Uncertainty fills our locked down lives at the moment and at this time we may have reached the point where many of us wonder where it will all end, or worse still if it will end ever.
It’s easy to see how we came to think these things, because our present situation came to be like a ton of bricks falling out of the sky at around this time last year.
Only last year? Can that be true?
It seems like an eternity ago.
Yet, although we have lived through every new up- date from No. 10 Downing Street, when our leader (love him/or hate him) appears to be trying to numb us to the dreadful mountain of deaths that have occurred during this pandemic. Even this week when they are trying to tell us that figures are improving…. When numbers like 1300 in the last 24 hours seem almost normal now and surely figures like that do not back up the lie that things are improving.
My husband and I have both had our first jab and we were pleased to have reached that point, the point that last summer we were told would be here in late autumn.
Still, trying to sound optimistic it is better late than never. We will see how long it takes to get the second jab, that was originally advised to be three weeks after the first one.
On that early advice my second jab should be next Thursday and Stephen’s would have been the following Tuesday. Talk about moving the goal posts as they now quietly say twelve weeks will be fine. No, it won’t be fine. It will not be fine at all. I just hope against hope, that things will improve as more people do get the jab, that seems logical doesn’t it?
Think for yourselves and don’t lap up the eyewash, the utter balderdash, we are being handed.
Keep questioning. Please do, and the sooner we will get our lives back.
It OK for younger people to say, ‘Oh well its only a year or so out of our lives’.
WHAT? Things may be better soon, I sure hope so.
I will be 82 next birthday and I still have things to do, places to go, people to meet, challenges to test myself against.
There will be no throwing in my hand.
I may well be the very first person on the planet to refuse to die at all!
AND I will be as big a pain in the neck when I am 120 nay 140! You doubters may not live to see that.
I had a phone call this morning, that followed a call I had made a night or so ago, when I think I must have banged my head on a kitchen cupboard door or something, because I had made these dear people think that I might perhaps be suffering from depression.
This was because I had said how disappointing it was that I had missed out on all my triathlon events last year, and that it was starting to look as though more would be cancelled or postponed this spring and summer and that it was a crushing blow to somebody like me, who absolutely loves to travel to new places and take part in my preferred sport in places that I had never been to and there are still plenty of those even in Europe where my husband/best friend and I have travelled extensively, since our lives together have seen us driving a truck here, there and everywhere in the course of our work in the antiques world too.
Neither of us have finished with Europe; still so many things that we want to do, so many places that we have not seen and a couple of places that we have not seen enough of; like Matera in Italy that I was not able to wander around when we got there, because the day before our arrival, I had had a fall and broken three bones!
I need to go back there and not to do a triathlon either since it is an ancient hill town.
Assisi. What about Assisi, that is very, very high on my list.
Florence; it is unbelievable that I have not been there before this?
Schőnbrunn Palace & Gardens, Vienna; HOW, have I missed that out so long?
The list goes on and on and on.
Places to see, people to meet, food to eat, pedals to turn.
I have a little book called the Poetry Pharmacy that recommends various poems for whatever ailment or feeling is troubling the reader.
This one is on page 78-79 the condition it offers to treat is: Fear of the Unknown.
I love it.
What If This Road
by Sheenagh Pugh
What if this road, that has held no surprises
these many years, decided not to go
home after all; what if it could turn
left or right with no more ado
that a kite tail? What if its tarry skin
were like a long, supple bolt of cloth,
that is shaken and rolled out, and takes
a new shape from the contours beneath?
And if it chose to lay itself down
in a new way: around a blind corner,
across hills you must climb without knowing
what’s on the other side; who would not hanker
to be going, at all risks? Who wants to know
the story’s end, or where the road will go.
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