letter #18
we're all making our own sense of things
i. the planes
On my walks along The Esplanade I've been missing the planes. They look like they're flying out to sea, but we're on a gulf so they aren't really. They pretty soon fly over land again, or bank to go in the other direction.
By coincidence or perhaps by some deeper, unrecognised drive, I've ended up living only a few streets away from where my father went to school, my parents were married, my grandfather lived. When I was young and we would come to Adelaide, I loved lying in the fold-up bed, the sound of the planes flying over my grandfather's house early in the morning and not long after the sound of the shower on the other side of the bedroom wall. The squeak of that bed is not unlike the squeak of my ironing board, so I am often reminded of those mornings. (Not because I iron my clothes, but because I sew and a key part of sewing is pressing the seams. I rarely iron otherwise).
When The Mister was still living in Abu Dhabi and we had moved back home and at first it would be a few months, then definitely six months, then eighteen and then we didn't know how it would end, I would sometimes sit on a bench on The Esplanade and watch the planes fly in and out. It was soothing. The coming and going of planes in the distance made travel look not only gentle, but simple too.
Then, when The Mister returned, I still kept looking for the planes. They reminded me that the world was out there; that although my life had changed and I lived in this small city at the bottom of the world, and my lust for travel had faded, I was connected still to friends, to places, to times.
Every now and then when I'm out on my walk, I see one. A plane. And when I do I stop and I watch until I can't see it anymore.
ii. the dog
He's had a malaise. I'll admit when I came down early to rise the yeast for babka on Easter Friday morning and the dog just lifted his head and didn't ask to be let out of his crate, the first thing I thought was, 'How expensive is this going to be?' Collectively we decided to wait and see, because it seemed only to be his paw that was bothering him. Why a saw poor has kept him in a state of sadness all weekend we will never know because we do not speak dog and he does not speak human (well I guess we all speak a little of the other but none of us is fluent). But he is out on a walk with the mister at the moment, so things seem to be okay. (Update: still sooky in the evening, but he's eating okay and drinking and getting up every now and then to see what the cat's up to)
iii. the strange-speed society
I tried to make my planes piece fit my holding pattern theme, but I couldn't get it to work, because none of the planes are in holding pattern at the moment, are they? They are either flying (a few) or grounded (many). I am in a holding pattern. Waiting to see what comes next, and constantly asking myself, What should I be doing today? How should I be being? There are many of us in a holding pattern, or who have stopped. We have made our adjustments, or had those adjustments made for us and now we wait, wondering what happens next. When do we work again? What work will we do? When do we see our families, go back on the list for surgery? And all those people who were in the midst of making decisions like leaving a bad relationship, or changing careers ... so many questions, can you see why I never sleep?
I look at the people who are flat out surviving. Flat out trying to work out what to do, how to pay the rent, keep safe, find things for children to do. I see some people flat out furious that things they've been told are impossible are easy after all--like telehealth services that my friend could have used all these years and would have been life changing for her.
And then I look at people flat out working. People like medicos, like politicians and decision-makers. Or even people leading organisations or keeping services going. They are making such enormous decisions, holding such responsibility. And on the one hand I envy them their sense of purpose, so much more satisfying than my job at the moment which is to stay out of the way, to be invisible. But on the other hand, I look at the weight they carry and I wonder whether I'd be up to it. Know I probably wouldn't. I mean I'm the person who stress-bought a kilo of yeast at 3 o'clock in the morning.
In the beginning, I could hardly watch our Prime Minister's announcements about what was happening and what would happen in the coming days. The smugness, the patronising smugness, the belligerent, 'I'll be going to the footy.' But then I didn't want to be too critical, too partisan, because my goodness, what a thing, right? My observation is that the smugness diminished as he and the Treasurer made the enormous announcements that go so counter to his own politics. There's no need for smugness when you're announcing policies that come from a place of helping and sharing. Your work speaks for itself, and you don't have to defend it. And I guess just dealing with the gravity day after day must take some of the smugness away. As I'm writing this, South Australia reports that there have been no new cases found today ... which is wonderful news, but there are many difficult and perplexing decisions to be made in the coming months.
It's still politics, but it isn't, and as I try to make sense of things, I especially love Katherine Murphy's writing. I thought this piece was excellent for showing the reasons underlying the mixed political messages in the opening stages of the pandemic response, and this piece was exceptional in looking not only at the absolute, but also at the nuance of how things evolved.
If you're interested in understanding the numbers a bit more, my old blog friend Jennifer is an actuary and she is writing every day on her brilliant blog An Actuarial Eye ... I highly recommend it for analysis that is as detailed as it is understandable.
iv. Stitches
The next performance piece I was planning to write is Stitches (Stories in Time) where I was planning to sew a garment on stage each night, while I explored the meaning of time. I'm not sure whether these days that blur into each other makes that piece entirely relevant or utterly irrelevant. But I do find time as fascinating as memory, so I'll give it a go and see where it goes.
v. Talk soon?
Sometimes writing feels like a vital thing to do and other times I'm overcome with a sense of futility and pointlessness. But I think I felt like that even before these enormous changes to our lives, eh? And if I hadn't been writing this I would've spent the last hour on the couch with the mister watching replays of footy games that I didn't even care about the first time.
Have you been watching Some Good News with John Krasinski? It's more than good, it's great.
If you're looking for something to read, my friend Caroline Reid launched her book Siarad not long before we couldn't hold launches anymore. Siarad means to talk or speak, and Caroline speaks beautifully through these pages. The book is also beautifully produced and feels gorgeous ... not that you should judge a book by its cover, but beautiful covers do make a book more beautiful still.
I hope you're going okay. And if you're not, or you know someone who isn't, remember that there are many excellent services that are able to offer help. This list of services on the Beyond Blue website is a good place to start.
Sending you much love
Tracy xx
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