It seems like the coronavirus is the only thing anyone's talking about anymore. Which I guess makes sense, given that so much of the rest of the world has stopped as we wait this thing out. When I pass people on the sidewalks, it's inevitably the topic of their conversations. Yesterday I heard a guy with a thick East London accent saying to another man, "There's no cure, nuffing. And people are gettin' it again!" And a man talking to a woman as they walked together: "Every time I breathe I picture one going right up my nose."
I've heard many people say they're in a state of anxiety, subconsciously or otherwise, and that anxiety often manifests in strange dreams. I can definitely say the same, though I think my anxiety has lessened a bit as the lockdown stretches on and becomes a new routine. I had a weird (though not particularly worrying) dream early yesterday morning, and I can never remember the storyline of my dreams but this one tangentially involved the comedian Shecky Greene, which is so bizarre. I barely know who Shecky Greene is! It makes me wonder what information is stored in the depths of my brain. My mother was in it too. Maybe she wanted tickets to Shecky's show, which would be even more unlikely.
We're seeing a bit of mouse activity in the kitchen again. They've been getting into the food composting container under the sink. I've been emptying the container more regularly and yesterday I re-baited the mouse traps. I was surprised to find two dead mice in the traps, which I haven't checked in months. I thought we'd solved our mouse problem, but I guess not.
Aside from dreaming about Las Vegas comedians, being invaded by rodents and dodging a deadly pandemic, life goes on as usual. I spent a couple of hours in the garden yesterday, where (as you can see) there's a lot happening. It's so pleasant to sit out there in the sun, reading, hearing the neighbor kids bouncing around on their trampoline and the birds singing.
One of our camassia lilies (top) has bloomed. We have four of them, but only one managed to send up a flower stalk this year, and I've been fiercely and so far successfully protecting it from Olga's wandering. (She tends to walk over them and break them off.)
The comfrey has sent out its magenta spirals.
The aquilegia is blooming too, in the shade of a twiggy shrub.
And the bleeding heart, or dicentra, has sent out arcs of flowers.
Yesterday afternoon was sunny and after a quick Zoom call with a colleague, who is teaching me some video editing techniques for work, I took Olga to the cemetery. Its popularity seems to be growing as people look for outdoor places to recreate -- there were quite a few people around.
One grave at the cemetery has always perplexed me. It's a large gravestone with bolt marks and a shadowy figure on the stone, obviously left behind when something was removed. Coincidentally, I read an article about it yesterday -- it's the grave of a sculptor and his wife, and the missing element was a bronze statue of her. The sculpture has been missing for years and is presumed lost, probably melted down for the scrap metal. People!
Despite the underlying anxiety and weirdness, I'm appreciating the beauty of these days. Walking the dog in the sunshine, gardening, reading -- provided we all stay well, it's a magical time.