Carry on- Beginning Life in Lockdown

“Study of dramatic back lighting” oil on wooden panel, 16” x 16”

Strange Times

Beginning Life in Pandemic Lockdown

Life in the lockdown is largely as it was for me before -- wake up, do some work, work out, studio time/plein air time, family time, meals...rinse, repeat.  But, there is a certain odd feeling about everything now -- a feeling of heaviness and uncertainty hangs above everything -- as if you are waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I walked out to the market the other day -- it was right after the lockdown began.  There was such a strange energy in the air -- a sense of foreboding and panic.  The streets were empty.  Here and there, a person hurried by -- head down, fearful.  It felt surreal -- as if I would hear nuclear warning sirens go off in the distance.  The feeling was not a pleasant one.

Just two nights before -- we had celebrated the "end of the world as we know it" at our local restaurant.  That afternoon, my son came over and said, "Do you see what's going on?" To be honest, I hadn't been paying much attention.  My sister had called me from Philadelphia, fuming, saying, "The crazy people have bought up all the milk, bread, and toilet paper!" I was seriously confused.  I said, "Are we going to have a snowstorm?" She laughed and said, "No! It's over the virus!"  What? What virus? That's about how much I was paying attention to that! But now, as he and I sat watching the developing events on the news, with alarm -- the runs on toilet paper and food, the hysteria, the States talking about quarantines, my son said to me, "Well, it seems that the world is going to end soon.  Let's go out to dinner and celebrate our life as it is, for one last time-- my treat!" And so we went.

We met up with my one daughter and her family and we all enjoyed a long, bittersweet, somewhat nervous last dinner in our favorite local spot.  We don't know how long *this* will last -- and we didn't know it then either...the restaurant owners are a sweet couple, and they quietly joined their diners in the revelry -- giving away free coffee and desserts to the scattering of patrons who braved the fear of "contamination" to come out and support them one last time.  And then, the next day -- everything closed.

I felt fear clutch at me.  The layoffs and the economic ruin that would ensue.  The panic and the pain of financial devastation -- plus the very real possibility of riots, looting, martial law.  The virus does not scare me.  I've lived through nearly fatal blood poisoning, a motorcycle accident that broke literally every bone in my body, and a host of lesser injuries and diseases through the 50 years I've been here.  I don't worry for my children either -- they are hearty and healthy -- or even for my Dad, who is severely immunocompromised with ongoing Stage IV leukemia.  His motto -- "No one gets out of this world alive.  Let's live!". My only fear is the unknown -- what does our country, and our world, look like after this "episode."

The anxiety of this took my breath away for the day after the lockdown.  I lay on my couch utterly paralyzed, watching old movies, eating sweets (a taboo in our house -- my son is a jiu jitzu pro) and trying to come to grips with everything.  I roused myself from the couch later that afternoon and headed to my studio, dazed, but forced myself to continue working.  And the next day.  And the next day.

And now...

Now that a week has passed, I feel cautiously "normal" again.  I will remain in my routine of continuing my work, and adjusting to this new normal.  I don't like the feeling of everything shut down, and our lives so limited, to be sure -- but I'm hoping this all ends sooner rather than later.  In the in-between, I can really focus on the projects so many other distractions of our previous life had carried me away from, and on my family and friends -- so every cloud does have a silver lining.

As a reality, this pandemic has made me even more determined to tap into myself and create romantic and serene works of art -- beauty, peace, and serenity -- I need that -- we need that -- more than ever now! So, that is my newly inspired vigor, my eternal Muse.

www.hilaryjengland.com

Day 3 Jerusalem

I am relaxing today, as it is Shabbat and everything is closed.  Literally.  Last night, the Shabbat siren went off, and everyone quietly went home -- about a half an hour later, I could see the groups of well-dressed people walking to shul, and I knew it was my cue to go down and join them, as per Lisa's invitation.  There were several Temples in the area, including one across the street, but Kol Rina required my walking through the back of the enclave -- through long, narrow alleys of the ancient homes.

As I walked, I felt a nervous trepidation.  The alleys were narrow and confusing, and it suddenly dawned on me that I might not be able to find my way back, especially in the dark.  This made me nervous, as did my solitude as I walked -- I was a stranger there, and that always causes me to feel vulnerable.  I forced the anxiety back and continued to walk along, trying to memorize little landmarks along the way -- the potted plant with the pink blossoms, the one doorway decorated in flowers and Israeli flags, turn left at the corridor with the aqua shutters....I hoped I would remember these things.  I stopped to check my phone to see if I could glom up some free wifi to pinpoint my location via Google, but no luck -- they were all locked.

