Category: lockdown

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Tai chi in the Garden

I’m not going to the shop today. This is a chain of events triggered because I made lasagne on Friday, which meant I used a pint of milk, which meant I ran out of milk early, so I started one of the cartons of long-life milk which I bought to make yoghurt, but also for emergencies; so I’ve still got plenty of milk so I don’t need to go to the shop today.

I opened the door to let Miko out into the garden. The sun was up, of course, but not shining through the clouds. I stepped out onto the steps that go down to what I laughingly call the ‘patio’, although it’s not paved, but gravelled, and if you poke through the gravel you’ll find compacted builder’s rubble – not that that deters the weeds.

There was no wind, and a blackbird was singing into the empty, quiet air – that beautiful, haunting sound, as though the space between the earth and clouds is hollow, and the music is an echo without a source.

On an impulse I kicked off my slippers and walked down the second lot of steps to the grassed area (I hesitate to call it a ‘lawn’, though I did mow it a few days ago, for the first time in weeks). I took a few slow, deep breaths then began my tai chi practice. Tai chi, as you may know, consists of a sequence of movements which is known as a form (or ‘the form’ for each specific tradition, though there are multiple traditions). As a beginner, you learn a small number of moves one at a time and gradually learn new ones as you perfect the earlier ones – so it is a challenge to the memory and concentration as much as the body. I started learning it towards the end of 2015, went for a year then took a break for most of 2017 after I started chemo. In 2018 I went to a beginners’ class with the same teacher, slowly worked my way up to the point I’d reached before, then added on more moves. It’s not unusual for the same class to have students at different levels, and I liked the class, it was convenient and suited me, and the teacher was happy for me to continue with them.

Since the start of lockdown, we’ve been doing Zoom classes on a Wednesday evening, usually only about six of us, at all stages. I’ve discovered that when the classes stopped, I’d reached a point just before a whole sequence of movements in the form is repeated, but I don’t know the connecting move before that happens. I’ve tried to pick it up from Zoom, but I know I’m fudging it. I should probably try and find it on Youtube.

I started writing about the garden, but ended up with tai chi. Both deserve a bit more attention, but this writing randomly is so much easier and more enjoyable than staring at the screen.  

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Somebody Else’s Problem

Today I think I will write about what I was planning to write about yesterday, before I was hijacked by a poem. But first I’d like to observe that the sun is shining, the gulls are flying past the window, the pigeons are woo-wooing, Miko is at her neighbourhood watch post and not bothering the keyboard, and for once it feels as though the day is off to a good start.

I used to joke that my mid-life crisis began when I started a PhD at the age of 38, and has continued ever since. I remembered that when I was sharing all those memories from Facebook at the start of May, and realised that, though I may still feel in crisis some days, it’s definitely no longer a mid-life one. So I started to ponder on when exactly that transition happened.

My first thought was – well – it must have been when I moved to Southsea in 2015 – that was a major break in my life, and marked the end of that period of rootlessness which had been ongoing since I split with my husband in 2009. But then I thought that my first months here were still part of that churning, the excitement of a new life, new place, new people, all that. Plus of course, the curse of the Madwoman in the Attic – the stuff that had been left behind in the old house, the emotional and physical baggage which had remained unresolved – was still hanging over me. That wasn’t sorted out till I moved into this house in autumn 2016 –that was the next significant point. But then what happened? Yep, 2017 – cancer year.

So now I think that when I look back over my life and mark it off into chunks, chapters of my autobiography, if you like (though this is the closest I’ll ever get to writing one), the present stage started at the beginning of 2018, when I began to pick up the threads of a life no longer dominated by concerns over my health. Comparing notes with my brother (who was treated for prostate cancer in that same year) and my therapist (who I started seeing in early 2018), I discovered that it’s a known condition for people who’ve survived cancer to experience depression after the treatment is over. For me, intellectualising it two years on, it’s about ‘what now?’ – the realisation that there was more future than I’d subconsciously been anticipating, and that finding things to do with it could be a challenge.

And – this has just popped into my head, and I have 70 words to express it in – being treated for cancer, travelling round Europe, being in lockdown – all have this in common: every day is just about itself. The future can be put to one side; maybe it will happen, maybe it will be somebody else’s problem. ‘None of the crazy you get from too much choice…’, no stress, no sweat.

