Ugh

I had the strangest feeling at work yesterday -- a sudden feeling of fatigue, like I'm dragging my feet through wet cement. It was mid-morning and I was sitting at my desk, actually, and not even walking around, but suddenly the prospect of doing anything seemed huge. I had another Newbery book to read that I'd been carrying for two days, but felt unable to start. I had things to do at work, of course, but there I sat, momentarily paralyzed.

It occurred to me that this feeling must be depression. Not that it was entirely new -- although I've kept myself busy in the past few weeks and months, the fact is I've felt bogged down for a while. I'm just UP TO HERE with Covid and precautions and the inability to shop or travel or go to a pub or go out to eat, all the little things that we normally do from day to day that make life enjoyable. Instead I'm doing pretty much the same things every weekday, right down to the lunch I eat and the TV shows we watch at night, and pretty much the same thing on weekends with slight variations. My walk to Trafalgar Square from a couple of weeks ago seems like an impossibly exotic adventure!

I've said it before, but I've got to get myself out of this rut. Of course we're all feeling it, especially here in the UK where so many things are still locked down. I think I'm going to try a little train trip in two or three weeks, when my vaccine has fully kicked in and maybe more places have opened. (According to the plan, which I think is still in effect, shops and outdoor hospitality (pubs) reopen April 12, and travel outside our local area is possible after the end of this month.)

I think my sense of frustration is compounded by the seasons changing. Spring should be a time of reopening, reawakening, and instead we're all still tied down and muzzled. Nature is doing its thing, of course, and having the garden is wonderful, but I need normalcy.

Anyway, I feel like I've written this post before, and I probably have. Sorry about that.

And now, I'm going to get off my butt and walk the dog before work. If she'll agree to go, which is never certain these days.

(Photos: Colorful cones at Hampstead Heath Extension; some stencilled graffiti on a telephone exchange box in Hampstead.)

Polysomething

The two Polyanthus plants I bought last spring have bloomed again. I put one on the front porch with two bright primroses (above) and the other's on the back patio. A squirrel tore one of them limb from limb (leaf from leaf?) last year but fortunately it has bounced back.

I can never remember the name Polyanthus. I always want to call them Polycanthus (which is a type of starfish) or Polycarpus (who was apparently a Byzantine king, but I suspect I'm thinking more of Podocarpus, which is a shrub).

I also tend to mix up Crocosmia, Calendula and Coreopsis. And don't even get me started on Acanthus vs. Agapanthus.

Sometimes I think I'm turning into my mother, who has largely lost her language abilities late in life. Particularly with the names of plants and birds, which used to come to me much more easily than they do now. I'll start to tell Dave about one of the plants and I'll stand there, gesturing futilely, mumbling, "You know, the one in the pot. The freeze almost killed it. It starts with a C. It has pink flowers."

"Cyclamen?" he'll say.

"YES!"

Speaking of plant names, I asked the other day about the identity of a plant I saw on the Heath. Following tips from helpful commenters, I've concluded it's something called butterbur, which is related to (or maybe even a type of) coltsfoot. The family name is Petasites. Just in case you're wondering whether that question ever got resolved.

The Russians have either finished most of their renovating or they've paused it during the work week. It's been pretty quiet up there, at least when we're home. (Of course we're gone most of the day, so there is that.) Although I've been complaining here about the noise, I have to give them some credit -- they removed the debris from in front of the house pretty quickly. We no longer have a toilet sitting out there.

(Bottom photo: Buddha on our bedroom mantelpiece, with a fish from Ghana, beads from Singapore and a ring from Morocco.)

Earthworm Chili

A more manageable day at work yesterday. I only re-shelved about 120 books!

I got an e-mail from a mother who asked if we clean our books before returning them to the shelves. I assumed she was talking about coronavirus, so I explained our quarantine process. She then sent me pictures of a book her son had checked out, with three or four crumbs trapped between some of the pages.

"The book was filled with food stains and other particles. Stuff falling out as you turn the pages," she wrote. "So I wanted to bring it to your attention."

I was tempted to tell her to shake it out over some bread and make a sandwich. Instead, I cheerfully replied that obviously someone had been eating while they read, which we discourage -- ha ha -- and explained that we circulate so many books we can't possibly page through each one.

The risks of using a library, people. Particularly a school library.

Speaking of gross food, Dave made chili the other night. He thought he'd try a vegetarian version, so he used a popular meat substitute that comes in minced form. He was not happy with the results. The protein is softer than meat so the texture was slightly different -- he called it "earthworm chili." He didn't eat more than a few spoonfuls, but I ate mine and I suppose the leftovers will be my responsibility too.

