When I last counted, which was yesterday, we had 21 and one half toilet rolls; not because we are hoarders or selfish, but because when purchased as part of our normal shopping, they come in bumper packs. So what are we to make of a nation, obsessed with toilet-paper, when, in the context of COVID-19, it is not a must have item?
Well, yesterday, over a plate of beef-stroganoff, I explained to Jenny, that should stocks not last, I have a plan, though I did not say, nor was I encouraged to say, what it was. So I suppose you could say that the theme for today is - coping; but before we get to that, let me tell you that we have more than enough high quality kitchen-towel, (that on account of it's plastic content) you can't flush down the toilet; but there is enough of it, for Greta to make a sail for any boat that she might care to travel on. That said, on the subject of coping, let us begin at the beginning, with Amber.
The experts tell us that routine is vital to a dog's well being, and while Amber is enthusiastic about the new regime: getting up and out at the crack of dawn, there are clear signs that her internal clock is struggling to catch up, hardly a surprise, when for a long time now, she has had her day nicely parcelled out, knowing when it is in her own best interests, to be in Jenny's line of sight, rather than in mine. But at the moment, by ten o'clock or thereabouts, she is there at my feet, curled up, patient, watching, and waiting for something to happen, forgetting of course, that she has already had her walk. As for her capacity for planning for the future, here is how it worked under the old regime.
I'm sitting on the sette reading, or maybe having a snooze, when she come in, jumps up, does an about turn, and settles down with her rump pressed so tightly into me, that there is no credible way in which I could claim, not to have noticed that she was there. It's 2:30. By four o'clock, or thereabouts, she is up on her front legs looking out at the passing traffic, then back at me, and yet again, back out the window. Now on all fours, and not getting a response from me, she becomes agitated, does a little shuffle, gives a little plaintive cry, and asks with incredulity, "What the hell is going on?" At that, my powers of resistance crumble. "Are you ready for you walk?" I ask, slowly getting up, and sure enough, before I can get my self orientated, her back legs are disappearing over the arm of the settee; a ritual, that under this new regime, is no longer played out, for the walk has been rescheduled for eight o'clock, when it is dark, and sometimes wet, and cold, but when it is safe to assume that those who had gone out to work earlier in the day, are back home.
Now a few days ago I couldn't help laughing at Jenny on the phone, she was clearly getting frustrated, and I knew why. In rapid succession it was, "No! No!! No!!! but, as is always the sase, the automated telephone answering service, was hard of hearing. As for how she will cope with "lock down", only time will tell, for a rich social life has been brought to a halt. She is one in a group of friends who are never averse to going for a coffee, or better sill, out for a meal, or getting together for a DVD evening, or meeting to talk about books they have read, or what they have gleaned in their research for the History Miscellany group. And there are whole day, and half day outings, on top of which she plays Bridge, three times a week. Well, these good ladies are all IT literate, and messages are going back and forth, but as far as I know, they haven't yet set up a global network that will allow them to do what they most enjoy, - talking!
And then there are those things that thee pair of us enjoy doing together, and that sometimes also involve her friends: trips to the theatre, orchestral concerts, and virtuoso performance: a piano recital, that leaves you feeling privileged to have been there. But strange as it might seem, we have a shared interest that no one else in this very diverse group of friends are interested in: the performances given by Norwich Baroque. Roughly speaking, (for nothing in an historical sense is ever that precise), the music belongs to the period 1650-1740, and among the great exponents of the craft are: Bach, Handel, Telemann, Buxtehude, Boyce and Vivaldi. It is a particular sound, played on period instruments, and more often than not the music is vibrant, competitive, stylish and conversational. And the performances come with programmes beautifully illustrated, and rich in detail. I have two of them to hand, "Italy before Corelli,", and here's a snippet of what they had to say:
"We are starting 2018 with an exploration of Italy in the 1600s - a little further back in time than usual. You will have become familiar with the names of Vivaldi, Corelli, Geminiani, and the like appearing in our programmes, the big hitters of the Baroque period who had huge influence on their contemporaries and on those who followed. But what was happening in Italy BEFORE Corelli?"
And the other? "Baroque Banquets", an idea that speaks for itself, which I have marked with stars, as perhaps the best Baroque performance that we have been to.
And what about me, in all this upheaval. Well, you don't need to worry. Being a man, and solitary, (as compared to women), I only go out on my own, once a month, to talk to like-minded people about poetry, and that apart, I have enough personal projects here at home to be going on with, and that will take me well beyond this bout of coronavirus. So let me tell you very briefly about two of them, or should it be three?
Having printed out almost all of my blogs I have begun to set out the best of them to be published, sometime in the future, in book form, to say nothing of a mound of personal notes and research material, printed out, and still in the cloud, related to people and events that have helped to shape who I am, and for better or worse, almost certainly, you as well, material that I hope to craft into a book-length poem. But more immediately, I am working to prepare a blog, or series of blogs, on The Timelessness, or, Timeless Nature of Truth, and to that end, I am ensconced in the writings of two of the great mystics: Catherine of Siena, and in particular her, "Dialogue", (a conversation with God), as well as the writings of Saint Faustina: a Polish nun, and chosen soul, whose task it was, and is, to present to the world, (while there is still time), devotion to the Divine Mercy.
Whatever the topic, (sacred or secular), you can't beat a good intellectual challenge, but what it all comes down to in the end, as God told Faustina, and through her, us, is that grace comes to us through our neighbour; there is no other route, not even by way of prayer, fasting, or flagellation. If we don't have a love for our neighbour that mirrors His love for us, a love that is sincere: self-giving and relevant, when the time comes, nothing else, of itself, will count.
THE END
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© Cormac E. McCloskey
Catherine of Siena 1347-1380
Dialogue of St. Catherine of Siena
Aziloth Books 2012
Saint Maria Faustina Kowalska 1905-1938
DIARY: Divine Mercy in My Soul
Marian Press 2019
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