This week, the normal for us is Zoom and FaceTime meetings almost every day, shopping for as much as possible online, leaving home rarely, and wearing a face mask when we do go out. This is the new normal because of COVID19. In my family, we have students taking online classes, laid-off workers receiving unemployment checks, teachers learning to distance-teach, essential workers keeping the infrastructure going, medical professionals caring for patients in hospital, workers-from-home consuming neighborhood bandwidth at record rates, and retired folks mastering video chatting. We’re physically distanced and we’re missing our old normal.
You are probably overloaded with news and speculations, like I am. We are taking in a lot of information and trying to cope. At first, the newness and the sense of danger had me in high gear: taking inventory, stocking up, finding new supply channels, cooking and baking in earnest, and lining up the projects I wanted to take a deep dive into. Unfortunately, deep cleaning never entered into the picture.
Being asked to stay home wasn’t a hardship for me; I am a homebody and relish being told I must do what I always want to do anyway–cancel everything and stay home. It felt good to be doing what I could to fight this threat and keep my community safe by hunkering down.
As the weeks blurred by, though, projects were started and abandoned, meals were sometimes amazing and often not, books went unfinished and a general sense of anxious fidgeting became my normal state. A few weeks ago my son sent me a picture of masks he made by cutting up his pillowcase. I started thinking about making some too. He sent me the pattern he used, and a quick google search for more patterns made it obvious that many, many others were thinking about this too.
I dug my dusty box of fabric out from the storage area, sorted through the scraps and yardage from long-forgotten projects, and started sewing. Whole days went by with me at my machine and ironing board. I mailed out the first batch, and started on another. Yesterday, I discovered that the Joann fabric store near me is an essential business and is open–crafters rejoice!–and I was able to get more fabric for another round. That was the first project that held my attention for more than a few hours (unless you count marching through five seasons of Poldark on Masterpiece).
People began putting teddy bears in their windows to encourage walkers and connect with neighbors. Households with young children at home can turn a walk into an adventure when searching for stuffies in neighbors’ windows. I started seeing rainbows in windows too, a symbol of the hope that we will all get through this together. I found a big, stuffed bear in the back of a closet and put him in a front window. I wanted to put a rainbow up too, and the idea of knitting one appealed to me. I had put my needles down in January and didn’t feel like picking them up until then.
I found a pattern, ordered the yarn online and started knitting. I just bought more yarn to keep sharing them with my family, little bright reminders of hope. After the rainbows got me out of my slump, I finished up some other pieces that I had left half-finished on the needles, and a few more projects are pushing to the front of the line in my mind.
My houseplants and garden caught my attention, too. I am an inattentive plant person; I forget to water until I see the leaves withering, and I look past weeds and bushes that need pruning. Puttering around the house, I noticed my plants and started watering. I found some plant food out in the back and blessed some of the slow-growers with a healthy drench. I cleared out weeds, and took the trimmers to a hedge.
I even repotted a root-bound Christmas cactus that has looked half-dead for a couple of years. It was alive, but dull. A few days ago, I noticed that the cactus was growing new, bright green branches, and they were reaching up and away from the old faded, bending branches. Blooms were bursting out, and even the flowers looked bigger and more energetic than usual. Taking it out of its old, cracked plastic pot and giving it more room and fresh potting soil gave it new life. Motivated, I replanted some succulents and geraniums outside.
COVID19, with all the pain it has caused and the changes it has forced us to make, has given new perspective. The slowed pace of this normal-for-now has quieted the clanging of busyness. For me, the nagging feeling that I should account for every minute and prove my productivity has lost its urgency. I have let the voices telling me what I should be accomplishing fade, and started listening to the whispers of what I want to do.
Like my cactus, I feel like I’ve been repotted. I’m letting go of what is unnecessary, sitting with what is, and taking up what has been quietly tapping at the edges of me to be let in. I can feel the new growth of creativity.
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