As the speed of the vaccination roll out accelerates, so does talk of what we would do immediately after being fortified with the protection of a vaccine. Not so much me -- it will be a long time before I do anything beyond spending time with my grandkids, but I hear it in others. Wisps of hope for a return to at least a few of life's special moments. Friends talk about returning to a favorite grocery store, about getting professional haircuts. Maybe starting in on some deferred house remodeling projects. Maybe going on a long hike. Maybe even traveling to go on a long hike, with hair cut professionally, and with a bag of goodies from a favorite grocer, all at the same time.
And Ed talks about sailing. It's the age old discussion: why cant I join him for a bit of it. "Because I don't want to" could be worked over and challenged in the past, but this year, it's so firmly in place that it's pointless to dangle any enticement before me. Believe me, the very last thing that I will do once I am safe to move around more is go out on a boat with Ed and some assortment of his sailing buddies. Particularly when my daughter will be close to delivering her child, and the growing season will be in full swing, and I'm still likely to be liking the security of my isolation bubble, which has such thick walls that I cannot imagine how I will ever climb out of its protective shell. So no, I'm not going sailing with you, Ed, and especially not this year and in the manner you are proposing.
Still, it comes up. So much so that in an effort to shut out the sailing talk, I take my breakfast away from the table...
... to the couch. Which is something I never do. Ever. But today, I ate my oatmeal with my eyes glued to the computer screen.
All this after feeding the animals. Or at least the cats. The cheepers, locked in their coop, are not eating much. I've seen this PTSD in them before when one of the flock is mauled by some intruder. Or, maybe it's that they are numbed by the cold. It was blustery and in the negatives today (think -20C and below) and I watched them stand together as if in a marching band, looking dazed and shell shocked. Ed keeps resisting plugging in a heater in the barn. Me, I want to give these guys a better, insulated hen house, with maybe a lamp that will give off some heat, but that idea is up there with getting a new car. Meaning it's not going to happen. We make do.
Did I mention that it is wintry pretty outside? Well it is. Really really cold, but pretty.
Snow brings serenity to the landscape.
I suppose we could push ourselves to go out skiing. I mean, people ski in Canada and I'm sure it's colder there than it is in Wisconsin, even now with the polar vortex forcing Arctic temperatures our way. But somehow the euphoria of being out on a trail is a little tamed in this week of bitter cold. We do go out for a walk, but just along the new blocks in the new development, to spy on the new houses going up quickly, even though I'm so bundled in scarves and jacket hoods that I can hardly see anything beyond the ice underneath my feet. Yes it's very slippery out in the real world of streets and sidewalks.
In the evening, I pan-fry a piece of salmon, which reminds me of Scotland, which reminds me of the islands and the highlands there, which reminds me of travel. So, maybe I do have a window creaking a little, wanting to be opened to a future of visiting something other than the barn at the end of a farmette path. But not in the near future. Maybe medium distant future. If all goes well and we don't all ruin our chances of getting out of this crisis quickly and with our skins intact.