Well, that’s something to talk about on Thursday.

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Routines and Decisions

Structure and chaos. Rules and freedom. Dyspraxia and social inadequacy – nature and nurture. Cats and husbands. This and that. Writing and not-writing.

I’ve been awake for two hours already, but I observe my routines. Time is open-ended – until 1pm, when the afternoon’s radio marathon begins (though I can delay that by setting the TiVo to Radio 4 Extra so that it can be paused and rewound if I miss anything). Little happens in the mornings beyond the routine of: feed cat; half hour yoga, tai chi and meditation; shower; coffee; blogging; breakfast (which can end up being at 11, or even later). Except for shopping days, of course, but that was yesterday. There are other day-related things, apart from shopping (which isn’t strictly day-related, but has fallen into that pattern because it takes me exactly a week to use up two litres of milk), like putting the bins out (Tuesday), Zoom tai chi (Wednesday), Skype therapy (Thursday), but they all happen in the afternoon or early evening.

This is very different from pre-lockdown routine, when on most days I needed to be up and ready to go out by a certain time. Which may mean – if those activities eventually resume in a similar format to before – that post-lockdown life (which, may I say, I’m not anticipating any time soon), will be different again.

None of which is what I was thinking about in those two hours before I sat down at the keyboard.

By the way, the Joni Mitchell song I quoted from the other day wasn’t ‘The Blonde in the Bleachers’, as I said, but the one that begins:

‘Two waitresses both wearing black diamond earrings
talking about zombies and Singapore sleeves.
No trouble in their faces, not one angry voice,
none of the crazy you get from too much choice,
the thumb and the satchel or the rented Rolls-Royce…’

Joni Mitchell

But surprisingly, even though I can now hear it clearly in my head, I can’t get as far as the refrain to remember what it’s actually called (nor do I have a clue what ‘Singapore sleeves’ are) – and I still haven’t got round to looking it up.

Choice as tyranny, that’s what I was going to write about. The comfort of routines versus the horror of being forced to make a decision. That’s why I cling to them in the mornings; though I don’t always wake – or get up – at the same time, the sequence of activities is quite consistent. Otherwise I lie in bed and do nothing – which is not, repeat NOT healthy for my emotional wellbeing.

I still have to make decisions, of course, and I find the two most terrifying are: what to wear, and what to have for dinner; terrifying because they are relentless. And every decision (however trivial) entails judgement: options must be evaluated, probabilities and utilities assigned; projected outcomes considered (especially unanticipated ones) in order to identify and attain an optimal solution.

It’s exhausting. Better to sit in the sun and drink coffee.

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Hors de Combat

I’m back from my weekly Tuesday morning shopping expedition. The emergency run for cat food two days ago doesn’t count, because I couldn’t bring myself to do the sensible thing and work out a full shopping list before I went, so I ran out of fresh milk yesterday as usual.

Before I left, I prepared breakfast for my return, and, in the process of slicing the end crust of the loaf into two to fit the toaster, cut my left index finger. I held it under the cold tap, wrapped it in kitchen roll, and kept pressing it and moving the kitchen roll as it became soaked in blood. Then went looking for plasters, which I found in the form of continuous strips in the downstairs bathroom. Hunted for the scissors – on the kitchen table, among all the card-making stuff. Cut a biggish strip off and wrapped it over the wound and round the end of my finger.

Collected together bags, wallet, phone, checked I had the right cards, filled Miko’s water bowl, made sure she was inside, she started running around manically so I spoke to her gently and sat down with her for a few minutes to calm her down, checked the list (on my phone), picked up the scarf I’ve been using as a face mask, wrapped it round, left the building, and in locking the door realised there was fresh red blood dripping down my arm. I must have put pressure on the wound somehow, probably when pulling up the door handle.

So I went back into the house, and tried to work out where I’d left the plasters and the scissors. I noticed that everywhere I’d walked there were perfectly spaced, perfectly round bright red drops of blood on the floor. They looked like tiddlywinks.

