Ode to Covid

Keats was always a favourite of mine, casting his spell with the beauty of language that has stood the test of time, so before my own little ode begins, I will offer up his thoughts which probably sum up my own sacrilege of the art form...

                 A poet is the most unpoetical of any thing in existence....

               John Keats  -  From a Letter to Richard Woodhouse 1818

Ode to Covid

While here in isolation
you’d expect my segregation
might cause some degree of angst
and possible frustration,
but to face this situation
I’m confident those four doses
of anti-virus immunisation
should see me through
without the prospect
of hospitalisation.

Two and a half years
free of this thing
that swelled to globalisation
an event of dire proportions
causing the planet a shudder and shake
of destabilisation
immobilisation
and reorganisation
of how we do the simplest things.

Despite the fastidious regimen
of mask and continual sanitisation
I finally succumbed
and have had to face
the realisation
I’m here for the duration
until my symptoms
cease their fluctuation
and come to a cessation
sometime very soon.

It started with the slightest tickle
the first sign of my incubation
so home I went, germs intact
lest I be subject to accusation
of sharing what no-one wants,
and when the test said positive
I fulfilled my obligation
admitted my status
submitted the form
in order to avoid investigation
and possible interrogation
from someone, somewhere
but somehow I doubt
the holders of all those statistics
have the wherewithal to care.

It’s not too much to assume
I’ve been spending all this extra time
in quiet contemplation
or philosophical deliberation
to arrive at a place
of inner revelation
where my mind
has been opened just a bit more
and perchance
might cause a huge sensation
with its brand new brain optimisation.

But sorry to disappoint
for I’ve spent most of my time
outside of civilisation
in welcome enforced relaxation,
book and TV preoccupation
and occasional
friendly conversation.
While brain fog sends me off to sleep
I try to return to something
faintly resembling normalisation.

With my marginalisation
coming to an end
the anticipation
of my emancipation
beckons with a sense
of renewed elation,
but before I can resume
my usual occupation
be permitted circulation
into an unsuspecting population
I must guarantee my dispensation
by doing a thorough evaluation
of my symptoms up to date
so I can return with a clean slate
to a state of open
familiarisation.

The time has come
the moment is now
my mandatory hibernation
decrees it’s time for
more than a little motivation
to do some radical
domestic organisation
and possibly
a whole house fumigation.

Helping Hands

Over the past few weeks we’ve been inundated with images on our television screens of such loss and heartache due to natural disasters and man-made mayhem that are difficult to comprehend. 

For those of us fortunate enough to not live anywhere near a water source, a decision I came to many years ago after living in Queensland, we can only look on in horror at the devastation caused in these latest unprecedented floods in Queensland and New South Wales. The 2011 floods were supposed to be a one in one hundred year event, but here we are eleven years later and in an even worse situation than before. And that’s not counting the floods in between, smaller in size but equally as devastating to those in the thick of them. 

The cycle of drought, fires and floods and the occasional cyclone has always been part and parcel of Australian existence, but their severity and increasing regularity must surely galvanise us into much more action than simply dealing with the emergencies as they occur. Mobilising and coordinating emergency response teams, military aid, and volunteers by the thousand is all well and good, and we have an admirable record in that regard, but at some point before it’s too late, someone has to do the hard work of planning how we move forward in terms of property development and environmental management if people and infrastructure are to survive the ravages of climate change. 

And for those of us who live far from the conflict zone in Ukraine, we throw our arms up both in despair and prayer as a whole nation is routed and bombarded before our eyes. There may be many who do not particularly see eye to eye with our own Prime Minister, but at least he doesn’t rule with an iron fist in an atmosphere of terror and recrimination, where any semblance of opposition could well be your death sentence. We are truly fortunate to live in a country not bordered by another whose leader appears to have completely gone off the rails, even by his usual somewhat dubious standards. Where are his advisors? Does he have any, or does he simply surround himself with only those who will do his bidding? 

As he sits at the end of those interminably long tables, distanced as far as possible from those he is supposedly engaging with, what is he thinking? Is he thinking at all, or is he just making it up as he goes along? There is obviously a strategy in there somewhere, but at the very outset, before even the first truckload of troops and weaponry were dispatched towards the Ukraine border, did anyone in the room ask “Why?” Did anyone dare to question such a directive and remind their leader that the rest of the world probably wasn’t going to simply stand by and look on with disinterest at such an aggressive move. I’d like to think someone raised their hand and offered an alternative solution, but somehow I doubt it.

It’s not often we find ourselves in critical situations beyond our control, and certainly not on the scale of what is occurring right now. To those on the front line who regularly put their own lives at risk to help others, all power to you. Mother Teresa said…

“Never worry about numbers. Help one person at a time and always start with the person nearest you.”

And that is what we’ve seen, both with this latest flood emergency, and with the growing number of Ukrainian refugees desperate to escape this unprovoked merciless onslaught. The magnitude of the crisis can paralyse us, and almost make us immune to the scale of human suffering we are witnessing. When we’re far from the problem one simple thing we can do is financially support those agencies on the ground that are doing the hard yards of rescuing, feeding, sheltering, relocating, protecting, giving medical assistance, cleaning up the aftermath.

Whether it be flood victims or refugees in a war zone, the response has been nothing short of amazing. Neighbours helping neighbours when the speed and intensity of the flood meant emergency response services were totally unprepared and overwhelmed, taking matters into their own hands in order that they hopefully all survive and live to tell the tale. Then there are the individuals who have come from right across Europe, volunteering time and resources as Ukrainians flee their homeland and cross into neighbouring countries, even going so far as to invite people back to live in their own homes in countries far from the conflict. 

