I'm F.I.N.E., how are you?

I could almost wear this as a t-shirt...

When Canadian murder-mystery novelist Louise Penny began her Chief Inspector Gamache series of 16 books in 2007 (excellent novels listed if you click here), I'm sure she had no inkling of this pandemic we are moving through. But the character of her mad poet, Ruth Zardo, wrote a slim book of poetry called "I'm F.I.N.E." Which, the reader learns, stands for F**ked up, Insecure, Neurotic and Egotistical.

And who among us hasn't felt all of those things in the 390-some days that we have been living under pandemic restrictions of one kind or another? 

As someone with Type I diabetes, my turn for a vaccine came up on Tuesday, and I was online with Alberta Health Services at the crack of 8 a.m., lucky to secure my first immunization against covid for that afternoon. I stood in a socially-distanced line with hundreds of other Albertans (some from out of town, I learned) and thanked heaven for getting me there, keeping me safe from the virus for well over a year, when my own nephew was stuck in a covid hotel. (Thankfully, he has recovered and was released from his quarantine just yesterday.)

In my F.I.N.E. state over the past 13 months, I've managed to mostly keep my equilibrium, but the feelings of being messed with, insecure, neurotic and egotistical made regular appearances -- as I felt spring and fall allergies in my throat, watched anti-mask rallies held by people who have little regard for the common good, second-guessed whether the health officials were doing enough or not enough, experienced the churning mind and high anxiety of 2 a.m. insomnia that never did allow for sleep, and when I think of all those people who can't protect themselves very easily because they are deemed essential workers while I am safe at home...

Now that I have been vaccinated, it's a bit better. I'm fine -- better than fine because I don't feel like my diabetes combined with covid will be my death sentence -- but still F.I.N.E. by Louise Penny's standards... worried for everyone who hasn't been vaccinated (especially those in countries that aren't receiving vaccine while we are so fortunate!) and those anti-maskers and anti-vaxxers who refuse to accept the science for the sake of world health. How do we convince them?

Of course, there is a way around being F.I.N.E. -- and that is, to forget myself and step out to do things for others... which is something I have been somewhat hesitant to do because our health officials keep telling us to stay home so that our hospitals don't overflow. 

So for the next two weeks at the very least, I am still sheltering in place. I expect that our presently cresting third wave will keep us all from being out and about much until we bend the curve down again. After that, as more and more of us are vaccinated, I'm hopeful that we can be more fine than F.I.N.E.

How are you?

My Lidia rose

This pandemic has been challenging for all of us, but especially my elderly Italian friend, Lidia. 

For the first few weeks back in March, she couldn't understand why I wouldn't come in for my weekly visit and cup of espresso, though she knew that thousands of people were dying in Italy. I would come to her doorway, but no further, much to her frustration, and it got to the point that I decided to stop going past her place. I phoned her instead. 

When the weather improved and spring warmed her back patio, I let Lidia know that we could sit outside and visit, socially-distanced, of course. But even that proved to be a challenge. Always concerned about offering hospitality, she would come out with cookies and a bottle of water or orangina. The day after my birthday, when I came to her door, she said, "Come in, come in, I make you caffe!" I could hear her putting together the espresso pot like she would not take no for an answer, so I said, "I'm sorry, Lidia, but I can't do that," and headed for home. The next thing I knew, she was standing on her back step, shouting, "Where you going? Come back!" and waving an envelope. "Your birthday card!"

It held a twenty dollar bill and a note saying that she was glad we are friends. I told her I would take the twenty dollars, buy a rose bush, and name it Lidia. And that is what I did. I also told her yet again that I couldn't eat or drink at her house, but that we could have a nice visit without food, and she finally agreed... though she still insisted on giving cookies to Shadow-dog if he was with me.

Perhaps foolishly, I made a deal with her son, Alfonso, to plant a few tomato and pepper plants in Lidia's greenhouse, with the promise to help with watering. I also put some petunias, clarkia and lavatera in her heavy cement planters beside the house and kept them deadheaded all summer for the most part. It was my reason to stop by each day and check how she was doing without getting too close.

Most times I've gone over to her place to weed or water, we've managed to keep our distance. But once Lidia decided to water the grape vines on the south side of the house, sat on a low step to do it, and couldn't get up. So I helped her. Another time, she dropped her cane and couldn't reach it to pick it up. So I did. And then there was the time that she was expecting an important call, but forgot the portable phone inside her back door and begged me to go get it. How could I refuse when she doesn't have an answering machine?

I worry about my friend with winter coming on. Her 85th birthday is on Tuesday, and though her family is very attentive, Lidia wants to be more of a social butterfly than she can be with two busy sons and a love for company of any stripe. I worry that she's not careful enough when it comes to the covid virus, and wish there was a way to connect her to some sort of video chat program so that she could see all the people she loves online, and chat anytime she feels lonely, as I'm probably not the only one who finds it challenging to understand her thick accent through the phone. But online chats would never satisfy her, I suspect. We all converse so much better in person. 

And in person, I could show her a picture of my Lidia rose now that she's finally blooming.

The pandemic vaccine can't come soon enough for our planet, or for friends like Lidia and me!