I often tell my granddaughters stories about the olden days, about my youth on the Alberta prairie, about freezing winters, chinooks and a springtime that was announced by purple crocuses turning the prairie mauve. I don’t have to try very hard to paint that landscape in my mind – I can see it in the wistful fashion of old ladies remembering better days.
The kids have a hard time imagining their grandmother as a little girl and an even harder time trying to imagine a time when kids were set loose to entertain themselves for hours in the great outdoors. Those days are gone. The prairies of my youth are now buried beneath sprawling cities or cultivated into rolling fields of canola and wheat – the wild crocuses have gone the way of my olden days, to be remembered but never seen again.
It occurred to me this morning as I walked my dog past the city gardeners that I’m living in my granddaughters olden days. One day their memory will take them back to a time before the virus, back to a time when people didn’t have to worry about gathering in large groups, when hugs and handshakes were dished out freely. Back to when people didn’t have to wear masks when they went outdoors and sneezing wasn’t cause for alarm. And then they will remember this – this uncertain time.
Covid19 is changing the world in ways that haven’t been revealed yet – the virus is still in charge, still calling the shots. We are living in a defining moment. I never dreamt a pandemic would be part of my life story – never thought I would live in a ‘one day’ that included this. As we write the next chapter of this story my granddaughters are amassing their olden days. We will be part of their stories, how we coped or didn’t, how we survived, how we moved forward from here. Fingers crossed we’re doing it right.
Comments (1)
Thank you E. It is so drastic a story isn’t it. Like the big one, the earthquake we all expect here but never seem prepared for, like not thinking about it will make it go away. Keep the faith my friend.