This was doable.
       But to do that we would first have to pick up some chocolate, a gift bag- and some distracting silly gifts from the Dollarama Store because they are still of the age when they find those things amusing.
       I knew I was in a bit of trouble once I entered the store. Suddenly everything was a "must buy" - recklessly I threw things into the cart filling it to the brim. It was all nonsense - and fun.
       At the counter, the cashier eyeing the cart,  asked politely, "Will you need a large bag?"
       I nodded starting to pile the counter full of my binge buying silliness. 
        As the bag started to fill - she paused.  "Another one?"- she asked.
       I nodded. "I guess I went over board..." I said a little embarrassed.
       "Grandchildren?" she asked softly.
       "Yes."
         Then she smiled. "Then there is no such thing....as too much." Her eyes were full of sympathy. "Especially now -  its a dreadful Easter."
          She had read my heart. 
        I could feel the tears.... I grabbed the bags and headed for the car.
         And then as I threw it all in the trunk, I just had a good old fashioned melt down.
        My lovely husband bought me chocolate.

​“All you need is love. But a little chocolate now and then doesn't hurt.” - Charles M. Schulz
       

     ​The streets are eerily bare - not a car in sight. The few that creep up on me seem to disappear just as quickly. We are all practicing  a two-car physical distancing.
     It's changed now, since only "essential services" are on the road. It looks as if we don’t require that much these days.
      Apparently, I am still essential – people still need words. Actually, they need my listening skills as they find their own words.
      In all the years that I’ve worked with trauma, I’ve always participated in an internal debate. Which comes first – terror or the need for words?
      I assess. I have no fear. The bare streets don’t bother me. Actually, it’s quite pleasant not to have to worry about rush hour, the clogging of cars, or the road rage.
       But the minute that thought crosses my mind, I know these bare roads won’t last. There is the second stage.
        Second stage!
        That’s what I’m calling it. In my mind’s eye. And  the minute I have named it - I see it.
       The fear grows as my imagination races, and I see the streets transformed into the second stage.
        Words come first; I decide as I chide myself slightly for giving it a name. The Second Stage!
        I continue to play with it. The term "second stage" arouses anticipatory fear – not real at the moment. Yet - it is real. Fear grips my heart.
          I need to settle the fear – so I give it different words.
       The second stage might not come. It isn’t here now so why worry about it. I’ve been to countries that have survived the second stage.  Maybe – just maybe – we’ll do the second stage better than ever before. Then of course – the real clincher. The second stage will be good for us. Ugh!
          By the time I reach my office and sterilize everything in sight, I’ve shed my fears and I’m ready to don someone else’s fears.
          Other people’s fears are so much easier to deal with …..
         
I have, indeed, no abhorrence of danger, except in its absolute effect - in terror. Edgar Allan Poe

​      When we found a discarded withered fig tree in the basement corner of our new house, my husband saw it as a challenge – besides he loved fig trees. So, we set the scrawny thing in the corner by our dining room window, and my husband brought it back to life – before our very eyes. He was so proud of it.
      Then one evening we had guests – who had this little boy who was mischievous and slightly devious. When no one was watching, he snuck into the dining room and started to strip the little tree of its life, – littering our rug with leaves.
    When we came into the room, we saw it all at the same time. My husband in a trance went to the tree, fell to his knees, scooped up the leaves in his hands in a posture of prayer.
      “This can’t be good,” the young father said as he picked up his son and  hurried his family out of the door.
       I marveled at him. 
      In one tiny phrase he had acknowledged my husband’s pain in adult positive language that did not alarm his son. The son would have seen it, felt it – and that was enough. He would not have an outburst of foul language or harsh words for him to ponder years later. Stripping a tree of leaves is not a crime – at least most of the time.
     Psychologists have found that our subconscious mind interprets what it hears very literally. The words that come out of our mouths therefore help create our reality our inhabit.
         In times of crisis it is important to remember that the direction our words lead, our mind, body and environment will follow. If we use positive language about ourselves and our ability to learn new skills, achieve our goals and rise above difficulties, then that’s what tends to show up externally. On the other hand, if we are continually saying things that affirm incompetence, echo hopelessness, nurture anxiety or fuel pessimism, then that’s what will shape our reality. Over time our world will morph to mirror our words.
     What we are experiencing now is a new kind of violence – our world is fragmenting. And we don’t have the vocabulary for it all.
     Even our dictionaries have become outdated in a month’s time. They have actually responded with an unscheduled update for words connected with the disease and responses to it.  Such as - index case, patient zero, super spreader, social distancing, self quarantine....
     In a crisis, we are hungry for words. We need new words. We watch the news – and suddenly every journalist is trying to give us words. The wordsmiths rule.
       Which is not an easy role, because all violence carries an inherent conflict at its roots – the words we choose will reflect this as well.
     When Candace went missing the police decided that she was a runaway. We said she had been abducted. Two words that explained why she didn’t come home from school that day – but ascribed two very different courses of action.
     I remember how desperate I was to find the words the world would understand. I would hurl words into the darkness and wait for an echo, and if an echo sounded, no matter how faintly, I would send other words in the same direction.  Whether I knew it or not – I was creating my story that I would have to live with later on.  
​ 
 “I turned silences and nights into words. What was unutterable, I wrote down. I made the whirling world stand still.” ― Arthur Rimbaud
 

