Tag Archives: Lockdown

Scrambling, Scrabbling

Week six of UK lockdown is behind us. Tonight Boris Johnson, the Prime Minister, will outline changes to our restrictions. The Sunday papers have already broadcast what those are likely to be: once-a-day outdoor exercise will become unlimited exercise, it’ll be okay to go to the beach, garden centers will open (all of these assume two-meter distancing). Boris is likely to advise the wearing of face coverings in shops and public transport. A mandatory 14-day quarantine for people entering the UK and stiffer fines for violating the rules will likely be announced.

For me, nothing much will change. It’s snowing in Scotland, but I would be unlikely to request a day on a North Sea beach even at the height of summer.

As I wrote in another post, my flight home was cancelled by Delta. I scheduled a new one; it was cancelled the next day. I will be issued a credit, but Delta has ceased flying to the UK so I can’t use the credit to get home.

There are no more direct flights to Minneapolis-St. Paul from the UK. I prefer not to stop over in New York or Chicago, where there are coronavirus outbreaks. I found an itinerary on Icelandair that would take me through healthy Reykjavik but my gut told me to wait a few days before booking it. Two days later, Icelandair was no longer flying to the UK. I thought about flying from Scotland, which has less coronavirus than the UK south, but Scotland’s airports are shut down completely or offer only two-three stop itineraries.

As I see it, every stop, every additional flight or airport, is a new opportunity to catch the virus if it’s present.

I continue to get updates from the US State Department. The latest informed me that Heathrow has closed three of its five terminals.

Today was the day I was supposed to join Lynn and Richard and two other friends in Crete, after traveling through France, Switzerland, Bulgaria, and other points unknown and never to be known. It’s hard to believe that just a few months ago my biggest concern was whether to take the Eurostar to Paris or get off in Calais and take a train down to Bergerac to meet a friend.

Wah, wah! As usual I pinch myself that I should have such “problems.” I keep thinking about the Ethiopian refugee camps I visited three years ago for work. There was no running water. People lived in tiny cinder-block houses with half a dozen others. Activities were carried out in groups, sometimes very large groups. I feel helpless to do anything but “hold them in my thoughts,” which doesn’t mean a thing and just makes me feel guilty.

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Meanwhile the days pass, fast but slow. Until today the weather was fine, enabling outdoor projects and hikes. On one hike I saw a giant slug crossing the road.

“Now, if this was a turtle, I would pick it up and deliver it safely to the other side,” I thought. “Isn’t the real test of compassion whether I care for creatures I find repulsive?” I kept walking. Another thing to feel guilty about.

Richard and I hiked to Wormy Hillock. It’s shaped like a donut was pressed into the earth, then removed. It was probably built by Picts, and probably prehistoric (which just means before there was a written language). Its purpose is unknown. Worship? Sacrifices? Entertainment?

Back at the house, I moved my finger around on the local map and chuckled at the names: Knappert Knows, Little Riggin, Green Slack, Bogs of Noth, Muckle Smiddy Hillock, The Lumps, How of Slug, Darnie Heuch, Mairs of Collithie, Buried Men’s Leys, How of Badifoor, Grouse Butts, Shank of Badtimmer, Slack Methland, Hill of Glack-en-tore, and my favorite, the Glen of Cults.

Another day, Lynn and I visited a neighbor across the road who maintains the garden her late husband—the former head gardener at Cambridge University—created.

Lynn’s garden is coming on as spring progresses.

A visit from the fishmonger was a highlight.

My award for most creative pastime goes to a friend who has been playing x-rated Scrabble over the phone with friends.

Stay well, and don’t forget to laugh!

Things that Change, Things that Last

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A month ago I wondered if I was the proverbial frog in the slowly heating water. Was I oblivious to the worsening coronavirus situation all around me in the UK?

Yup, I was.

The UK now has the dubious distinction of vying with Italy for second-rank for COVID-19 deaths; we are about 400 deaths shy of Italy’s total, 28,710. Of course, different countries count deaths differently. The UK just started counting COVID deaths outside of hospitals, so our number jumped. I don’t know how Italy counts. Regardless, it isn’t good.

