Beyond the blue tarp

You can gaze out the window get mad and get madder,

Throw your hands in the air, say “What does it matter?”;

But it don’t do no good to get angry,

So help me I know

For a heart stained in anger grows weak and grows bitter.

You become your own prisoner as you watch yourself sit there

Wrapped up in a trap of your very own

Chain of sorrow.

John Prine. Bruised Orange (Chain of Sorrow)

A giant rainbow in someone’s window: It’s going to be ok. 

My first run post-quarantine. Ecstasy can’t be much better than this. It’s like I’m floating on a cloud. My aching knee suddenly forgotten. Run Gisi Run! Canada slowly waking up from hibernation. Hibernacion – how the Spanish call their economic hibernation. Corona Trivia Part 2.

The intense colours of the rainbow shyly peeking through dead leaves and the grey grass of winter. The brilliant red of a cardinal cheekily following me. The bright yellow of daffodils blooming in front yards. New green sprouts. The bolt cobalt blue of tiny scilla flowers spreading everywhere. The purple of my fingers in the cold. Corona rainbow all around me! Life beyond the big blue tarp.

The big blue tarp. For two weeks I have been staring at it. Two weeks. Fourteen days. 240 hours. 200,000 minutes. But who’s counting. The shiny sheer of the plastic material, held up by black duck tape stuck to the ceiling. Single pieces of adhesive having come undone, allowing the giant plastic curtain to slowly fall. Leftover tape and small pieces of broken plaster drawing an imaginary line. My blue canvas of life in quarantine.

How to write about my time behind the blue tarp without being a) boring (cause everyone has their own blue tarp these days) or b) depressing or c) both? The five stages of grief. The five stages of quarantine: Denial (thinking that this is just momentarily, and that I’ll be continuing my Australian adventures very soon). Anger (angry about being locked up, missing the ocean and the sun, angry at that very ocean and the sun for continuing to be so beautiful). Bargaining (should have, could have, all the what-ifs). Sadness (when Good Friday becomes Bad Friday). Acceptance (Hey, I’m kind of liking this life behind the big blue tarp…Maybe I’ll just stay here forever!) Stages of quarantine. Chain of sorrow. Anger. Frustration. Accepting what we cannot change.

Grief. A natural, difficult part of your life that cannot easily be explained in stages. Grieving the losses of the Corona Virus. The big losses. The obvious ones and the less obvious ones. There is no hierarchy in pain. Pain is pain, I read the other day. Why go on about my time in Australia coming to an abrupt end, when I can be with my family again? Separated by a huge piece of plastic, but still. Pain and gain. Pain is pain. 

Being behind the blue tarp made me anxious. Which isn’t so bad, because it also made me be more active. Started a new job, signed up for an online creative writing class, actually did my knee exercises. Anxiety turned into productivity. It’s the grief that gets you. Having to sit with your pain, your big and small losses. 

A busy day in quarantine:

Morning: Teaching 21 first graders online. 21 little faces on my screen. Children I have never met before. Parents in the background, that I have never met before. From a school I have never been at. Twenty minutes of online instructions every morning. It’s a bit like keeping 21 puppies in a basket. One falls off the chair, one can’t hear you (but makes herself heard very loud and clear), lots of little heads you can only see a part of. Please turn your microphone off! Microphone on! No messaging about Minecraft during your lessons please! Show me how you feel with a thumbs up. Or down… Toothless grins. Muted screens. I love seeing their smiling faces every morning. Bonjour Mme Koehl! Bonjour mes amis!

Lunch: Scrambled eggs and potatoe salad. Every day. Prepared by one of my sons behind the blue tarp, pushed through the little gap between plastic and wall. There is comfort in routine.

Afternoon: Teaching yet again – this time my class in Sydney. Different time zone. Different continent. Different Language. Grief Stage 1: Denial/Confusion. I’m often not sure where I am. When I am. Who I am. Last stretch before Easter break. Students I have known for almost a year. I miss their little faces. 

Evenings: Watching every show on Netflix. 

Nights: Telling my body (and mind) it’s time to sleep. 

Morning: Wake up. Get up. Repeat.  

Both/And Thinking. Feeling the loss in the present AND feeling safe exactly where we are. To be honest, I didn’t mind my time in quarantine – well, at least most of the time. Good books, chatting with students in virtual classrooms, talking with a friend, celebrating birthdays through the blue tarp, music, movies, moments..

In the end, quarantine ended as unexpectedly and surprisingly as so many things before. An email from the Government of Canada, declaring me free to go. And off I went. Tearing down that ugly blue tarp, ripping down pieces of tape, accidentally breaking parts of the ceiling in the process. Social distancing is still a thing, and hugging a teenager has never been more awkward, but it is good to see things, hear things, feel things. High on deprivation. My second first day home! Welcome home Canada!

I love that people smile when you greet them on your run from a safe two-metre distance.

I love that there are still people out there that refuse to be hardened by this.

I love that people are reaching out to me.

I love that I am forced to use technology in ways I never thought I would.

They call me the connector. Bringing people together is what I like to do. I love that we are staying connected to keep some semblance of what’s important in life, which to me is connectivity.

The people to truly treasure in life are those who have seen you at your worst – and still think you are the best. The people who are happy for your happiness – and sad for your sadness – and make crystal clear that they are there for you – no matter what.

Karen Salmansohn