"I'm a beautiful butterfly" said the caterpillar

A lockdown Blog---does that make it a boredom log? When Ireland's 'stay at home' guidelines became more stringent they were joined, for me, by multiple blows of a different variety. I was left feeling battered, bruised, confused and thoroughly OVER Covid. A cherry placed unfeelingly on the top.  The popular saying 'when it rains it pours' seemed particularly apt for my Friday the 30th of March, but ironically the weather in Ireland had never been better. Classic. Now three weeks into lockdown and Irish people have probably never found themselves food shopping so often, baking so much (seriously, never has strong white flour been such a coveted item) or even exploring their locality to such an extent. The joys that can be found within 2 kilometers and the amount of neighbors you thought didn't exist is truly mind blowing. Rathgar, where I live, is beginning to feel more and more like an independent village with its own spirit and sense of community. In the BC days it had always just been "that place I live in the city-- a bit of a trek out, better to cycle".

On the tenderness of tongues

Our Covid unit, 'Conit'? is composed of myself and my sister and, as the saying goes (I'm all about the sayings aren't I?!), two is company, three's a crowd. This is comfortingly and luckily true considering the blows the two of us usually came to when we lived here with our mother. It is now in matrimonial bliss that we reside. I exaggerate, but heck we have never got on better. The system is as follows: she plays housewife and I, the bread winner (in two senses of the word as I am also in the process of making a sourdough loaf). I come back from a long day of minding children, for I am a childminder now as a new Covid job, to find that the dinner is underway and her essays usually not. University procrastination is clearly made no easier under lockdown. She is a star cook and like everything in her life this avenue of interest is deserved the utmost of attention and degree of intensity. Dinner can never simply be 'pasta with sauce'. Oh no, the pasta shall be home made and the sauce ("it's not 'sauce' Phoebe!") will be lovingly composed of a variety of tenderly cooked vegetables. With sage. Of course.

Easter Sunday was no different and the opportunity for unusual cooking was embarked upon with gusto. The long held tradition of lamb was there to be broken and not because we were vegetarians. Alas no. We ate, in the name of the culinary gods, Ox tongue. That is correct; long, pink, slimy, taste buddy, rough, sand papery TONGUE! The resulting Sunday lunch was sat down upon with some trepidation by yours truly, especially after witnessing the less than appetizing preparations which  involved a peeling away of the harder, rougher outer casing. I must inform you all however that tongue is a treat. It is tender and it is neat. That rhyme was probably unnecessary but I assure you, poetry aside, that tongue must be tried, it tastes a little like ham. That being said, an ability to forget what you are eating is desirable. Due to my gluttony, I posses this fine trait and can eat most things in relative enjoyment. It probably does not need to be pointed out at this stage that our vegetarianism is of the 'flexi' variety.

 I think what I particularly like about tongue is its deception. It has a hard outer casing or shell which can deceive some but if you have the patience (or the stomach) to delve further you will discover that this is mere protection to the sensitive and delicate core which is the true delicacy and a treat only to be enjoyed by some.


Speaking of tongues (and moving on from food), we have discovered that beside our little house is a Covid 19 testing centre. People drive through, park outside the gates and 'open wide' for figures in protective gear to stick a swab down their throats. This is all observed at some interest from our kitchen window. The new drive thru to replace McDonald's. I suppose we know, at least, that we don't have to venture too far if either of us do develop suspicious symptoms.

After losing my job as an English teacher (thanks Corona) and gaining one as a day mum, aka childminder, I feel an undeserved importance that the government deems me an 'essential worker'.  It may not be fighting on the front line but I like to think, as I wipe a toddler's pooey bottom, bared proudly in my face, that I am doing my part in the war effort by helping to potty train a small human.