I thought: never mind wrapping a scarf round my face, I really can’t go round Tesco dripping blood everywhere. I decided I was hors de combat, and could justifiably excuse myself from shopping duty – the main priority was milk, and I’d got a carton of UHT (bought for making yoghurt, but also as an emergency reserve) and a tin of evaporated.

I found the plasters back in the bathroom cabinet, but only at the second iteration – the box was lying down behind the lip at the bottom of the cupboard, and I didn’t recognise it. I stuck another one over the first and that seemed to do the trick. Might as well go shopping after all, as I’d psyched myself up.

So, once again I went through the whole palaver of remembering everything I needed to take, including the scarf which I’d discarded over the back of a chair, and this time I opened, closed and locked the front door without injury.

I haven’t even got enough words left to tell you what happened en route to the supermarket and after I got there. Give me rules to follow, and I’ll panic about getting them wrong. Thoughts for another day.

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The Hermit (Part 2)

Weekly therapy session on Skype yesterday. The evening before, I was feeling quite down, but by the time lunchtime rolled around I was wondering what we were going to talk about.

She remarked that for the second week running I seemed to be quite happy and content with life. This week I did my shopping in Sainsbury’s, and used the self checkout, so I didn’t even have to interact with the checkout person, as I did last week in the Co-op. Not having to be with people suits me. I think about good friends I’ve known, how much I’ve enjoyed spending time with them, some who’ve helped, bullied or cajoled me onto new paths through my life, and the joy of my children and grandchildren, I’m aware of all those things, but still I think: enough, now it’s enough just to be on my own, doing what I want, when I want, how I want. ‘Snow can hurt your eyes, but only people make you cry.’ I’m even managing to be kinder to myself, less judgemental over the chaos, quietening the critical voices. I think about the times when I was travelling, how I revelled in just being, in anonymity and invisibility, looking out of the window of a train, or sipping coffee on a café terrace, just to be somewhere without feeling I needed to justify myself to anyone. That’s how it is now: sitting in my garden in the sunshine, or in my bay window listening to the radio and crocheting, or at my PC in the mornings pouring out my words from the wellspring of my soul. This is who I am.

I talked to her about my thoughts on the stages of grief, somewhat apprehensive that I’d taken it the wrong way, or that she’d say it was outdated or I was oversimplifying (a little knowledge is a dangerous thing). But she was genuinely interested in what I was saying, she explained some of the background, where the original ideas had come from and, yes, it has been distorted and misused but it still has application, and no, it’s not just ‘pop psych’. She said I’d latched on to the crucial point that it can be hard to distinguish between ‘denial’ and ‘acceptance’, that it can be cyclical and it’s not always a straight progression to a nirvana of acceptance.

I think perhaps this time of being home alone, of not pushing myself out into the world to interact with others, has been exactly what I need. So much of my emotional life has been taken up with that sense of incompleteness and failure as a person, the hopeless quest for a soulmate to fill the void in myself. Enough.

But the time will come when I’ll have to go out there again, and I will have to be with people, and things will happen that will bring me down. I don’t know how to prepare for that. But at least now I recognise the danger.

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Garbage In, Garbage Out

The Solent was less boring than usual this morning, and not just because I haven’t seen it in over a month (five weeks tomorrow.) There were some quite exciting waves – the wind was so rough before I went out that I didn’t leave the door open for Miko to come back in and she had to come round to the side door, which is more sheltered. Of course, the waves don’t show up very well in the photos I took, it’s always hit and miss with waves – and gulls.

I slept in till about six, no night-time disturbances for once. I knew it was cloudy because the sun wasn’t shining in the window. I then checked the weather on my phone because I wanted to know what it was going to be like (rather than how it was then, which I could have seen by getting out of bed and opening the curtains). I noticed it said that rain was expected in 113 minutes, which amused me. Reminded me of a conversation from my programming days in the 70s, when I had to explain to a ‘user’ (ie, someone who worked outside of the IT – Data Processing in those days – department and used the information supplied by the computer) that the time displayed on the monitors wasn’t reliable, because it had to be set by the operators according to the computer room clock – or their own watches – every time the mainframe was rebooted.

