Looking ahead to at least a year from now, when we will be looking back at this time is, perhaps, being optimistic that the Coronavirus will be a thing of the long ago past. How we will reflect on it depends on how, if and when it ends. That makes me question how does it end? Does the virus eventually stop getting passed around and disappear? Or linger in the corners of our earth waiting to spring forth again? Or will it be stopped with a vaccine? Assuming in another year this madness will have dissipated, how will we talk about it?
“Why didn’t I get my novel finished with all that time at home?”
“Why did I eat so many snacks and gain weight?”
“Why didn’t I use that time to file and organize all the family photos?”
“Why didn’t I clean out the attic as I promised my wife?”
Each of us will have their own whys. “What was I doing? What was I thinking?
It’s hard to think now. We are frozen in time. We’ve had to cancel plans. We can’t make new plans. We are in a tsunami of information about the Coronavirus with our bodies and minds held captive in the swirl. So much unknown and uncertain. Day to day changes dictated by dos and don’ts. More and more sad stories of deaths, unemployment, worrying about who’s left out of the line of vision or forgotten.
Probably, like many of you, some days I become frozen. Can’t focus to write. No initiative to get to those household projects. Can’t think of a reason to get out of bed in the morning. Luckily, there comes a day when a friend calls crying for help. Mostly to vent but to have someone she can talk to. Suddenly, I have a purpose. Doing something, no matter how small, for someone else can snap my lulled mind out of depression. I am fortunate to have had this moment.
This brings to mind another time when we were frozen in time—literally.
January 1998. My husband and I had gone to bed, but not before checking flashlights, filling kerosene lamps and water containers. I had also filled the horses’ water buckets and extra buckets to store in the warm tack room. There was fog and heavy drizzle; no wind. The weather forecaster had predicted a drop in temperature and a possible freeze. This was not unusual for that time of year. We were accustomed to cold, snow and wind. The forecaster did not announce any storm warning. But storm, we did get. Big time. One of Maine’s worst natural disasters. The 1998 Ice Storm arrived quietly in the night, catching all Mainers off guard.
We and thousands of other Mainers and visitors woke up to a surreal setting. Tree branches, power lines and poles, fences, rock walls and boulders, buildings, cars, roads, sagging electric horse fences — all were encased in two to three inches of ice. Ice sheathed every twig and pine needle on the trees. The tops of majestic birches bowed to the ground.
I thought of the memorable ice-castle scene in Dr. Zhivago, but reality soon replaced cinematic rapture: No electricity, no heat, no water, no flushing toilets. A treacherous walk to the horse barn turned into ice-skating. News of other people in far more distress crackled out of our small battery radio as we sat close to the wood fireplace, hands cradling hot coffee mugs.
Our steep, long driveway curves ninety degrees half way down the steep hill. No way could I drive to my company eighteen miles north. No way could our barn and workshop employees get to us. I sometimes appreciated staying home in bad weather, but not on this particular day. My company, Moss Inc, needed to finish an important exhibit project and send it FedEx for next day delivery to our client, IBM, for the Electronics Exhibit Show in Las Vegas. It was imperative it leave this day. If not, we wouldn’t be paid for the job, we would lose that client and the consequences of our “delivery-on-time” reputation could be disastrous.
No phone land line worked. I was unable to reach my employees by cell phone because the service was jammed. After I clawed with boot cleats to the barn to feed horses, I announced to my husband I was going to go to my office. “Forget it,” he replied. “Four-wheel drive isn’t going to get you safely down the slippery slope and certainly not back up.” Discouraged, I sat down and turned the radio back on. The announcer was urging people to stay off roads. Power lines and trees were lying across most roads. Emergency rooms were full with car accident victims and people with broken legs and arms resulting from bad falls. I felt desolate and helpless. I had no way to get in touch with our client.
As I sat there worrying about our client and how my employees were faring in their homes without heat or electricity, our frame shop supervisor at Moss, Rick, was putting his small home generator, along with his chain saw and battery lanterns, into the back of his truck. While sliding along the rural road, he came upon two large fallen trees stretched across the road. He spent an hour cutting and removing them to clear his way. Two more employees lived along this road. Rick stopped and encouraged them to come with him. They arrived at Moss to find another employee who lived nearby and was just as concerned “about getting the job out.” This fourth brave member of the group was in the graphics department. He knew how to computerize graphics into the vinyl cutting machine and how to apply them.
The company of 164 employees was reduced to a team of four. The four moved the generator around to finish the frame cutting, grinding and drilling, then to the sewing machine to finish off the sewing of seams and tacking, then to the graphic computer for the final step of cutting the vinyl graphics. They worked together to apply the vinyl under the guidance of the graphics person. Rick planned to drive the boxes to the airport in Bangor, normally an hour drive, hoping to be in time for the FedEx flight departure.
Late in the afternoon, when the team was labeling, writing instructions for installation, and packaging, the back outside door-bell rang. Libby, our FedEx driver entered saying, “I knew you guys have a shipment to go out today. My boss cancelled all trucks into this area, but I came anyway. I know it’s important. Load her up. I need to get going if I plan to reach the last FedEx flight. Roads to Bangor all are still a sheet of ice.” The team couldn’t believe it.
Later in the week, when I saw Libby at the company freight entrance, I thanked her and asked why she had taken such risks. “Because you are a great company and have good employees. You all make me feel part of your family and I knew the exhibit had to go out that day.”
I knew nothing of this team’s endeavor until two days later when roads were passable, covered with lots of sand and salt. Electricity was restored to the company, but many employees were far less fortunate. The majority were without power, heat and water for almost three weeks. I placed employees with children and those who had no heat in motels and offered to buy generators. Some accepted. Some, with wood stoves, stuck it out.
What would prompt those employees to risk traveling under dangerous conditions to get to work, especially with minimal support and tools? What was the driving motivation?
It’s simple…Loyalty, pride and dedication generated out of trust, respect and caring that we all shared for one another.
This is a different time, I know. I realize it’s hard not to be ‘frozen’ and inert, with no energy to get those things done that we ordinarily don’t have the time to do. I know I can’t keep procrastinating. Of course, we still need to be cautious and stay in our homes until notified to do otherwise. But, really, there is so much we can be accomplishing. At least, we have more resources than in the ice storm of 1998. I hope you realize I am preaching to myself. If you can benefit from my comments, so much the better.
Really, isn’t true isolation being in solitary confinement in a 10x10 foot cell with only a bed, toilet and sink? And without a window?