He says the funniest things sometimes. The other day Olga came up to his recliner and wanted to jump on his lap (as she often does), but she stood and hesitated. He told her, "Well don't write a book about it, let's go!" The idea of Olga writing a book made me laugh. It would be very short.

Here's Olga lying on top of her Kong toy on the couch -- you can barely see it between her front legs. She slept like this for an hour or more yesterday afternoon, and it wasn't the first time. Dave thinks lying on that toy must be uncomfortable, but she doesn't seem to mind. She's very protective of it!

(Top photo: The forsythia on our patio, which is in need of some tidying.)

The Grand Reshelving

The title of this post sounds like a geological event, something involving tectonic plates and continental drift. But no, it's just my job.

Yesterday morning, when I arrived at work, we had about 600 books sitting in quarantine. They were all returned last week, our first week back at school since December. All returned books sit in quarantine for five days to allow any coronavirus on them to die before we return them to the library shelves.

That means the quarantine period was up on many of them. Putting them back where they belong was the focus of my day -- in between checking out books to middle-schoolers and running them to their classrooms. By the time I left at 3:30 we were down to 233 quarantined books. Of those, 57 came in yesterday.

If you're doing the math, that means I re-shelved something like 424 books. Which is incredible even to me.

I remember being surprised when I took this job how much physical work it entails, and that's a good example. There's a lot of lifting, kneeling, bending, crouching and reaching, not to mention walking and stair-climbing. I felt like I'd been at the gym all day!

Remember how I said my honesty seeds appeared to be duds? Nope. They just took a while. Two of them have finally come up. (I planted them on Feb. 21!) I also think there may be some corncockle seedlings growing outside, near where the mother plant grew, in addition to the single seedling in my tray. Spring is springing!

(Top photo: A grey heron on Hampstead Heath, on Sunday.)

Water From Lulu

Olga was feeling energetic yesterday, so we took a long walk on the Heath. Now that she's back on her anti-inflammatory medication she's more eager to get out and about. I guess I shouldn't have paused it in the first place, but I still suspect that it upsets her stomach a bit. Maybe we just have to experiment and find the optimal dose.

See that pink ring in the tree? Who would throw a Frisbee in a place with so many branches? Now it will probably hang there for 15 years.

Anyway, we had a good walk and saw some interesting things, like...

...a blooming rhododendron...

...and a tree with an eye.

The coltsfoot is back on Sandy Heath. I read somewhere that this plant is unusual because it blooms before it grows leaves -- which does look rather peculiar. This particular colony doesn't look as vigorous as it did last year, and there are newly worn footpaths nearby. I'm afraid some of it has been trampled.

Lots of these are growing near the ponds on Hampstead Heath Extension. I have no idea what they are. Anybody know?

Olga found that the roots of the Lulu tree form a perfect water bowl!

After we got home, I had some drama trying to download my pictures. I kept getting an error message from my camera. Finally, after multiple attempts, I got them to download rather slowly. I've ordered another memory card, because the one I'm using is about six years old and it's carried thousands of images, and maybe it's giving up the ghost. I've also never had my camera serviced, and it's seen heavy (almost daily) use in its nine years.

If we weren't in lockdown I could just take it in, but perhaps a new card will solve the problem.

A Mishmash with More Royalty

It was incredibly windy here yesterday. When I looked out the back door in the morning our garden waste bag had blown clear across the lawn and was huddling by the back fence like a scared animal. Our tree fern and hydrangea were lying prostrate on the ground, their pots having blown over, and one of our geraniums was leaning like the Tower of Pisa. Blowing trash was swept from all the nooks and crannies of the city and redistributed on the streets. 

Despite my mild vaccine hangover, it was a day for getting things done. After correcting the chaos in the garden, I cleaned the house from top to bottom, changed the sheets, ran laundry and organized the detritus of daily life that had accumulated on our tables and countertops.

And most importantly, I DID OUR TAXES! I am always so relieved when that job is finished. I filed them using e-file and, as usual, offered up an uncertain prayer to the IRS and all deities of personal finance that I did them correctly.

Olga and I took a walk in the morning and I collected some more honesty seeds. My seeds seem to have been duds -- I planted six of them from our own garden, and none came up. Fortunately there's a patch near the railroad tracks where I got my first batch of seeds, so that's where we went. There are fewer to choose from at this time of year because the pods have already broken open and most have scattered, but I did find a couple.