‘Well why does it show it to a thousandth of a second if it’s not even right?’ he asked, irritably, obviously not grasping the concept that computers are brilliant at spurious precision, but rely on humans to provide accurate base data – in other words, GIGO, or ‘Garbage In, Garbage Out). Of course these days, time has been handed over to the atomic clock, they know it better than we do, and the operator’s watch has more calculating power than the state-of-the-art IBM 370/145 he (there was a team, but they were always male) then served.

Well I thought that was interesting as I stood and watched the waves. I read that forecast well over 113 minutes ago, and I can vouch for the fact that there has been no rain in my little patch of Southsea in that time, though checking Accuweather again I see it now says: ‘no precipitation for at least 120 min’ so perhaps I didn’t read it carefully enough last time. Human error. The computer was covering its back – or rather, at some point in the development process some human programmer had thought that one through a little more carefully.

Not sure why I went down that particular rabbit hole today – I’m trying to make quite a deep and important point but don’t think I’ve put it over very well.

Anyway, I went for a walk to the sea this morning. The wild swimmers were there as usual, dodging the wilder than usual waves. And I stopped at Sainsbury’s on my way home.

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Reading (Part 2)

On any normal Monday… I’d be getting out of the pool around now. Except that it wouldn’t be a normal Monday, it’s Bank Holiday – not that that makes much difference to me. Five years ago (261 weeks) it was Bank Holiday, and I had breakfast at Rocksby’s, sitting outside on the prom, watching the sea and the boats and the Isle of Wight across the water and marvelling that I was here and how exciting it all was, never mind all those boxes I had to unpack. Rocksby’s is gone now, or rather, the basic structure and a couple of the staff are still there, but even when it’s open, it’s not the same, and the bacon sandwiches are terrible. Everything changes.

I rang my brother yesterday, it’s a thing we’ve done on and off over the years since I’ve been on my own, ringing each other on the first Sunday morning of the month. It’s been a bit erratic over the last couple of years while I’ve been going to writers’ group on Sundays, but as he said last month, now he knows where to find me on Sundays (or any other day). I told him that I’m enjoying not having to go out and interact with people, and he said something like: ‘that must be a blessing’ which was such an unusual word for him to use that I had to ask him to repeat it. But it’s a good word, appropriate, because yes, I have been feeling blessed, living in my cosy, stress-free bubble.

I told him I’d thought of him because on Saturday I heard a play on the radio about the life of Arthur Ransome, who wrote the Swallows and Amazons books, which I know he loved, and his daughters loved, and my sister loved too, though to be honest I was never all that interested in them (though I didn’t say that to him). It was one of those things that my two elder siblings did that I felt I should do as well (like staying married to the same people for fifty years), but didn’t really appeal to my nature.

That got me thinking about the kind of books I did read in childhood, and at first I could only think of Narnia and The Wind in the Willows. Partly, I realised, that was because they predominantly came from the library, we didn’t have many books of our own and the ones we did were mainly Ladybird and Observer books, things like that, vaguely educational. It’s not that Mum and Dad didn’t read books, they did (though, as I realise now, it’s not always so easy for adults to find the time), but they also got them from the library – books weren’t a high priority for spending limited cash, when there was an abundant supply which could be borrowed, and were reserved for birthday and Christmas presents.

My preference in books was always magical, which I may come back to another time.

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The Hermit

In our Skype session on Thursday, my therapist commented that I seem much more relaxed and comfortable than when we used to meet in her office. Then, apparently, I was always fretting about my phone, or my keys, or something, always apologising for being two minutes late. Maybe so, but it’s not just that. Our first couple of Skype sessions were pretty stressful too.

This life suits me. Sometimes I just slip into quietness – in a good way, a happy, here-and-now way, a ‘mindful’ way, I guess. Well, it could be just tiredness, but even then it’s a healthy, dozy, peaceful sleepiness, not a mind-buzzing agitated fatigue.

I told her about the worst thing that happened in the week – the encounter with the checkout lady in the Co-op – and realised then that she was the only actual real world person I had encountered since our session the week before. I explained that it’s being with other people that bothers me, though I felt ashamed to admit it.

‘Why do you think that’s shameful?’ she asked.

I blustered a bit.

‘Well, it’s not good to be… misanthropic, is it?’ (though I realised as I said it that’s not a good word, I don’t exactly hate other people in general, I’m just not comfortable about interacting with them) ‘…it’s not right… it’s… inhuman!’

