Coping With It

Truro Winery by Moonlight, Encaustic on board

I'm luckier than some, with a roof over my head, and being relatively healthy right now. That said, I'm sad about so much to do with the virus. I know at least six people with covid19, and many who've lost their jobs or livelihood because of it. The town I live in is going to be devastated by it, as we're dependent on tourism for survival. It's not going away.

The worst part for me is the fact that the Outer Cape Chorale, Chamber Singers and my church choir are unable to meet and sing together. That might sound trivial to anyone not used to singing on a regular basis, but it's a big part of what keeps me sane and healthy. (See the entry on the singing monks.) 

In good times, I spend at least five hours a week singing with others, and more during a concert week. Tomorrow would have been the beginning of our spring concert weekend with the Chorale, three concerts in three days, then an extravaganza of a potluck on Sunday once all the staging and risers were broken down and put away. I'd have spent even more time than usual practicing on my own, getting warmed up beforehand, resting and drinking soup to prepare for the experience. Then there's making sure my all-black concert attire is clean and in good repair. If this sounds like a lot of work, well, it is. It's also joyful and exhilarating to sing something we've worked on for months with 150 other people, and entertain hundreds more. I miss it terribly.

I began writing this blog as a way to deal with this lack of creative outlet, and also to leave something behind in case I contract the virus and don't survive. I didn't think of it that way when I started, but that does seem to be some of what's behind it. So I'm coping. I've also just weed-whacked my dreadful garden, and will put compost and mulch on it to make it a little less dreadful. I bought some painting panels for my artwork in case I ever get the impulse to paint. So far that's not happened. I could beat myself up over it, but I'm trying to be gentle with myself instead. 

I call my mother every other day now instead of every three or four because I know this forced isolation is lonely for her as well as me. Sometimes the conversation lags a little, because nothing much is happening in our lives. I call her anyway. I'm grateful she's 82 and in great health, certainly not needing to be in assisted living or a nursing home. But I fear for her. I keep nudging her to wear her mask and remember to socially distance. It can't be easy to change the habits of a lifetime.