I made it to Kol Rina, and the folks there were festive, but I was already a bit unsettled from my uneasy walk.  I asked for the Valliers, as per Lisa, who although had sent me, was unable to attend herself.  I stood in the doorway, undecided as to what to do, so I stepped in, hoping I would not make some sort of glaring and offensive cultural mistake, as this was all completely new to me.  As I stood there, a young woman, dressed up in fine clothes, looked at me and said "Shabbat Shalom" and "Are you new?"  I answered, "Yes, I was invited but Lisa Nachalot, and I'm supposed to meet Chaya Vallier here." She looked at me sympathetically and said, "Sorry, I don't know her." I nodded, and squirmed a little, looking back at the alley, and trying to decide whether I should just leave or stay, but I decided to go in and see what this was all about.

I walked through a little tunnel into an underground room.  The Temple was situated in a converted bomb shelter, which was lightly decorated with Israeli artifacts and other ornaments.  In the back, was a section for the women, and separated by a simply made room divider with lace curtains, the men were in the front.  I sat at the back of the row of folding chairs quietly, unsure of what to do.  The women filed in the room in silence, nodding at each other and at me, quietly saying, "Shabbat Shalom".  I sat there nodding back, returning the sentiment.

The shul began, and the men were chanting in Hebrew, some singing, all rocking back and forth with their prayer books.  Some of the women around me got up and did the same.  This ritual went on for a while, and I was completely lost as to what was going on, so I just sat back and watched.  To be honest, it was both fascinating and excruciating at the same time.

When it was all over, in about (guesstimating) 40 minutes, the people all quickly got up and filed out of the room.  One woman came to me in curiosity -- she didn't say her name, but she asked if I was going to dinner after? At this point, I was drained, and as kind as the invitation was, my only concern was finding my way back to my apartment in the dark.  Going even further away to some other place was a terrifying prospect.  I thanked her, but said I must be going, and literally bolted out the door.  I don't know if it was rude or peculiar, but my nerves were kind of frayed by that point.

I stepped out into the dimly lit courtyard, trying to remember which way I had even entered, let alone what corridors I had taken.  I stood for a moment, taking a deep breath, getting my bearings.  Squinting, I saw the one potted plant I made a mental note of: Potted plant, stay straight to the aqua door, turn left.  I walked that way through the dark, till I reached the point of the supposed left turn.  There were four directions to go -- they all looked the same -- dark and narrow.  A feeling of fear and dread crept up. "Oh Lord, please just let me get back without an issue." I made the left and walked determinedly for what seemed like an eternity in the narrow corridors.  Suddenly, I saw the door with the flags and flowers.  A feeling of relief flooded me -- I was going in the right direction.  I picked up my pace, and after a while, I saw the open courtyard of the block of my apartment! Hooray, relief flooded me and I relaxed my walk.  I had made it back and wouldn't be forced to sleep in some alley with the cats that night!

So, this morning, I slept quite late, and then woke to have a leisurely breakfast, and read some Robert Frost on the balcony, enjoying the quiet day and beautiful blue skies.  I did some work for a little bit, then caught up on other things such as correspondence and some sketching.  I have a full schedule these next coming days, so I decided to do what the Israelis do on Saturday -- just rest! This is something very new to me. Maybe I can learn how to do this back in the States! Lisa invited me to the park later, where she will be with her little nieces and nephews, and that will be nice and leisurely as well.

Replays

"Calm seas before a shower" by Hilary J England
oil on canvas, 8" x 11" x 1, 2013

My mind keep returning to the beach...it's where I feel closest to God for whatever reason, but when my mind is under serious, ongoing stress, it seems to return there, to the peaceful cool of the salty air, the smooth resistance of the sand, the majesty of the enormous vistas, and the sound of the waves, either lapping or pounding the water's edge.  Today, the waves were gentle, the breezes, soft.

Mark is still in the hospital.  It doesn't appear that the chemo has had any effect on the tumors, which is disheartening.  They are trying to get him strong enough to come home, and then in another week, we will have to make a decision:  go forward with more treatment, or not.  This is an excruciating decision, and one that can never have a "right time."  The implications are obvious, and it seems surreal that from St. Patrick's Day to now, this situation has surfaced, mushroomed, and has sucked our entire lives into its vortex.  I don't know what to do or say to be of support or help, since it is Mark's life, it is ultimately his decision.  I support either decision, and will help him through it either way.

So, like water dripping from a faucet, I feel the tension in the air, the catch of breath before exhalation.  I am optimistic to get through these trials, as it is the only thought that moves me forward.  This too shall pass...happy days will come again, one day, soon. I feel that is certain, I hope on that, I count on that, I dream on that, I live on that.