In the afternoon, Dave and I watched Oprah's interview with Harry and Meghan. I know everyone is sick to death of this topic, but I have just a few more things to say. I felt bad after my post a few days ago, because while I was pretty critical of the prince and his wife, I know many people -- particularly some women, and particularly women of color -- see their story in a different light. I want to respect that and I felt the least I could do was hear first-hand what the Sussexes had to say.

The interview does humanize them. Meghan was smart and articulate, Harry more characteristically guarded -- but he said more to Oprah than I think I've ever heard him say in the past. It was great to see them with the animals they've rescued. Meghan says she likes to rescue things, and Harry admits she helped him realize he was "trapped" within his royal life. That adds an interesting dimension to the relationship, doesn't it?

I still find it mind-blowing that Meghan was initially unaware what life in the palace would be like. She admits she went into the marriage naively, and if she was as naive as she says, that's an understatement. I'd say she went into it blindly.

I'm also surprised that when Meghan discussed her mental health, no one ever mentioned the words "post-partum depression." Some of her problems apparently pre-dated her pregnancy, but if I understand the timeline right, they became much worse after the birth of Archie. In any case, she should have been helped and encouraged to receive assistance, as much as the royals talk about supporting mental health as an issue.

As I said in my earlier post, I don't doubt there's a degree of racism in Buckingham Palace, just as there (sadly) is in virtually any large, multi-generational institution. Given the examples of Meghan's press coverage that Oprah showed, it seems undeniable that she was treated much more harshly by the media. But I still struggle with some of their stories about racism in the palace -- the infamous question about the color of the baby's skin, for example. It's an inappropriate remark no matter what, but I still want more context. Was it something someone said, one family member to another, over late-night beers as a joke? Or was it a serious expression of worry about the family's image?

I also did some reading about their concern over Archie not being named a prince. Here's some background on that issue, which helped me understand it much better.

Overall, I'm glad I watched it, although this is more time and mental energy than I've given to the royal family in years! And it did soften my stance. Even beyond the issue of the royalty, I think there's a bit of culture clash built into that marriage -- Meghan wants a very open, American lifestyle, and you can't blame her. That's who she is. The closing images of them frolicking in the California surf with Archie are very telling -- that's not the kind of thing we ever see the royal family doing. She just did not want that life.

OK, enough of that. I am never mentioning Harry and Meghan again on this blog. At least not any time in the near future.

The Russians upstairs are still working on their renovations. It seems they've progressed into the bathroom, because in addition to the pile of old cabinets and bags of rubble sitting on the street in front of the house, there's now also a toilet. Always a good look.

(Photos: Camellias at the cemetery; Olga with graffiti on our walk yesterday; more crocuses in our garden.)

The Jab

I've blogged this sculpture before -- it stands on a housing estate in St. John's Wood, not far from the school where I work. I always like it at this time of year, when those drifts of daffodils are blooming around its base. You can see a close-up of it at that linked post, along with what little I know about it.

Yesterday morning, not long after I arrived at work, I got a call from my doctor's office. Sure enough, they had a cancellation for a coronavirus vaccine and wanted to know if I wanted the shot. YES! Thank goodness I got my name on that reserve list! Around 10:15 I left work (with my boss's blessing), walked to West Hampstead, got the shot, walked back to work, and walked home again in the afternoon. Of course I'd already walked to work in the morning, too, so I made the trip four times yesterday. I got my exercise in.

The shot itself was no big deal. As you can see, I got the Oxford/Astra Zeneca vaccine. (And they misspelled my first name. It's with a second E, not an A.) Dave, when he got his shot several weeks ago, was given the Pfizer vaccine. "We're bivaxual!" I said.

Back at work my boss and co-workers told me about getting their shots and all the aches and pains they experienced afterward. I did have a vaguely uncomfortable night, but I couldn't point to a specific area of pain -- just a feeling of increased sensitivity or generalized achiness. It's very mild, and I don't have a fever or anything.

Coincidentally, one of my co-workers got sent home yesterday to self-isolate for ten days after one of our students turned up positive on a PCR test. She'd been working with this kid pretty closely and, needless to say, is not happy about it. Apparently the kid has no symptoms and everyone in his family is fine, so I wonder if it's just a false positive, but I think PCRs are supposed to be pretty reliable.

I was not exposed to that kid. It will take a few weeks for my own immunity to fully kick in, and as I told Dave, it would suck to get the vaccine and then get Covid right afterwards!

If all goes as planned I'll be invited for my second dose in 12 weeks -- right at the beginning of June, by my calculations, which is pretty much perfect timing for my trip to Florida in July.

I'm just relieved to finally have it done.