The Butterfly effect

As my two wards and I wander down to a muddy stream in a local park and I warn the older to "throw the big stone away from his brother", watching as the inevitable splash back causes shouts of delight and a search for an even "bigger stone", my heart glows as it crosses my mind that these kids will never again pass up the opportunity of a mornings fun splashing in a river (and also that it's not me that has to wash their clothes later).
For all my banging on about self-sufficiency in the environmental sense, it also needs to be applied in equal measure at the personal level. Having an ability to create your own fun and contentment when usual forms of distraction are not available becomes the ultimate achievement in this new, concentrated, world. I celebrate with a peaceful cup of tea as two toddlers manage to play, for a while at least, without my input or "Phoebe do robot voice, ROBOT VOICE" and vow that I too will try to exercise this object of true self-sufficiency. One obvious avenue to curtail is social media, the current proxy for real crowded social spaces that currently lack in our lives. My hot take: social media's aim is to connect us but really, we're all in a moment of ultimate connection right now anyway as the whole bloody world experience and work through the same singular dilemma, simultaneously. Conclusion: The coronavirus is SO zeitgeist.

I have also realized, from a recent conversation that keeps wandering unbidden into my mind--you know those ones? The type you can't stop over-analysing or replaying? Another avenue to self sufficiency, maybe, is reviving the part of yourself that other people see, the part of yourself that you choose to show but do not always feel. The outer tongue, if you like. In the eye of the beholder I am many things, bad good and indifferent. We have all been projected onto, maybe even imprisoned within a problematic incomplete image but it is some of these positive projections that I now cling to instead of the cold feelings that can surround in isolation. Brrrrr. Like a severing of a relationship, lockdown can be a lonely experience. I will emerge like a butterfly from its cocoon when Leo finally lets us out. The colourful brilliant designs and shapes on this butterflies wings will have seeped into the heart of me.

Saying all this, there is something comforting in the constancy and quiet of this strange new life we are living, or some of us have the privilege to live. New routines have developed and old problems or question marks are tomorrow's worry. New question marks exist, certainly, but there is security in knowing that some things just can't be fixed at this moment, so shouldn't be dwelled on. I'm still a caterpillar, for now, and that's fine. I look forward to the end date and the packed schedules or chaos demarcating life as 'normal' but this lull, I know (or at least like to think I know), may as well be savoured.

What I've been consuming...other than food:

All of these analogies to flying creatures are probably the result of watching The National Theatre's production of Jane Eyre which was streamed to YouTube last week for one week. Theatre in my own living room! It's definitely not as good as the real thing, but I'll take it.
Jane Eyre was a triumph: romance, liberty, free will and feminist themes all combined with breathtaking staging.
Two of my favourite quotes:

"I see at intervals a curious sort of a bird through the close set bars of a cage. A vivid, restless, resolute captive is there and were it but free it would soar, cloud high" --Mr. Rochester

"I am no bird and no net ensnares me. I am a free human being with an independent will"--Jane Eyre

In order to work on my butterfly transformation I should probably get dressed. Clothes are of course optional in quarantine. It is 12 midday and I am sitting in my pyjamas writing this. I should be googling art projects that I can do with the kids this afternoon.

My favourite quote yet from childminding? When we were making Paper Maché from egg boxes, Ruby, after being told by her older brother not to use the knife because she would "end up in hospital", declared to us both "I'd like to go to Hospital, it sounds fun".


 Don't worry, she did not use the knife and we did not go to hospital.

Thanksgiving 

On a separate note, I feel that this strange time is ripe for appreciating the small things: taking heed of what is usually taken for granted. In that spirit, I have written a limerick to my bicycle. It popped into my head you see that bike shops are all closed .....and that I have no idea how to mend a puncture. If my fair Rosaline (I have never called her that before this moment) becomes poorly I shall be unable to come to her aid. I shall also be, for want of a better word, screwed when it comes to the question of transport. To quote Una Mullally, "Appreciation cannot exist without comprehending loss". See below.




An ode to my bike


Whizzing past walkers with a feeling of pride
leaving a distance of 2 meters aside
please don't get a flat
I will throw in my hat
for surely I'll be lost without my ride

She is an excellent help for carrying bog roll