The physical scars in such disasters heal over time, but the mental ones take far longer. How do you address the enormity of the task ahead to help the healing process? The mind boggles at what has to happen in order for people to feel like they have their lives back, that what has been taken from them can somehow be restored. 

In a world which battles with so much discord, it’s not hard to understand why people would want to crawl into a cave and live a hermit’s life, but I maintain my faith in God and our little planet and its people and their capacity to come together. There is still plenty of goodwill out there, we see evidence of it every single day. Being conscious of and caring for that one person who might be in need of a helping hand is always a good place to start. It doesn’t have to be a grand gesture, though one of those would certainly be very welcome at present in Ukraine. 

Twenty Two, Two, Twenty Twenty Two

I have to admit to liking interesting dates when they come around. Not that anything significant will necessarily happen, but dates like 22.2.22 not only look pleasing to me, they roll rather nicely off the tongue. For that matter, I should have also been paying attention two days ago when we had 20.2.2022. What is it that fascinates me with such trivial details? I spend a lot of my time working with numbers as I shuffle paper and invoices and whatnot around my desk, and there was a time I excelled in Maths, but that was a lifetime ago before a rather unlikeable Year 11 teacher extinguished that particular interest.

I ran into a friend this morning whose mother was born on 22.2.1922, so if she were alive she would be turning 100 today. When I see pictures in the paper of family celebrations where the family’s most senior member has clocked up that magic century, I wonder about the amazing changes such people have seen in their lifetime, and to what they attribute their longevity.

They have seen and endured wars and the loss and trauma such conflicts bring, the Great Depression, fallen victim to illnesses that once killed which we now take for granted are managed by immunization. They’ve seen world leaders, presidents and prime ministers come and go through the revolving door of politics, and a world ever changed through the marvels of invention, engineering and technology.

But at one level our centenarians simply get on with life while all that plays out in the background. The importance of living simply, caring for yourself and those around you, building solid relationships, being resilient, optimistic, learning new things, living in the moment, these and more are what keeps their minds active and their hearts engaged.

             You must keep active, or you will just wither away.

                      Always be involved in some activity.    

                                    – Miriam Henson, 105

Author Joanna Nell is also a GP with a particular interest in women’s health and care for the elderly, which has placed her in a good position for creating fictional characters who might be old in terms of years, but still wanting to make their mark, not wanting to be relegated to ‘past their use-by date.’ For one of Nell’s characters, Hattie observed that…

            The passage of time was marked in weak tea and uninspiring biscuits.

                       - The Great Escape from Woodlands Nursing Home

None of us want to spend our final years feeling useless, simply marking time until we check out. Whether or not we reach a ripe old age we all want to feel useful, that our portion of time on Earth is not being wasted, that in whatever small way, we are making a difference. My mum made it to ninety, and my dad to ninety-three, so I have some longevity genes coursing through my veins somewhere. If I’m to follow the same pattern I still have a way to go before calling it quits, so will I make the most of the rest of the time allotted to me? 

                  It is very important to have a widespread curiosity about life.

                                       - Irving Khan, 106

I’ve surpassed my three score and ten, so everything from here on in is a bonus. There are more years behind me than before me, and there are times when I wonder what on earth I’ve been doing with my life. When I was 64 I penned notice of my retirement intentions to leave office work at 65 so a replacement could be found. Nothing seemed to be forthcoming so I’ve continued, albeit with less responsibility, for I’ve found unless I’m actively engaged in something productive I feel at a bit of a loss. The time I’ve gained by pulling back in one area, I’ve picked up in another. 

The days may feel long at times, but the years pass quicker than you can imagine. Birthdays and Christmases can all become a blur if you’re not paying attention. There are no hard and fast rules about retirement or how to handle the ageing process. We will all come at it from our own perspective, out of a life marked with its own share of joys and challenges, achievements and setbacks. Making the most of the sum of the parts that have made up our life, creating memories and keeping them alive, while at the same time not losing that desire to learn and do new things, that’s how I want to keep going until I get to the end of the road.

It doesn’t have quite the same ring about it, but I wonder what I’ll be doing on 28.8.2028? 

Another Year Begins

The New Year has come and gone already. Well, at least the celebrations of New Year’s Eve in whatever form they took depending on what part of the planet you’re on. And then there’s the stepping out into the prospects of what we hope might be a better year than the previous two, but which we suspect might be simply more of the same. At a time when many feel hopeful, but many more feel anxious, frustrated, fearful, lonely, or dismissive, good old Albert Einstein can always be relied upon to bring a little nugget of insight.

                          Learn from yesterday
                                Live for today
                                      Hope for tomorrow

Simple, yet true. Most of us wish the powers that be would take more heed of the first line, and not just rely on the others as they deliver their daily spin on things. I bought my 2022 diary a couple of months ago, waiting with anticipation until I could tote around my own miniature Banksy. This Covid world may restrict our movements, but there are no restrictions on filling each day with doing something unexpected, pursuing dreams, showing kindness, being grateful, acknowledging the power and beauty of nature, and making the most of whatever opportunities come our way. There had to be a poem in there somewhere, so after several unhappy drafts, this still rather unsatisfying attempt is the best I can do at this point.

Another year begins
and I’m resolved
to not make any
New Year resolutions
for all our futures are unsure
as we restrict what we can do
but I would like to think
as it unfolds
I could look back and see
in some small measure
better substitutions

For my Banksy diary 
encourages me 
to dare that I can fill it 
with more than just appointments
a record of time spent working
to a tried and true routine
but rather intersperse 
this testament of life’s
little disappointments
with moments of spontaneity
splashes of colour
and unrecorded 
flights of fancy

Instead I think I will resolve

to take each day
as it will come
greet the sun
be thankful to have seen
the dawn of yet another one
head out the door
with open eyes and open heart
attune each sense
and be aware
that each new day is a new start.