Pale prisoners of a virus

 

                                                                       Spring 2021

Has there ever been 

a spring so welcome?

A blue sky - a cold underbelly.

Lockdown easing-uneasy.

Masked by vaccines

‘Have you had yours?’

Edging out now

distanced and yet together

our plans more tentative.

Losses again awakened

grief steals the anticipation,

a sharp stab of memories

of words unsaid.

‘Bring it back next time’

a casual assumption

of friendships surviving,

of us surviving.

But we are here,

Pale prisoners of a virus,

the unseen assassin

the stealer of life and living.

But I need to be out

to see the hills

to paddle in streams,

to breathe freedom in the air.

I want to clasp my family close

and together sit around the table

to celebrate life and make

plans for living again.

A visit to the hebrides,

to a gallery, an exhibition

of colour filled stories,

to see a play or a film

and talk about it afterwards.

To feel normal,

there it is, that word,

normal, an aspiration 

so measly.

But headlines speak

of reckless leadership

and countries overflowing 

with death.

My heart aches as

I struggle into spring,

my face held up to the sun.

I’ve been struggling to write, to be honest

 I’ve tried to write a few blogs these last few weeks but a few things have stopped me. Mainly I guess we’ve had family illness and trauma so that’s personal to others and it’s not appropriate to write what’s essentially their stories. And worry is so disabling. I know, I do best when I stay in the moment, and I’ve tried but I’ve not done well really. And although I try not to communicate my worry I’m sure this leaks out in a thousand ways to become a burden for others. It’s a bit self indulgent. I feel so helpless and that troubles me.

 My self image was of someone who could do things to help; it’s so ingrained; to make soup, do shopping,  washing, ironing (?). But instead I watch as others help the people I love and I’m part of the complexity not especially helpful at that time. It grieves me deeply and I also know it’s not about me so I stay quiet and bring what I can which is my listening ears and a bucket of love. Sometimes advice is welcomed and I know what might help. I’m guilty however of offering advice clumsily, when it’s not wanted. I try to blame my eagerness to help but again that’s making it about me. And breathe. You see why it’s hard to write about?

I’ve wanted too, to write a blog called ‘Sometimes it’s hard to be a woman’. I’ve started it and thought, but so many folk have written about this better than I have, but it’s a theme I couldn’t step over. Overtly or covertly it’s been a huge theme in the news.

I’ve so many special women in my life, my sister and sister-in-law, my nieces and niece-in-law, my friends, my step daughter and granddaughters  and of course my daughter-in-law and my daughter. I feel so angry at how women’s trauma has suddenly become for women to fix too. A world of misogyny and violence against women became quite overwhelming for a time recently. The death of a young woman in London sparked a telling of stories, like no other. Of all the times women and girls had experience threatening or violent behaviour so much that they had shaped their lives differently as a consequence. I’ve recognised more signs like gaslighting in recent years and  called it out. This has felt so huge a step and yet so small in the whole context. But I do believe  we change the world one person at a time. And I see and know many women who do call things out, who challenge , and bring up daughters who are confident. But I also see how my generation ( and some of the subsequent)  has adapted and fitted in to make life calmer, to stay for the children, who stay because they like the job, who accept it’s just how it is. And that has to be ok too, a life constantly fighting is not a happy one.

Men have to accept responsibility for change. My sense is that violence against women has become more exposed but that doesn’t mean it has stopped, maybe that exposure has normalised a previously hidden sore? So now we’ve exposed it, almost like another pandemic in its reach and impact, but where is the vaccine we have pursued with equal vigour and investment? Until we invest to change it will stay and I fear it will become a deeper wound, much more difficult to heal. 

I’ve been fortunate to have had very special men to share my life with, my sense is that they are the people who will lead that change, alongside us, showing how relationships can be. Not perfect but respectful, kind and loving. 

It’s all so huge which is why I’ve hesitated to write about it. But if not now when, if not us, who? 

Shielding

https://twitter.com/alliancescot/status/1365356539834433536?s=21

This is a video the ALLIANCE made of me reading this poem for a workshop. It brings this work to life, I hope you enjoy it. 

Shielding.           

Its beautiful today,

blue skies and sun dazzling snow.

Children sledging and

shaping snow into fun creations.

Their calls and screams a joyful burst

in a long lockdwon winter. 

They don’t notice me.

That’s me there, across the road

behind the window.

My social calendar is empty, bar the NHS.

 My “walks” with friends were highlights 

Until the bitter east winds came.

“Stay in” calls resound. 

And snow is not the place for the vulnerable.

I’ve done my share of sledging,

skating on thin ice ( ahem)

and building lifeless snowmen. 