However, it’s not as bad as the US. Here’s a graph we see on the daily briefing. It shows the US trajectory going up, up, up.

In two weeks, I’ll return to Oxford, an overcrowded city. After 10 days I will—probably—fly home. My flight was cancelled once, although I only found out accidentally. I’ve rescheduled, but I don’t relish the thought of being on a bus, then at an airport, on a plane, in another airport, another plane, a taxi, then being quarantined for two weeks.

Who knows where that trajectory will have taken the US by then.

—

Meanwhile, I am safe in Scotland. Here’s a view of Lynn and Richard’s house from halfway up the hill behind it.

We had great sunny weather for 10 days and now gloom and “Scottish mist” have set in. Fortunately it’s a large enough house that one never feels claustrophobic. I can’t imagine how it must feel to be stuck inside an apartment with kids and no garden or even a balcony. Kudos to the people who are handling that well.

—

Here’s a little history and tour of the house.

The original structure was probably built in the 17^th Century as a defensive outpost to guard the road and collect tolls from people traveling between Huntly and Gartly. It was built into a geographic bowl, so there is a ditch all the way around. Think of it as a moat without water. Any attackers would have had to run down hill, where the occupants would be waiting for them, muskets pointing out of “murder holes.” Below, the ditch viewed from Richard’s office and the kitchen.

Kirkney Water, a stream, runs around two sides, there is an acre-long wall on another, and in front is a very long lane lined with ancient trees; so no one could “sneak up.”

Whether or not the original structure was incorporated into the house built in 1847 is not known. All the surrounding land was owned by a branch of the Gordon clan, headed by the 4^th Earl of Huntly. The family lived in the house, where I am sitting now.

There was a game-keeper’s cottage up the hill, a farm, and what are called “steadings” across the road—stables and laundry facilities and so on—all of these are now modern single family homes.

This is the Gordon-tartan-covered door in the front hall.

The Gordon family had to sell the home because the two sisters who lived in it had no heirs to whom they could leave it. One brother had been killed in WWI. The other was disinherited for marrying an Irish actress. The ladies had not been able to find “suitable” husbands; that is, men of their class, since so many men had been killed in war and they lived in such a sparsely-populated area.

Here is the old stove in the kitchen—it’s way too heavy to bother removing. Next to it is a small stove probably used by servants to prepare smaller meals when the family was away.

Here is the next generation stove, the Aga, used only in winter. There’s a third generation, too.

These are the bells in the kitchen that would ring when the family wanted to summon a servant. Disconnected by a family who had four teenage boys!

There’s a dumbwaiter in the corner, and to the right of it, a proving cupboard for breadstuffs.

Here are a few more vignettes from around the house.

Whiskey decanter set.

Reindeer skull hat rack.

Victorian taxidermy.

No Scottish country home is complete without an old dog snoring in the library. This one’s name is Parker, fondly referred to as Lord Parker.

Slogging Along

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I have begun to long for home. By “home” I don’t mean my family or friends—who I wouldn’t be able to visit anyway—but my bed. For some reason, it symbolizes all that is familiar and safe and comfortable.

Not that I’m not safe and comfortable. In Scotland, at Lynn’s, I am more safe and comfortable than 95% of the world’s population. I have a spacious room with my own bathroom. There’s a library full of books. There is even a sauna! There is plenty of space for us to do our own thing. We come together at mealtimes or for a G&T on the patio or to watch a movie at night.

I have projects, like scraping and repainting a wrought-iron patio set. The more I scrape and paint, the more flakes of paint I discover. It’s a great way to kill the hours and medicate my obsessive compulsive tendencies.

I clear dead stuff out of the garden. This involves sitting on a foam mat, reaching in to grab a handful of dry twigs or grass, and yanking them out. Repeat, repeat, repeat. Then I gather it all up—being careful not to snag myself on any rose thorns—cram them into a bucket and haul them to the brush pile for burning. It’s very satisfying. One morning this classic Led Zeppelin album cover popped into my mind:

Why not do what all those cleaver people on social media are doing, and recreate this with found materials? So here I am, looking just like the album cover except I have a wheelbarrow, and I’m wearing a lime-green jumper and pink sunglasses, and I do not have a beard.

