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In the time of coronavirus

A collection of stories submitted by the public on their experience of living through the time of the Coronavirus pandemic.
The coronavirus pandemic has changed our lives. Globally the scale of human suffering as a consequence of Covid-19 has been very great. Everywhere people are now reflecting on what this major and previously unimaginable global crisis means for us, as individuals, living in the 21st century. This forum offers a space for writers to reflect on their experience in Aotearoa and to consider questions such as: What might we need to remember and preserve? What has been my experience, my observations, how might my priorities have shifted, in a good way, as a result of the lockdowns? If you would like to contribute to the re-collective effort through any of the following life writing formats — journalling, nature writing, memoir, commentary, poetry, notes on work in progress during lockdown… — please make initial contact through my contact page. Next prepare a page of A4 writing, starting in the present moment and moving where you need to into the recent past and forwards from that point, with a title, brief bio, photo (optional) and your contribution will be added to the repository of important writings flowering in this space.

"We are here; we are human beings; this is how we lived. Let it be known, the earth passed before us. Our details are important."
Natalie Goldberg, Writing down the Bones (1986)

Locking Down by Paddy Richardson

13/10/2021

1 Comment

 
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​Paddy Richardson is the author of two collections of short stories and seven novels. She has been awarded four Creative New Zealand Awards, the University of Otago Burns Fellowship, the Beatson Fellowship, the James Wallace Arts Trust Residency Award and the Randell House Residency. Paddy is a mentor and assessor for NZSA. Her latest novel, 'By the Green of the Spring’, will be published early next year.
 
I am picking up my grandson, Oli, from his drumming lessons. While I wait, I listen to National Radio. Today, there has been one covid community case found in Auckland. On the drive home I tell Oli and he tells me how Covid attacks the body, how anti-bodies ‘go nuts’ trying to fight it and how they end up destroying the body they’re trying to protect. We talk about vaccination, about anti-vaxers. We talk about the right to choose but how personal choice might affect other people. He’s a twelve-year-old boy, immensely interesting, in his knowledge and humour and ideas. We talk idly. One case in Auckland doesn’t seem all that significant.
 
But it is. There’s a press conference. Jacinda’s steady, confident voice contrasts markedly with the visible concern on her face.  It looks as if Delta has made it to New Zealand.
 
And here we go again. Lockdown. The one o’clock conferences, where we watch as the numbers climb and now, dammit, it’s spread to Wellington. The analysis. The clamouring questions from the gathered media. Do they really want answers or are they merely trying to make a point? Never mind. Everyone’s excitable. Everyone’s stressed. It’s a bit of light relief when somebody asks Jacinda about the safety concerns relating to sexual intercourse during hospital visits.
 
As for me, I’ve not long returned from clearing out my mother’s house in Nelson after her recent death. I was looking forward to coming home, being with my own family again, catching up with friends. I thought, maybe, I’ll get some writing done over lockdown. Instead, I find myself languishing on a sofa like a Victorian invalid.
 
Clearing out Mum’s house was physically challenging, the emotional journey harder still. Tucked away in her drawers were her swimsuits. Until the last year of her life, Mum swam every day from Spring to late Autumn in the sea at the bottom of the street. We both loved swimming, both loved the sea. '
 
It was the china, crystal, embroidered linen, silver, the ornaments, that I found hardest.
So many precious possessions which had accompanied her from Northland to Christchurch to Nelson to Dunedin. And back her treasures came again to Nelson, when she and Dad moved into their house - (brand new!)- to reside, finally, in the glass-fronted cabinets. The pretty tea-sets, the pieces of Wedgewood, the embroidered table and tray-cloths I could remember Mum working on at night. Listening to serials on the radio in our house in Christchurch, the hoop with the fine linen stretched across it as Mum created tiny flowers from bright-coloured silks. I found her wedding dress, exquisitely hand-stitched.  In her wedding photos, Mum is beautiful, radiantly smiling.
 
Mother-daughter relationships, though basically loving, can be tumultuous, frustrating, distressing; there is the urge to both connect and to pull free. As I drove away from Mum’s house in Nelson and began the long journey to Dunedin, I felt overwhelmed with sadness, anger as well. Was it her or was it me? We so rarely understood each other. So often, we disappointed each other. And now, now, I ’d given away so many of her precious things.
 
But it was the good things Mum’s precious belongings, those which signified our closeness I chose.  In level three, the boxes arrived. My Nana’s beautiful Royal Doulton bowl, the pretty cup, saucer and plate set I bought Mum for Mother’s Day from Woolworths for two shillings and sixpence, the tea-set made from frail, see-through china Mum and Dad were given as a wedding present, the small crystal glasses they brought back from London after their long- awaited overseas trip to Europe. The tall, multi-coloured glasses they bought in the ‘sixties when they discovered Pimms was a much nicer evening drink than sherry. Ah, such sophistication. 
 
And Nana’s bowl. From Devon, to Tangowahine, to Christchurch, to Nelson, to Dunedin. And to Nelson again. In every house it was placed on a table in the hallway. Always filled with flowers.  My mother loved flowers. And now it’s here with me in Broad Bay, Dunedin.  Vibrantly coloured in deep blues, greens and gold, it has survived and witnessed much. I have it beside the window in my living room, facing the sea. I’ve filled it with orchids.

1 Comment
Trish Veltman link
23/10/2021 01:38:10 pm

Beautiful reflection on an emotionally fraught time

Reply



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Copyright © 2017 Deborah Shepard
  • Home
  • Books
    • The Writing Life >
      • Reviews & Interviews
    • Giving Yourself to Life
    • Her Life's Work
    • Translucence
    • Between The Lives
    • Reframing Women
    • Tributes
    • Personal Writings >
      • Lockdown Journal
      • Travel Journal
      • Elegy for a friend
      • Christchurch - Post Quakes
      • On a residency
      • Deborah’s Love Letter to the Women’s Bookshop
      • Deborah's Q & A With Unity Books
  • Writing Memoir
    • Defining Memoir
    • The Participatory Model
    • Tips on Writing and Posting a Story
    • The Value of a Writing Class
    • From writing course to book publication
    • Your Writing Space
    • Writing on a Theme >
      • Window
      • Surviving a Crisis
    • Reviews of Memoir
  • Writers' stories
    • Covid-19 Stories
    • Writing Guidelines
  • Events
  • About
    • Testimonials
    • Media
  • What People Say
  • Contact