Upside down world [May 4]
We’re all in an upside down world. Outside life has moved inside. Easy has become hard. But sometimes reversals can be positive. I’ve been writing a list of things that used to be annoying but that are now comforting.
The tradies working two doors down from me, for example. Their blaring radio and incessant hammering used to drive me bananas. I’d slam doors and jam in earplugs, trying to shut out the cacophony. Now I go out into the backyard just to hear them cursing while they work. Something normal is still happening, I tell myself. Someone’s making progress.
Ditto with the garbage trucks Bin morning used to be a trial, woken before dawn by the crashing of bins and roaring of engines. Now I look forward to the garbos’ arrival. The rubbish is still being collected, I reassure myself. We’re not going to be buried alive in our own waste.
And then there’s exercise. I’ve always hated it – a necessary evil in a desk-bound life. I’d procrastinate all day about doing my laps or walking those ten thousand steps. Now I can’t wait to get out of the house and stride along the Merri Creek, marvelling at how birds can still sing in the midst of a pandemic.
My overstuffed shoulder bag is on the list. Years of scrabbling around in the bottom of a bag of detritus to find whatever I’m looking for. The bag is even more stuffed now, but the things in it are comforting – plastic gloves, tissues, a face mask, liquid soap, a water bottle, hand sanitiser, my phone, more plastic gloves. Self-protective items for a scary new world.
My overstuffed bookshelves were another irritant. Novels I read decades ago and haven’t touched since. Memoirs I’ve been planning to read for decades but haven’t opened yet. All of them gathering dust, taking up space, reproaching me. Now at last I know why I’ve hung onto them – for a moment in history just like this. Stories will keep me sane.
The list of unexpected comforts keeps getting longer. Junk mail deliverers. Overly-cheerful radio presenters. Even deadlines, those monkeys on my back, nagging at me to get back to work. This year I have a scary publishing deadline – six months to finish writing a book about the past. Thank goodness. Something to take my mind off the present. What’s on your list?
(This column was first published in The Age and the Sydney Morning Herald in May 2020)