Instead I huddle in doorways.

The offical photographer

for photos I never appear in.

Shielding they call it. 

I’m at risk of the virus

that haunts us each night

on the news I try to avoid

but cant.

I’ve been in ICU before 

it terrified me with

drug induced nightmares,

ventilators that silence the voice

and drain the soul.

It’s  utter dependence

and fear.

So I’m shielding you see.

That’s me over there

behind the window,

awaiting vaccines

and the post-pandemic spring,

whenever it comes.

Audrey Birt February 2021

February

 At the turn of the year I pledged to myself to write a poem each month. A calendar poem to track the year. My process is I need to wait for something that I’m drawn to write about. Today it is a fall of snow. It’s not enough for a snow man, it just offers a fresh view.

February is our birthday month. I was 65 last week. (And still no pension #just sayin) My family and friends were so generous and loving, that helped February have a warm glow. We have our vaccines dates this month too.

 And I’m now a qualified coach supervisor, after completing a really stimulation course. I’m also part of a Coach supervision collective and I’m grateful to be part of such a creative approach to supporting quality coaching in service of their clients. Have a look and do share if you would like to. 

And here is February’s poem, I hope you enjoy it. 

February 

Who knows which day it is?

This lockdown drags its feet

and drags us along behind

powerless to change the pace.

One day at a time makes it

more bearable.

One step at a time 

risks pain and loss

and yet the only way

to move.

Today the snow fell

and created a new world.

This world is beautiful and  

unspoiled by the darkness 

of a lockdown winter.

We forget for a moment

about variant viruses and

instead wait for the first footprints to appear

amidst the snowdrops.

A poem for hope this January. With a nod tae the Bard.

I wrote this at the turn of the year and much to my surprise it came out in Scots, Fife and English. There’s a bit of all of them in me. I thought I would share it on Burns birthday as it’s inspired by him and a love of his poetry since childhood. I hope you enjoy it and if you do, please share it. I plan to recite it tonight at our zoom Burns night. Wish me luck! 

Hope fur 2021

 

The auld year ends.

Nae wi a bang

but whimperin

we lick oor wounds.

 

Oor empty erms

Long tae haud

Ache to coorie

In thegither

 

Kin a vaccine

Fill thon gap?

o lost connection

o sare herts and heids.

 

Aye longin

fur spring 

fur hope

Fur awthin growin new.

 

But fur noo

It’s a step

Ain at a time

Restin, gratefu, peacfu.

 

Fur whit’s Hope?

It’s oors tae haud.

We ken guid times 

Are aroond the corner.

 

So here’s a haun

Ma trustit fiere.

We cannae touch

Bit love is in thon smile.

 

Be telt, 2021!

Whitever ye chuck

Oor way

We’re no dun yet.

 

Audrey Birt

Jan 2021

 

The Grannie I wanted to be and other stories

 I put the Charley Mackay quote on my email sign off this week. Several people commented how welcome it was. I know it started with Blue Monday and how we all speak about mental health most days at the moment, but it does seem especially blue of late. I realise that inspite of a commitment to honesty in my blog, I prefer not to share the flat times, the days that have blurred edges into each other. Anyway, what would I say? We’ve been in lockdown since New Year and there is very little light and shade to the days. 

The bright days are when our daughter visits ( we’re in a bubble together.....Thank God! ) Also we are now able to look after our toddler Grandson, Davie. Between us we are able to have great fun with him. His weekly visits have also lifted us from the banality of lockdown and the grey mid-winter. He’s helped us share laughter, hugs, music and then the little tales we tell each other of what he said and did, that keep the week alive till he arrives again. He and his Aunty are keeping us engaged in life. His Mum and Dad aren’t allowed in the house or near us at all. We miss them as so many of you miss your families too.

His Dad drops him off on the doorstep, rings the doorbell and steps back several metres. He’s like an Uber eats parcel ready to make our day! Cara the dog cries with excitement to see them both, then she scampers as soon as he looks a bit unpredictable. So that doesn’t take long. Koshka the cat is less predictable. His name is Russian for cat and Davie is able to pronounce it, impressive for a two year old! And if you speak to Koshka he assumes that ultimately this leads to food, so a beautiful friendship is emerging. 

I’m constantly trying my best to be able to interact as much as I can. I’ve always been disabled to him. But the Grannie I wanted to be wasn’t disabled. She would have been able to join him on the floor with his toys. She would have pushed the pram around the neighbourhood and chatted to neighbours about how well he was doing. She would have climbed hills with him and told the stories of previous walks in Scotland. She would have bobbed around the kitchen, making soup, cakes, scones and chatting as he had lunch. She would have taken him for weekends to give his parents a break. But others, including his wonderful Grandad, will do that with him. I’m the entertainment with the wheelchair, scooter and my walker. All are source of great entertainment to Davie.

