Quarantine

It’s August of 2020. The clear barrier between me and the cashier at the grocery store feels normal now. I have a face mask in my purse, in my car, in my house because if I don’t, I’ll forget, and I need one everywhere I go. There have been socially distant (or at least a good effort made) lake hang outs, hikes, and outdoor movies, and the knot of worry that lives in my stomach now, feels a little more manageable, less new. We’ve adapted. We will continue to adapt. The corona virus pandemic is far from over, but I feel myself settling into this disaster, bracing myself for the long haul, instead of getting the wind knocked out of me with every new and terrible headline. 2020 will be a historic one in many ways – it will be the year of the pandemic, a significant year for the fight towards social justice, a year in which many of us got to quieten down enough to realize that we want change, personally and for the society we participate in. I want to remember what it was like when it was new – both the bad and unexpected good that happened when our world slowed to a stop and shut down. I don’t want to forget the gut punch that came in email form telling us that schools would be closing for the foreseeable future, in the dawning reality the we couldn’t hug our loved ones anymore, in learning that people were dying alone in hospital beds from a disease we knew nothing about. And I don’t want to forget how we coped and found small joys in the midst of all of it.

A few weeks into quarantine, I asked some friends if they would let me take photos of what quarantine meant to them. Some decided to represent things they missed – being outside, sharing a meal with friends, going out for drinks – while some wanted to symbolize what was getting them through and giving them hope – exercise, decorating a new home, planting a garden. Here are some quarantine memories we captured…at a responsible distance.

Jenni and Josh

I asked Jenni what three words she would use to describe this time of being stuck inside and she came back with “uncertain, restless, and messy”. She balked for a moment at how angsty it sounded for a nice blog post, but really, this doesn’t want to be a nice post, it wants to be an honest one. It has absolutely been uncertain, restless, and messy. We’ve all given up a sense of familiarity and rhythm – and you know what, its okay to mourn that. There will be times of certainty, and feeling at peace, and like things are falling into place again, but it’s also okay to leave space for the times when it just feels incredibly hard. But sometimes a tent sleepover and a cup of tea can help.

Tommy and Cynthia

They bought a house! It’s beautiful. It’s blue, with a hammock in the front garden, chickens and twinkle lights in the back, and a big picture window in the living room with a disco ball in it that makes everything sparkly in the sun.

 

Chris and Sarah

Perhaps the World Ends Here

By Joy Harjo

The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.

The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.

We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.

It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.

At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.

Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.

This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.

Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory.

We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here.

At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.

Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.

Danni and Bob

When I told people I wanted to document what quarantine meant to them, I told them they could symbolize it however they wanted to. Danni and Bob chose to surround themselves with flowers. Each of these pots were set out for members of the community, along with a sanitizing wipe and a card wishing them a Happy Easter.

Olivia

What has quarantine meant to you?

“Quarantine has meant increasing isolation and loneliness, albeit for my health and the health of others.”

You are not alone in that loneliness, sweet friend.

Michael and Megan

What has quarantine meant to you?

Michael: Quarantine is a mixed bag of emotions pulling me towards deep sadness, anger, but also gladness to be still and not feel like I have to do something all of the time. But I also know that this quarantine is the right thing to do, that it is saving lives, and that humans will eventually win this fight over a silly virus.

Megan: Quarantine has been a season of working on allowing myself to feel whatever I am feeling, without criticizing myself. It’s been a tough season for me (as I know it has for everyone), and I don’t sit well with uncertainty. I want to push away my fears and say they don’t matter, because others are in more difficult situations than I am. But with this time and space, and sweet Michael, I’m learning to lean into whatever I may be feeling and let it come as it may, without dismissing it.

 What are three words you’d use to describe this season?

Michael: Cozies (aka pajamas), Zoom, and home-cooking.

Megan: Uncertain. Slow. Inspiring.

Any revelations or things learned during this time?

Michael: I’ve learned that “The Office” is a brilliant show and still so funny, that not giving people hugs is literal torture, and that cats really are pretty cute and cuddly.

Megan: I don’t totally dislike cooking! Actually, I think I like to bake more… Michael is the cook around here, but I really do like to help him cook in the kitchen. It’s a relaxing part of our day and we love doing it together.

(For their photos, M&M made pasta from scratch and sipped cocktails – naturally.)

 

Thank you for reading along. I hope if anything, you feel like you are not alone in however you feel – whether you are feeling overwhelmed or overjoyed, full of grief or full of relief, anxious, worried, sad, helpless, or more alive than you ever have. I hope you take a moment to recognize what you have overcome in the last six months, and all the ways you’ve grown, big and little. Be kind to yourself. As my favorite Rani Ban mantra goes, it is a good day to be proud of all the progress you’ve made!