Waiting for the Tsunami

I open the door this morning, there are two big boxes on the doorstep full to the brim with delicious looking fresh fruit and veg. The girls are screaming with excitement and immediately sit up to the kitchen table without being asked nor prompted. Are they really that starving I think? I chuck them both an apple and they dig in to them, clearly in sweet apple heaven. I look in the fridge. It is barren, the boxes came at the right time. We are exceptionally lucky that our local small business’s have really upped their game with local supply and delivery during this. And we want to keep the local ones going so we happily part with our cash for this exceptional service. It’s not like we are spending on wild nights out at the moment. Although my Wine Bank is taking a hit.

Later, I pull my leggings on, they feel decidedly tight around my cankles but I go for the classic ‘wiggle and pull’ jump manoeuvre and on they go. Why are they so tight? I twist my body and look at the label. These are not my leggings. I have not fit into this size since I used to skip my college lessons and go and sit by the river with a half of Sam Smiths that cost 90p. They feel like my post-section compression socks but all over. I am not taking these off I tell myself, this is who I am now.

[I recall how after I had my second daughter I was stood in the bathroom having just got out of the shower. I am trying to dry myself and for the life of me can not get the towel around my body, it will not touch in the middle. “Look at me!” I wail to my husband, who knows already that this is a dangerous territory conversation, “Nothing fits me anymore!” He steps towards me and puts his hands on my cheeks to squish them together, the way you would do with a dribbly, grumpy toddler. “Sweetheart. You’re trying to dry yourself with a hand towel.”]

I think of all the time at home, the staying in that makes you so badly want to go outside and spend your tokens, move your body, breathe fresh air. The time with the kids, running and playing and stretching and gardening and yoga. The frugle-ness, making food go round, making it last. Saving things for later. Not being able to go to the shop to just to buy a bag of popcorn and a bar of chocolate.  The appreciation of tasting some chocolate and having enough wine in that you can have a generous glass every night and go to bed feeling fluffy without a 5:40am alarm. I realise we are settling in to a new way of life. I feel guilty, because I actually feel better than I have done in a long time. And that is because others are suffering. I suddenly feel very ashamed. If you have found a way to tackle this guilt, please let me know.

We are told that there is more to come. That we are waiting for the Tsunami. We wait for it, comfortable and safe in our homes. Exceptionally lucky and exceptionally grateful. Amidst the horror that unfolds and evolves, I notice that there are things that are changing. A shift of seismic proportions if you like:

• Previously undervalued workers are now being seen by more people in the way they always should have been. Heroes; putting themselves at risk, and often for low wages, day in and day out, to help others

• Families are spending more time at home, together (for some families this will be very positive, however I acknowledge that for other families and children this may be dangerous or difficult)

• More employers than ever before are supporting their workers to work flexibly and from home, making financial savings, promoting a better work/life balance and improved mental and physical health

• National and international travel has dramatically reduced, giving our planet a much-needed break

• Farmers and small business’s/suppliers are more needed and valued than ever (however it has also been very difficult to see small business’s/people around us close and suffer due to this, so I do not underestimate the magnitude of the flip side)

I wonder how all this will change our world, our society. I wonder how many of the good and bad genies that have been set free will be forced back in to the lamp.

I have run out of a certain brand of tea. I’ll give you a clue, it’s not from Lancashire. When all this started to go down the pan, a few weeks ago, I did my only ‘panic buy’. I am again feeling ashamed, dear reader, to tell you that I ordered 480 of these magical teabags from a well known big business on free next day delivery. Except, it seems that everyone else had the same idea and they just never arrived. I message the seller on the website and a lady advises me that she is terribly sorry but they are awaiting a further delivery from her supplier. As much as I love this tea, I know that this is not a problem. There are much bigger fish. This is extremely insignificant. So I message the lady back:

“ Hi Julia!

Thanks so much for getting back to me - yes we are very happy to wait for it. In the grand scheme of things it’s only tea and we know we are very fortunate!  So no stress, just whenever you can get it to us.

Regards, A very thirsty Yorkshire woman ;o) “

She messages me back:

“Dear Mrs R, AKA the thirsty Yorkshire Woman

Thank you so much for your lovely email, it was breath of fresh air and very much appreciated. We will keep the order for you.

Stay safe in all that is going on. With kind regards, Julia.”

I wonder how many people have been kind to Julia today. I wonder how many people have asked her how she is. I wonder whether she is having to go in to work with others and is worried she might catch something, or care for an elderly relative, or whether any of her family are caring for patients. I wonder how hard she is working to get supplies out to people. I wonder whether she’s missing someone.

I try to zone back in on my immediate surroundings. “What is this racket? It’s going right through my head.” I say to myself in the kitchen. I look at the radio and see clearly that he has changed it to the other station while I was not looking. I quickly change it back and immediately feel better. I try to bob around to an old Elton John song and look around to see him standing there with one eyebrow raised. “What?!” I say “It was a racket.”

[I realise that this is the second time today I sound exactly my Dad.]

I get a knowing smile and my husband says “You know what? You’re getting old.” I immediately want to give him a massive wedgie and run away but instead I just give him my best “I’m fine” face and accidentally let out a shrill laugh. “I’m fine!” I repeat, out loud this time. I recall the unnerving pitch of my laughter. I remember that my older brother calls it my psycho laugh.