I woke up this morning wanting to read anything I could that did NOT make reference to COVID-19 or remind me that my fellow humans are engaging in shouting matches with store employees (who are psychologically and physically exhausted and still trying to serve) over bottled fucking water. WE CAN DO BETTER HUMANS. My reality at the moment – along with the 67 million others here in France – is that we are shutting down and being told to stay home (except if you want to go and vote today – voting or bust apparently – that’s another story) care of l’arrêté du 14 mars 2020. This rocks everyone’s world with a far-ranging scope of effects that I am (with all my gratitude) privileged enough to be financially/mentally/physically prepared for at this moment in time yet empathetic enough to understand the WHY behind it. France is the proverbial meat patty wedged between two hamburger buns: Italy and Spain. COVID-19 has it’s jaws pressed firmly into each bun, and as those viral dents clench tighter to bite down and chew, it’s our steak haché that’s going to get more than its share fair of the feels.
Lame food metaphors aside, France is going to feel this. The world at large is going to feel this. And the lack of care towards pro-actively making the effort to reduce the impact (along with the absurdity that results with mass hysteria/only listening to these related sound bites) surprises me but doesn’t, sadly. As one message I scrolled past on social media this morning stated, yes, I’d probably be fine if I fell ill. But it’s the others who’d catch the virus from me who might not be able to survive. If you don’t believe this, I challenge you to the following: reach out to someone elderly near you and propose a helping hand. Do it via telephone – don’t just show up at their house (because depending where you are, they might want to avoid all in-person interaction right now to keep themselves alive). See what kind of response you get. I woke up yesterday and thought about an older Irish woman whom I’d met a few weeks earlier in the woods while hiking. We’ve come across each other a few times since then and exchanged numbers at some point (it’s nice to have an English speaker sometimes for a lazy afternoon chat). So I thought about her, knowing that she was in the age group of those who are most at risk right now, and I sent her a text that started like this: I just wanted to send a message to say hello. With this virus going around, please let me know if there’s anything that Romain and I can do to help if you need something from the store but don’t want to get out.
About half an hour later, I received her response which began like this:
Hello Joani, I was very touched by your offer. For the moment, no problem though I have cancelled all activities since the case was reported in Auray. I have an auto immune problem plus fragile lungs, so I prefer to be careful.
Rien à dire de plus.
Onward. We lead these next few uncertain weeks with a full heart, full cups of coffee, and a full playlist. Today we were somewhere between Motown and Modest Mouse.
Nina woke up at 7:45 AM with her signature appel: Mamaaaan. Mamaaaaaaaaaaaaaan. When that happens, there’s a 98% chance that she’s going to kick Romain out of her room if he attempts to go see her in my place. As these stats don’t lie, that’s exactly what happened. After I got her to the potty and back, she was focused on playing solo in her room which meant I got to read (eye-opening piece on giraffes). In bed. In the morning. With our beautiful magnolia tree blooming and beaming at me through the bedroom window. BECAUSE IT WAS NOT RAINING. And Nina brought us (imaginary) coffee and breakfast treats (wooden necklace beads, plastic veggies, and viennoiseries made out of felt that my MIL crafted last year).
Cue Please Mr. Postman.
Breakfast was a melange of three separate dishes: spinach and eggs (Romain), pain au chocolat with a fruit bowl (Nina), and my usual yogurt + granola + one banana mix. Real coffee. Pajamas. No rush to be anywhere but here.
I Can’t Help Myself (Sugar Pie, Honey Bun).
Wrapped up the first half of the day with more time in the kitchen and flour in Nina’s hair. My secret mom ingredient is cream of tarter. With it, I have made play-dough for children in three different countries that out rolls/out lasts anything that you’ll buy at the store. Nina can now recite the recipe which I share here in hopes that caretakers can use it – and then take a breather while kids stay creative: 1 cup flour, 1/4 cup salt, 2 tsp cream of tarter. Mix in a pot on the stove. Turn on your heat, add 1 cup of warm water and a tiny drop of oil. Stir at a high heat until that mass thickens up (don’t stop stirring). Add in any food coloring and be done. Take out and knead a bit. Let it cool off before you hand it over to your little people. You’re welcome.
One Chance. And pretty much all of Good News for People Who Love Bad News (except Black Cadillacs – little ears over here).
Jumping off for more reading. As Brené Brown writes, what stands in the way becomes the way. So I’m keeping my way filled with what I can control, what brings me joy, and flexibility so that I don’t get stuck and lose sight of the light ahead when things do get tough (because they will – but we are resilient beings). This too shall pass my friends.
THE CACHETTE 