It was good for a laugh for a few minutes.

I go for long walks. This is the Clashindarroch Forest, where I hiked for two hours the other day. Even though it hadn’t rained for an unseasonable 10 days, the mossy path was still so springy it was like walking on a memory foam mattress.

—

So physically and socially I couldn’t be in a better place. But I think the pandemic and lockdown are taking a low-grade toll on my psyche. It’s subtle, but it’s probably cumulative. If I am feeling it, how much worse must it be for people living in precarious situations with no financial means, no internet, or no access to nature?

—

There are nagging worries, as there always are in life. I haven’t received my stimulus payment from Donald Trump yet due to an Internal Revenue Service foul up. I’m not too worried about it, yet.

It’s been a month since I tried to get cash from two cash machines in Oxford and was given the message, “We’re sorry but we cannot process your request at this time.” But they had processed it on their end, so I am out $260 until it gets resolved. I’m not too worried about it, yet.

This quote from the New York Times sums up my situation:

“Those who had assumed they could stay overseas, and wait for the pandemic to ebb, now face an unnerving choice: Either stick it out, and prepare for the possibility they will be infected with the virus and treated in foreign hospitals, or chance catching it on the way back home.”

I thought I had secured a small victory when I got through to Delta and re-booked my return flight from one stopover to as direct. One less airport, one less plane—this could reduce my risk. Then I got an email from the US State Department informing me that only three airlines are still flying from the UK to the US, and Delta is not one of them. So another call to an 800 number is in my future.

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In the before times, I worked two part-time gigs and had a to-do list with 17 items on it every day. Now I feel like I am wading through thigh-deep pudding. I feel victorious if I manage to remember why I came into a room. This must be what dementia is like. Or maybe I am getting dementia, coincidentally at the same time as a global pandemic.

I hope you are well!

Safe in Scotland

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Greetings from Scotland, where I am a house guest of Lynn and Richard’s. Lynn, my friend with whom I have traveled in Japan, Italy, Prague, Colombia, Berlin, and road trips across the UK and US.

I weighed the pros and cons of relocating from Oxford to Scotland carefully. I would get a ride with a friend who has homes in both locations. He drives back and forth once a month anyway. But would I be violating the law? The guidelines for the UK lockdown are pretty unambiguous: Stay Home, Protect the NHS, Save Lives. Don’t leave home except for exercise, to shop for food or medicine, or to work if you can’t work from home.

Would going be irresponsible and selfish? The Scottish chief medical officer had just resigned in shame for not observing her own advice; she’d been driving back and forth between to her two homes.

Sure, the chances of my giving the virus to, or catching it from, anyone as a result of the nine-hour drive across the length of the country were slim. But could my friend expose me to the virus, or vice versa, during a whole day in a vehicle together? Could one of us pick it up from the petrol station pump or the bathroom door handle in the rest stop?

Was I in denial? Did I just want to go because I wanted to go?

In the end, I reasoned this way: In Oxford, I had to go shopping almost every day in order to keep enough food on hand. I couldn’t order home delivery because I don’t have a UK bank account. I didn’t have a car so I couldn’t do a bulk shop—I could only buy as much as I could carry four blocks, which was where the closest store was. In Oxford, the stores are tiny and cramped. There were employees at the doors allowing only one person in for every one who exited, and the floors were marked to keep people two metres apart, but there were plenty of people who ignored these measures. It made me nervous.

Here in the highlands, I can Stay at Home for a month. There are deliveries by a bread man, a milk man, and a fish man, although the latter didn’t show yesterday. Lynn can order meats and other basic products from the local butcher, pay online, then stop in front of the butcher shop while they load her order into the back of her vehicle. For everything else there is an enormous Tesco where it is easier to observe the six-metre rule.

The house has two water supplies, one of which is dedicated to the house. There’s a massive garden where a profusion of vegetables are growing. The river can be fished for salmon and trout. Richard has enough wood and peat stored up to keep the house’s dozen fireplaces roaring for months. Richard hunts deer and game birds. The guns will come in handy when the zombies try to come up the drive.