So this month it’s the small things that I’m writing of. But as we know from the experience, the life lesson that is lockdown, the small things are the big things.They are family, they are those we love, they are having a job/pension  that provides a warm home and food on the table, a dogs head on your lap, a cat purring  at your side. And at this time it’s also about a National Health Service and a dedicated care service too.

This blog is dedicated to those who serve us in these terrible times of premature death and illness and to a staff team who have worked so incredibly hard and still do and have seen more death than any of them ever wanted to. They are in my heart and honestly in my dreams too-or are they nightmares-with me trying to help, then realising I’m unable to walk other than a few steps in pain. It’s a jumble of being upset I can’t help and being scared stiff if I could help. Perhaps they know all that complex mixture? 

Stay safe and stay at home please, we owe that to those overwhelmed teams and to ourselves and those who love us. 

A Christmas ‘tail’...

Robbie 

The Christmas tree and other decorations are up now. I’m like a kid, I love stirring but the tree with its lights on all day! I’m ambivalent about Christmas, especially this year, but I love the connection it brings normally. The house full of sparkle and anticipation ( with a serious sprinkle of anxiety).  Back in the days of having young children, my sister and I alternated venues each year. The year at her house was always wonderful and the year at mine a lesser joy for me ( 9-10 people not just for dinner but for at least three days is a project in itself)  but nonetheless lots of rich family time. OK time has formed a rosy hue around it. I’ve forgotten the moaning, the tense times, the money worries, the wondering, have I got enough, have done enough?

But the really special years have formed the rosy hue. The cousins all togther working with the Lego and engrossed in their task. The board games full of stories of my Mum generally saying something outrageous! 

One year we did something something I’m a bit ashamed of. We got a puppy at Christmas. ( don’t try this at home...)  We were looking for a golden retriever pup and this family had a litter and they were ready them. I swear to you it was the Christmas scene from many a Christmas film . It was Christmas Eve . Our plan was to go to church that evening for the Watchnight service. And after that collect the puppy.

By 8 pm we realised that plan was in danger, the snow was falling and we were getting dangerously at risk of being snowed in. We lived at the top of the hill. Above the snow line and it had been known for the children to be wrapped up in snow gear for school and once we went down the hill there was nothing. Oh MUM we told you, the cry. So was this the scenario here? We phoned the family we were getting the dog from. Yes it was real, the snow was piling up there too.

OK, the children knew nothing of the dog and having got this far we wanted him to be a surprise. Time for bed we cried....what? Not yet. I want to ....Nope, tomorrow is Christmas and you want to enjoy it , don’t you? Off to bed ...spit spot! ( Mary Poppins was a Christmas must). They gave in and off they went with favourite books to read and old slippers set aside awaiting their replacements. 

My Mum was also in the dark, only my sister and brother-in-law knew about the pup. And Fruin the cat didn’t know his life was about to change. We set off, the baby sitters were rather baffled that we were heading into town at this time of night.  We arrived and there he was. A ball of fluff so young we felt scared to take him out in this cold but honestly with the snow still falling we had no choice, by tomorrow we would be unable to get out. So we cuddled him in, tucked under my coat, a million instructions and the promise to let them know how he was.

We moved up the hill with excitement entangled with anxiety as the car went into the odd slow skid.But fortune favoured us and we got home. The lights were out upstairs and my sister and brother-in-law came to meet us at the door.They smiled as Robby ( as we came to know him) emerged from the blankets. We opened the door and presented him to Mum, she cried when she cuddled him on her lap. This was only the second Christmas since my Dad had died in the November just over a year ago. In truth we all were dreading it as our grief was still raw at times like this. So that Christmas it became , ‘where’s the pup’ rather than trying not to serve up a plate for my Dad as I had done the previous year. He stole all our hearts that year.but frankly it’s not a good idea to get a dog or puppy then. The kids wrestled their presents from him, he wee’d on lots of gifts left lying about, he hung from the tail of my sister’s dog. She was a beautiful Belgian shepherd cross rescue dog with a tail that was made for hanging from. But he lifted all our hearts. The snow lasted on the ground for two weeks. But eventually spring arrived and we managed to move to a more normal routine. He was so easy to train, a lovely warm slightly daft, loving dog. 

And he was definitely for life , not just Christmas. We had him for a precious 13 years. Thanks for those memories Robbie.