‘Why do you think it’s inhuman?’

Because good people like other people and like being with people. Don’t they? Isn’t that what makes us human?

Well… sometimes I like being with people. What about all those happy pictures I post of myself with friends and family? Ahh, but you can never judge anyone’s mood, personality or attractiveness by looking at the pics they post on social media. Not mine, anyway. Obviously, I only share the ones where I’m looking vaguely human, which gives a completely distorted image of what I see when I look in the mirror.

Now I’ve allowed myself to be distracted from what I was going to say, which is – for example, take the May Day gathering I mentioned yesterday, I enjoyed that – but I can guarantee that I was apprehensive beforehand. Being with other people is always stressful for me, however well I know them, it’s an ordeal because I’m on eggshells in case I do or say something stupid, like taking the wheeled basket-holder in the supermarket, when I should have asked for a normal basket. But I used to work at a regular job, how did I manage then? Because most of the time I got away with it. – but I still felt that sense of dread every day.

I think I’ve tapped into something very deep here, something that goes way beyond introverted vs extroverted. It’s hard to admit, because it does sound quite bizarre, but it explains a lot.

And as my therapist pointed out, in spite of all that, I’m prepared to share this here, with anyone who bothers to read it – perhaps because I don’t really believe anyone will.

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Day 29 – Paper Flowers

Wrote this yesterday evening. Spent most of the morning clearing a space on the table from my previous papercrafting projects.

May or may not be finished today – don’t hold your breath!

Tomorrow I will make a paper sunflower.
I have the stamps, the dies,
the coloured paper.
A small act of creation
with glue and pencils, paper, ink
a little effort.

It may not be
a thing of beauty.
Just a pleasant way
to spend the time.
But there are worse things
I could do.

Linda Rushby 29 April 2020
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Chaos in the Co-op

I keep thinking I’ll get up first thing and walk to the seafront. Delayed gratification – I know it will make me happier, but I still don’t do it.

Yesterday, I thought: I’ll run out of milk by the end of the day, so I’ll wait till tomorrow, and go to the shops on the way back. Because the lovely sunny mornings are here to stay, right?

I could hear the rain when I woke up. I dozed off again and woke at 7, and got up and dressed ready to go. I’ve been rotating around Co-op, Sainsbury’s and Tesco, it was Co-op week, and I remembered they don’t have self-checkout, but thought, I’ll go there anyway, they might have stuff I can’t get in the other two.

The plan is go-straight-there-and-get-it-done. No exercise, no writing, no breakfast, not even coffee. I started looking for my credit card, it’s not the only one I’ve got, but I get 1% cashback for using it in supermarkets. Looked everywhere – no sign. This is hardly unusual, but still annoying. I know the last place I used it was in Tesco last Tuesday. I checked my online banking and it hasn’t been used since then, so it’s probably still in the house. How desperate am I? Milk’s the main thing, and I’ve got a pint of UHT (for making yoghurt, but also as a backup). That’s ok then, I don’t have to go out after all. Leave it for another day, when I’ve got my card and it’s not raining.

Well in that case, I’ll revert to normal morning routine. Did my half hour tai chi/yoga/meditation and felt loads better. And it had stopped raining. Right then, it’s still only 9 o’clock, off to the Co-op after all.

There was no queue at the shop, but no baskets, just the things with wheels that the baskets are stacked in, and trolleys which require a pound, and I’d only brought my phone, credit card and loyalty card. I looked around for someone to ask, and saw someone using one of the basket holders as a substitute trolley, so thought, I’ll do that then.

I found most things I wanted, including the last bottle of Lea & Perrins but not Marmite. I got to the checkout and got into an altercation with the checkout lady about why I’d got the basket holder.

‘You should have got a basket, or a trolley.’

‘There weren’t any baskets.’

‘They’re just over there.’

‘There weren’t any when I got here.’

‘Well you should have asked.’

I got angry and swore. I knew it was myself I was angry at, not her, so I apologised. Then I tried to swipe my card but it was too much, then I used the wrong pin number because it wasn’t the card I normally use.

‘It’s getting to all of us’ said the checkout lady kindly. But I wanted to tell her: this isn’t who I am. Well, the chaos is, but not the rudeness.