Girl Decorating an Altar. Drinking cup from Athens, c. 460 BC. Altes Museum, Berlin, with apologies for the blurriness of my photograph. The drawing is still exquisite.
Saturday, March 14, 2020
In the dream I stood facing a window in an empty house, arranging some plates that were not mine in an unfamiliar room. I turned, and saw our late friend Jenny, sitting on a couch or bench, dressed in white, her hair long and wavy as it was many years ago. She smiled her inimitable smile, and we talked, but I can't remember our words or what they were about -- what I remember are her face, the whiteness and emptiness of the room, and its calmness.
After I woke up, I knew this dream had something to do with the virus and our fears of death, but that it also had to do with the endurance of friendship and love. Today I called several friends and wrote to others; my father and another friend called us; I made soup and cornbread for lunch and sent some across the city to a dear friend who's been sick with seasonal flu. I thought about our cathedral and its motto, "An Oasis in the Heart of Montreal," and what that could mean not just to our community but to the city at large, if we can manage to be creative and innovative in our outreach even while regular services are suspended. It was a sunny day, a bit warmer than usual, and my husband and I went out for a long walk. This evening, in the new, longer-lasting light, we ventured out onto our nearly-snowless terrace with our gin-and-tonics, and toasted each other and the coming spring before scooting back inside.
In all of these conversations, of course, we spoke about what we were doing to prepare or take precautions for the coming days. Quebec Premier Francois Legault today asked that all persons 70 years and older stay in their homes as much as possible -- this in addition to all the other closures and directives already in place. My husband and I aren't quite at that age, but many of our friends are. Two of our younger friends have already offered to shop for us or do errands if needed, and we were both surprised and appreciative; I felt sort of the way I do when someone gets up and offers their seat on the bus or metro, because I feel so much younger than I probably look. I usually decline, but I appreciate the gesture, which always comes from someone who's aware of what's going on around them, unlike some of the passengers whose faces are buried in their phones. I won't be riding on public transit for a long while, but what we need now is a lot of that sort of awareness -- people looking out for each other, and functioning as a community rather than individuals concerned only about themselves. In Canada the majority of people, including the young, are polite and pay attention to others, and I think this crisis may bring out the best in us as well as teaching some, who don't realize it yet, the virtue of being that way.
A typical and funny Montreal moment from our walk: a young girl, maybe ten or eleven years old, ran up behind us and asked a question in French. Neither of us had heard her clearly, so I asked, in French, what she had said. She tilted her head, touched her finger to her chin, and said, "Anglais?" I nodded helplessly -- once again found out, and this time by a child! -- and she asked, in perfect English, "Could you please tell me where the dog park is?" I'm so envious of this seemingly effortless bilingualism of the young, which is the norm all across this city.
--
Though I won't be with them for a while, our choir will sing Evensong tomorrow as a radio- and live-streamed broadcast from the cathedral. If you'd like to listen, it's at 4:00 pm Eastern Daylight Savings Time on Radio Ville-Marie, here. The meditative hour-long program, with readings and prayers in French and English, is as follows:
Prelude: Chorale Prelude on 'Eventide', C Hubert H Parry
Introit: Call to remembrance, Richard Farrant
Responses: Bernard Rose
Psalm: 40
Canticles: Blair in B minor
Anthem: Wie der Hirsch schreit, Felix Mendelssohn
Postlude: Prelude & Fugue in C minor BWV 546, Johann Sebastian Bach
Hi Beth. I'll be reading your Hermit Diary, as I always read your blog.
Here in London UK, things are in practical terms for most of us probably not much different from in Montreal right now, although the virus figures are higher and there are frightening storms of media disagreement and anger about government action/inaction, where it's almost impossible to separate political polarization from justified grave concerns. I'm trying to trust my own intellect and instincts, while acknowledging my lack of scientific and medical knowledge and doing my best to stay calm, humble and open-minded.
I'm oldish - 65 - and I'm mostly staying at home. I feel very lucky that my editing and translation work is at home so that doesn't change. Life is already very solitary, and mostly confined to my leafy London suburb, as I don't enjoy slow public transport to the city centre or the seething crowds when I get there. But because of that my few social and cultural outings are precious and the loss of them is significant.
Meanwhile, the weather here is mild and often sunny - warmer than I could ever have imagined in March when I was younger, and in between violent rain and wind which are also unaccustomed and alarming. Our very short winter days have quickly got much longer. Parks and gardens are full of spring flowers and the many magnolia trees are in full bloom. It all feels precious and tenuous.
Reading and writing poetry has been my big thing for the past few years. Sadly this seems to have somewhat left me, the writing anyway, amidst recent anxieties. Perhaps it will return - I believe it always does. Meanwhile, the main thing I'm stockpiling is books - the Cromwell trilogy, perhaps time to reread Proust.
The good side of the Internet is very evident just now, even the accursed Facebook, about which I share all your serious qualms: all the friends and all the art it keeps me in touch with. Must try not to be compulsive or too dependent! All too aware that laptop or connection problems could become impossible to fix.
Drawing and painting aren't part of my own creative practice and I always love seeing yours - it's personal and different from the online sharing by galleries, curators and publishers, which I also enjoy.
I'm close to you and J in age and share your mixed feelings about being on the cusp of old. Normally, these definitions are arbitrary and don't need to matter much, but now they loom.
Enough for now. I expect to be reading, with love, as long as you want to share here.
Posted by: Jean | March 15, 2020 at 07:16 AM
We too went for a walk last evening, stopping for less than ten minutes at a nearly-deserted local coffee shop, because we are not behaving quite like 70 year olds, though I'm well into that window and D. is in the "vulnerable" category. That is a determination everyone will make for herself. When we passed Vices & Versa (a much-loved pub) I expected to see empty tables... but it was packed.
I was heartened to see well-stocked shelves at my local PharmaPrix, even high stacks of the jewel in the crown of hoarders, toilet paper.
Posted by: Duchesse | March 15, 2020 at 09:01 AM