Thursday, January 14, 2021

Pollyanna


serene on the surface, paddling like hell underneath



 Well, it's been quite the year.  

This time last year I had a friend visiting and was taking a natural dyeing workshop.  The news about Covid was beginning to arrive, with the virus itself soon to appear.  Warnings were beginning to sound as various countries fell ill with it and medical folk scrambled to contain it and treat the people who caught it.  

The curse 'may you live in interesting times' was something I had heard about a long time ago but until 2020, I'd never truly understood just how 'interesting' those interesting times could get.

We were inundated with supposition, speculation and...outright lies...as the pandemic developed.

Events were cancelled, businesses shuttered, schools closed, hospitals in many places overwhelmed.

And yet?  The approach was simple enough - if we all bought into doing it.  The personal protection of staying home instead of being out and about.  Wearing a mask when out.  Not gathering in real life.

Some of us got it.  Unfortunately too many did not.  Some governments tried to help - others seemed to blithely accept a large number of people were going to die - and didn't seem to care.

Add to the pandemic a worsening political situation and things got really 'interesting' - and still are.

So how do I keep going?  Am I a Pollyanna, blithely ignoring what is happening?  

No, I am not blithely ignoring anything.  I am trying to see beyond the current events, hanging onto the hope that things can, and will, get better.  Because we can work to make them so.

During the years since my brother died, I have found Churchill's quote helpful in reminding me what needs to happen:



When things get overwhelming, it is right and good to stop and rest.  But when I feel able, I get up again.  Because I do not want to stop in the middle of hell.  I want to get the hell out of hell.  So to speak.

So I see what is happening.  I witness.  I even comment.  I swear like a sailor.  But then?  Then I go on.

I look to a future where all of this (waves hands) is behind us.  When we have addressed the problems - the politics, the pandemic, the climate changes that continue.  Just because there is a pandemic doesn't mean other things stop.  They continue. too.  

And so must we.

Hope is a tiny thing, fragile.  It must be nursed along, held close in our hearts.  And as Beau of the Fifth Column says, activate Rule 303 - those who have the means, have the responsibility.

Seeing so many people despairing about cancelled fibre events, I reached out to the fibre community and booked speakers for the Sunday Seminar Series (which begins this Sunday - you can still register here)   It was a way to get some income to teachers who were struggling because all their events had been cancelled, but also a way to reach out to people thirsty for knowledge.  Something positive in the sea of negativity and stress.

Then I started a mentoring group for my students.  

I had to buy more software (Zoom) and then learn how to use it.  Old dogs *can* learn new tricks.  We might cuss the whole time we are doing it, but we can.  

So.  I look forward.  I look to a time beyond this time.  This oh, so interesting time.  

Rest when you need it.  But then move on.  Look forward.  Work to make things better.  Build bigger tables not walls.  And swear like a sailor if that helps.  


2 comments:

Peg Cherre said...

I completely agree with everything you said, Laura. We can, and we must, as a human race, and for me as a US citizen, do what we can to improve our world. If I didn’t believe it was worth doing, that positive change was even possible, I would be amazingly depressed. I am not a woman of means, but I can and do make contributions where I can. As a retired person I have time to give. While I’m not willing to do in-person volunteering, I can and do participate in things from home. Text banking. Postcard writing and sending. Conversations online to add my voice to those working toward justice and equity. I will get the vaccine when the supply is such that my shot won’t mean that the front-line workers - from teachers to health care workers, firefighters to grocery store clerks - all of whom I need to remain on the job, and folks who are older and have more health risks than I, have to wait longer. I’m currently guessing that means I can raise my hand and bare my arm in about 10 weeks. Meanwhile I’ll keep doing what I’ve dine since March: stay home, wear a mask when I must go out, and keep fighting the good fight from here.

Geoknitter said...

Relatively new reader here (and new weaver), but wanted to say that I've really enjoyed your posts over the past few months, and this one was no exception. You put the combined need for perspective (others are worse off than we are) and appreciation of the good things in life (to keep us going) in a such a nice way.

Thank you-