We cling to the first sunshine of spring to ward off thoughts of another lockdown
Last week’s weather got our hopes up and we were grateful for the distraction, writes Sarah Caden
TWO years ago, as February gave way to March, we were all in lock-down. That time, the snow took us by surprise.
We adults all had childhood memories of single days off school for snow in our own childhoods, but never a shut-down on this scale. And our children — unless they’d been on skiing holidays, and now it seems they’re all off on skiing holidays — had never seen the like of the snow before, never mind the days off school.
We went into forced lockdown, thanks to the lack of resources for dealing with a big snow dump. It was like Christmas, but without being forced into any social engagements, and the abundance of food.
The only problem, of course, was our lack of preparedness. There was no bread. Milk, once it came back into the shops, was rationed. We ran out of food alarmingly quickly.
Last week, as the prospect of another lockdown loomed, there was no sign of snow. Far from it, in midweek it seemed like spring had sprung and we pounced on it.
We’re easily distracted, really. One bit of bright and sunny weather and we go around telling each other that, truly, it’s all going to be OK. Sure what could go wrong, isn’t the sun shining?
Irish winters are long and hard enough without virus fears and threats of imminent confinement.
Confinement? We’ve been confined since November, for God’s sake. Look at that sunshine. Things are on the up. Away with you, and your talk of death and doom.
And yet, while the sun shone, we also heard word from Australia that they, basking in heat, were stocking up on toilet roll. These are a free-and-easy people, and yet they were killing each other for the last roll of double quilted, just in case they couldn’t get out to the shops.
Back here, we were more focused on exchanging the news with one another that we’d left our overcoats unbuttoned for the first time this year. There was a perceptible stretch in the evenings. The kids returned to playing out on the road. The odd person had a look at the barbecue in the garage to see if it was ready for action.
Timing is everything, and it’s a strange feeling to feel, the prospect looming of being forced indoors, when the weather is starting to suggest we should get outside again. This is the time of year, the turn we live for through winter and we felt confused last week, as the sun split the rocks and all of our instincts told us to make merry, but at the same time all the news told us it might be time to make ready for a new and different lockdown to that we sort of enjoyed in 2018.
It was nice enough out to walk the kids to school, hang around and comfortably chat at the school gate, and then, having heard the nature of the chat, stop off at the supermarket on the way home for what seem to be the modern staples: the aforementioned toilet roll, pasta, rice, tins of tomatoes and coconut milk. Not stopping off at the supermarket in any panicked way, mind, just strolling in.
With the arrival of warmth we feel naturally less under siege, and that informed the nature of the so-called panic buying. There was a determined nonchalance to it. We were only buying stuff that we’d use anyway. Long-life stuff. Stuff that we would be working through for months to come when the fuss turned out to be a storm in a teacup. We weren’t letting the panic inform our mood — the blue skies were what dictated the mood. Or as much as we could.
Because there’s only so much a blue sky in March can do. Because the problem with a blue sky in early
March, even a few days of blue skies in early March, is that they can be fleeting. They can quit us again, they can let us down with their empty promises that there are good times around the corner.
We have been disappointed before, that’s for sure, by the vagaries of early March.
The problem is that in other times, when we got our hopes up or let our optimism get ahead of us, there weren’t such grim tidings otherwise, demanding our attention.
A change in the weather never killed anyone — we’re used to a change in the weather. It’s the rest, the stuff the sunshine distracted us from, that we really don’t want to face.
At time of writing, they say it might snow before the weekend is out. We never really believe it, do we? We cling instead to the snatches of sunshine, tell each other the season has flipped into spring.
This time, though, some of us have extra toilet paper, pasta and tinned tomatoes for that other lock-in that just might happen.
‘Not stopping off at the supermarket in any panicked way, mind’