I look outside my window and I see an over-sized bright yellow dinosaur with big brown spots, walking past my window. It’s a huge balloon character with the shortest legs ever. It is meant to cheer me – and I smile and wave. The little entourage of dinosaur walkers wave back at me.
       I would like to go chat with them, perhaps give them a bit of chocolate for their effort to cheer me. But I can’t - I don’t want to scare them.
    It’s a strange world we live in.
    There is a new enemy out there – supersized and invisible – that can attack the mind, body and the soul of an entire country immobilizing all of us within days. It’s like having an invisible grim reaper on the loose brandishing a global sword of infected mist promising death.
​       This is like having a silent stalker with an invisible potion.
      It’s like a horror show without the zombies.
     Just give me an old-fashioned Vampire! It would be less terrifying that this invisible presence that is haunting all of us.
      And then I pause.
      I’ve been here before.
     A long time ago someone took our oldest daughter – murdered her – and we didn’t know who that person was for 23 years.
     There is a crazy-making in not knowing.
     Back then -  I thought I would lose everything. And there were moments when it felt as if we did.
     But we fought it – back.
     We did survive.
     How?
     Only our own invisible sword can conquer that which is invisible.
     
 
And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: it is only with the heart that one can see rightly, what is essential is invisible to the eye.  - Antoine de Saint-Exupery

​ 

My life is on hold.
    I look outside my window and notice the birds. They are making an absolute mess of my porch, but I don't care. No one is coming to visit anyway. Actually, I have bought the best seeds  possible so  they  will come to dine with me.
     Then I look around me inside of the house. I have everything I need; toilet paper, computer, internet, books, food, bananas,  – and a wonderful husband to share my space.           
​      After all these years – we still really like each other and look forward to our breakfasts, lunches and suppers together. Especially now, since Cliff has taken a shine to cooking!
          If we do tire of each other - he can go to his studio - a  three yard dash away.  Sometimes I even dash away myself - I am now into clay as well. 
           But I am still mostly a writer.
         This new world of  physical distancing should be a writer’s dream - or so I tell myself – as I settle down at my desk. I have  my own office; a huge monitor to work, from, a printer behind me, a bunch of staplers, racks of files and  an array of post it notes on my wall. 
      And it is perfect timing.  Before this all began, I had just finished my memoirs. What a nightmare of a  project  that was!  I just couldn't seem to tell my own life story,  It must have gone through at least five major rewrites as I drilled down for the real story of my life - the one I hadn't told  anyone  - even to myself.
         Now that the book is finished and at the readers, I was thinking I was free to think about a new - more exciting project.
​         And then this happened. 
        Our world has simply shut down. The rules have all changed - and I am alone - isolated.
        I should be creating, writing, and just humming along in this silent world of mine with no distractions.
         But I ache for the world….I ache for my people.
         I just ache – frozen in time. 
         it's a new kind of writers block... this aching.  

“Stars are always dancing. Sometimes they dance twinkling away with the rhythm of your joyful heart and sometimes they dance without movement to embrace your heartache as if frozen sculptures of open-armed sadness.” - Munia Khan