I hope that’s still funny a month from now.

—

The UK has extended its lockdown for at least another three weeks. How do you pass the days in a country house? Some days I feel like I’m in a dream where I’m trying to run through thigh-high pudding.

But mostly, the days fly by. I used to get up early—6:30, say. Today I slept until 8:00. I used to snarf my breakfast down. Now, with people to talk to, we might spend an hour chatting away over coffee. I’m still doing my remote work and have seen funding opportunities shift from malaria control and water sanitation and human rights training to COVID, COVID, COVID. I wonder how far it will go. Will there eventually be no funding for anything but COVID?

I go for walks in the hills.

I have been assigned a project—to scrape and re-paint a wrought iron set of outdoor furniture. I take yoga classes on Zoom. I spend hours talking to friends.

I proposed a creative activity of making plague masks out of papier Mache. I think Lynn and Richard thought I was joking.

And now, some delightful daffodils. Hang in there!

Lockdown Diary

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Today is the 14^th day of the UK’s three-week lockdown. There’s been no indication of if the measures will really be reversed, or how.

Most people I know think the lockdown will be extended. A couple think it’ll all be over in a few weeks. I tend to agree with the majority.

For now, it will take mental, emotional, and physical discipline to get through this time.

Mental, because without outside stimulus the brain quickly becomes disoriented. What day is it? Who am I? What was I going to do? This is very common among elderly people who are moved to care homes where there is nothing to do. Now we’re all fighting in it together.

Strategies that have helped me:

Making a to-do list. I write it on a post-it note, so it’s not a long list. But if I don’t write things down I forget them.

Talking to at least two friends or family members a day. Not messaging, talking. There is something about hearing the human voice that makes it more intimate.

Limiting news and social media: I scan the news headlines each morning and limit myself to reading 1-2 articles. I have to admit; checking the daily “scoreboard” of how many cases and deaths have been recorded in every country is a fascination to me.

I read an article, “What you should know before you need a ventilator.” I read it because it was in the New York Times and written by a doctor. I should have known better. Do Not read it.

I turn off my laptop and switch my cell to silent, then do something mentally absorbing, like crossword puzzles. I brought this pile with me from home, threw them in the recycling bin when I hadn’t looked at them after a month, then frantically dug them out of the bin when the lockdown was announced. Whew!

Baking is mentally absorbing, especially for me because the measures are different here. You measure things by weight in grams and in millilitres, not cups.

My first attempt was tapenade-filled yeast rolls. They didn’t look great but they tasted wonderful.

As a bonus, I use the weights holder, which totals about five pounds, to workout. Normally I would do shoulder presses with about 15 pound dumbbells. Now I just do a ton of reps.

The highlight of my day is getting outside for a walk, rain or shine. Even passing strangers at a two-metre distance somehow helps me to know I still exist and to believe we will all be together again eventually. This was the last meal I had in a pub, a fish pie at The Head of the River.

This was my dinner a few nights ago.

I do cook fresh, but in times like these, crisps are also called for, especially when watching the Downing Street Daily Briefing.

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I am so lucky to be in a British beauty spot. I live a few blocks from the Thames, which has a wide path along it that—if I only had a bike!—I could follow all the way from London to a place called Kemble. The water has turned a lovely green. Is this because there is less effluent being dumped into it, and less boat traffic?

Those are garden allotments on the opposite side. People who have allotments are allowed to go dig around in them. Sigh.

In addition to walking and weight training I am taking yoga classes on Zoom twice a week. It is hilarious to see people’s cats standing on their backs and toddlers imitating their mothers’ downward dogs.

Emotionally, all of the above helps—staying connected and not overdoing the news or social media. Also, not fighting battles unless I have the strength. For instance, I have been trying to get through to Expedia for three weeks. Two days ago I was on hold for two hours and had to give up. There will be some sort of reckoning for Expedia and other companies that have so massively failed. I realize the times are “unprecedented” as we hear over and over, but still.