PLANET HOME
There seems to be a stunning, blunt-trauma disconnect between governments and the populace – what’s new – but there is also our own disconnect not only, now, from each other, but from the planet itself; this latter disconnect having been in effect for longer than we might wish to admit. Now we are hanging on by a thread to the only home we all share, yet most of us have never considered the finite nature of this planet – with or without us.
The streets and parks of London are beginning to fill with un-masked people. The majority of whom appear to be somewhere between their late-teens and mid-to-late 30's' the section of the population that has, so far, been deemed the safest in terms of surviving Covid-19. Perhaps this is why they feel free to disregard social distancing.
Last night the Prime Minister announced some easing of lockdown here in the UK. As if to warn us of the folly of this, the weather has turned. After a string of sunny, warm days, it is now chilly with a ferocious wind. I love when Mother Nature gets angry. If only we listened to her more often.
We took our last walk on Hampstead Heath a few days ago, mainly because it has become too crowded with joggers and irrepressible children and people who seem to have entered a stage of rebellion. Is rebellion one of the stages of grief? After an hour, feeling too anxious to enjoy the beauty of nature, we headed home. On the way I was stopped in my tracks by the sight of this young woman:
Her stillness was electrifying. For me, she was an example of the need for us to find stillness in the midst of chaos and crisis. To that end we are returning to our beloved Tuscany this coming Thursday. It may be the last flight I ever take. For sure it will be one to remember. We will be leaving here masked, gloved, goggled and armed with sanitizer and wipes and we will stay that way from taxi, to Heathrow airport, to plane, to Rome airport, to private driver, to home. We will not eat, drink, or go to a bathroom during that time…a total of 10 hours.
I took my first flight age 19, when I also left from Heathrow, then to fly to Canada. I remember weeks of lying in bed at night planning my travel outfit: slightly different that the one I’ll be wearing on Thursday, it consisted of a mini tartan skirt with matching poor-boy hat, a Mary Quant PVC coat and black patent-leather shoes. There was no airport security back then, so friends saw me to the gate and hugged me goodbye before waving me off from a rooftop terrace. Hugs. How we would all love to give and receive them now.
If all goes well, we’ll walk through the garden gate at midnight. The Gibbous moon will be in its last quarter, but perhaps it will shed a little light on the roses arching over the gate. How fortunate we are to have such an oasis of space, nature, beauty and peace to return to. And yet I would be lying if I didn’t admit to feeling sad to be leaving my country; this homeland to which I finally returned, 50 years later than originally intended.
This brings me to something that’s been nagging me ever since lockdown 7 weeks ago. It’s the question of home. I’m not talking of the metaphorical or spiritual home within, but the actual physical structure we choose to return to either daily, or from our travels. I’ve had more “homes” than many. And perhaps because I left my parents’ house at 16 I learned quickly how to make anywhere feel like home. I’ve lived in unheated sheds, cabins without running water, bedsits, shared flats, apartments, cottages, houses and, in Tuscany, a renovated stone barn. But until I met Joel I never had more than one home at a time. For the last many years I have had the privilege of enjoying 2 homes. First it was an apartment in New York with a tiny cottage on Cape Cod. Presently it’s the barn in Tuscany and a flat in London.
Now, like many of us, I’m reconsidering the nature of privilege. There is a price for everything…including privilege. The meaning of home is a single structure; a commitment ; the place where you put down roots for better or worse. Having 2 homes is a bit like being married and having a lover: you are neither fully here nor there. But this is a trivial price compared to the ecological price multiple homes cost the planet. Depending on where one’s second ‘home’ is, it entails travel by car or plane both of which we know excessively contribute to our carbon footprint. While I am prepared to let go of both of those modes and opt for trains, there is the further consideration of the energy resources it takes to maintain additional homes.
I don’t yet know where my ultimate home will be, but I know I want to go there. I want to be like that young woman meditating under a tree; I want to stay still and use my own energy for creativity and being of service to others. For now I’m grateful to be going home to Tuscany where we will be free to roam in nature without having to deal with jogger breath!
On a lighter note, those of you who read last week’s post may remember that I talked about my feelings of inadequacy and how I used that misconception to prevent me from acting on many creative impulses. In order to take action I wrote that I would make a papier-mâché votive holder. Here it is:
And lastly, I took action on a creative impulse I had 5 weeks ago when in a moment of sadness I envisioned the many types of experiences people must be having depending on the nature of their home – or lack of - during lockdown. It struck me that a collection of stories, essays and photos describing these experiences would make for an interesting book entitled: INSIDE STORIES: Life in the Pandemic. So I finally got it together with the help of Joel and our producer friend, Chris Ryan. This online workshop is now live and we are inviting submissions from the general public. Description of the workshop and submission details can be found here:
https://www.halcyon-editions.com/inside-stories
Spread the word....but not the virus!
Stay safe, stay strong.
With love,
Maggie
