In true Bridget Jones spirit I bought a new diary the other week.
I love diaries. I love filling out the details on the first page and putting in all the family birthdays and special events to come (not that I always remember them!). Before the year starts I like flicking through the clean pages with room for notes against each month. My last two diaries have been particularly brilliant as they even have tear out pages for shopping lists or other vital notes.
Even though I have a digital calendar on my phone, I still love my physical diary with pages. It’s a bit like reading a book, as opposed to articles online. There are some things we never tire of.
A few years ago, finding good diaries for my communications team was a bit of a ritual. When the catalogue for ordering the very corporate plain black or blue dairies came around the departments we all shook our heads. “We’ll find something more colourful,” I assured the team. For one very practical reason it was easy to distinguish whose was whose and to spot them amidst even the most cluttered workspace. So, each autumn I would ensure that I chose spotty, striped or other patterned versions that fitted our team spirit and brightened up the desks. Somehow the arrival of those brightly coloured diaries on our desks cut through any autumn gloom and signalled the start of exciting new things to come, even if we didn’t know what was ahead there were dozens of fresh pages to fill with deadlines, events and even holidays to be added in.
Like most people, my diary for this year is a poor relation to those of previous years. It is full of rubbed out events and trips, with lots of what appear to be blank weeks – ah, that would be lockdown! So, as my very stylish 2020 diary is consigned to the bottom drawer, I am really hoping for something fresh in the new year. I will dutifully fill in the events for 2021 that coronavirus cannot cancel, like birthdays and anniversaries, but I’m wondering what else I might be able to add in…
After all, I’ve been thinking – “we walk by faith, not by sight.”
A love story isn’t a love story without some ups and downs, or twists and turns. So maybe that explains the rollercoaster ride my son and his new wife have been experiencing the past few months.
2020 has turned out to be a difficult year for anyone planning a wedding, but it has certainly made them memorable events.
Our youngest child has, according to his two siblings, “had it easy”! He benefitted from all the struggles they went through, reaping the rewards after their battles with parents over hard won freedoms, forbidden toys, curfews and parties, travel plans and even it seemed a stress-free wedding. That was how it looked back in February when planning was going well and the coronavirus was a troubling situation on the other side of the world.
After a weekend of finalising arrangements for the big day in July, he said, “I think it’s pretty much sorted.” His biggest concern was whether they had ordered enough barrels of beer. But none of us knew what was around the corner.
As the country edged into lockdown in March, we hoped it would be short and sharp and back to normal by the summer. But a couple of months in a postponement began to look inevitable. Later in the summer I spotted their flowery wedding invitation on my mother-in-law’s mantlepiece, with the July date crossed out and a September day added in. It seemed to sum up the year. A year of crossed out plans and rubbed out holidays, yet still not confident about adding in the new dates. None of us knew what was ahead.
Their hopes to see wedding numbers increased to the 140 they had invited were crushed and as September drew nearer we all realised 30 was going to be as high as it would go. The wedding couldn’t be exactly as they dreamed. There would be no singing in the service, the congregation would wear face masks and covid rules would need to be kept – but it would be their day. It would be special and intimate and their immediate family, plus a few friends would be there to join in that familiar response in the service, when they were asked if they would support them in their marriage in the years ahead, by saying: “We will!”
We were all looking forward to the wedding, but just a couple of days before, as many of us were en-route to begin preparations, local restrictions struck.
When you lose something precious the first time, you are really sad. You mourn the loss and eventually you move on. Then perhaps you find the lost something or buy a new one. But if you lose it again, does the pain get less or maybe you just don’t let yourself feel it so much the second time? Thinking, ‘well I lost it before and I got over it, so I will get over it again’.
I can’t imagine how they felt two days before their wedding when they heard about new local restrictions and weren’t sure if the whole day would fold. It was another body blow for them both – yet more disappointment – I didn’t know if they would be able to bounce back. I wanted to curl up in a ball and weep myself. This painful uncertainty was combined with the news that a good friend would not be able to attend as she had to isolate after a flatmate had tested positive.
And yet they were lucky. The next morning they discovered, to everyone’s great relief, that the day was able to go ahead legally and the reception was also allowed. We didn’t do everything as planned, but it was an amazing time. The sun came out, there were smiles and laughter, along with tears. Emotions ran high, after all the “will we won’t we” of the days before it’s not surprising.
The many friends and family who couldn’t attend joined in via zoom and even the speeches were filmed and shared later, while a couple of very talented photographers captured the most precious memories from the day and absent friends and family sent in hilarious video messages.
Life doesn’t always go as we’d planned and relationships are also full of ups and downs. However, it’s only through experiencing those very low times that we can appreciate the highs and the happiness. The groom’s brother recently announced that he’d much rather have a life with big highs and lows, despite the pain and even the fear, rather than live life on the level, never experiencing the depths of emotion from a leap in the dark or a mountain top view.
I am sure there will be many more rollercoaster climbs and dives ahead for the new Mr and Mrs Farmer, and for all of us – let’s try to enjoy the ride.
I hate seagulls. No, I really hate them. Even more so because I’ve realised they’re just like the coronavirus. You’re walking along in the sunshine enjoying life when all of a sudden you get knocked for six and seconds later you realise you’ve been robbed!
Seagulls have mugged me twice in the last year and almost in the same spot.
The first time I was tucking into a very tasty Cornish (West Country – because it was in Devon) pasty on a bench looking out to sea. Out of the blue something hit me on the head and a large chunk of pasty was being whisked into the air. Yuk! Ouch! I tried covering the rest of it over with my hand as I munched, and then another swooped in for a bite. I retreated to a shelter to finish eating, but I’d lost my appetite and the pasty didn’t taste right after being pecked at by the flying bandits. They’d spoilt the treat entirely and I also felt a little traumatised.
Yesterday I hadn’t given the gulls a thought, but they must have recognised me. I was enjoying a double ice cream – mint choc chip and Turkish delight – odd combination but I couldn’t decide what to have. As we walked in search of a suitable bench I was relishing my first few licks, anticipating the rest, when suddenly, whack! Something hit me on the head and when I looked down the two balls of ice cream were splattered on the pavement while a seagull pecked at them. I didn’t even know they liked ice cream. They’d struck again… all that was left was a dry empty cone with a trickle of mint ice cream smeared down one side.
Coronavirus has felt a bit like that seagull attack. Much anticipated joyful moments for our family have been thrown into disarray, and special things we were looking forward to have effectively been stolen away, knocked out of our hands. The arrival of our first grandchild was a delight, but couldn’t be celebrated or enjoyed in the way we’d hoped. Our son’s wedding has had to be postponed, with all the emotional trauma, disappointment and uncertainty that involves. And the many precious family times around both these events have also been hijacked.
It’s been hard to put into words how I’ve felt these past few months, but the seagull ambush made me realise that most of us have been robbed by the coronavirus. For me it has been the loss of precious moments with family, for many thousands it will have been far worse as they mourn the death of loved ones, for others lost jobs and for some isolation and spiralling mental health issues.
Now as we try to ease out of lockdown, it isn’t like turning back the clock. Everything has changed, even walking into a shop is not an enjoyable experience anymore. We’re awkward, anxious to do the right thing, worried about touching and moving around in smaller spaces. We know the seagulls of coronavirus are hovering above waiting to swoop, so it’s hard to relax.
Staring at the seagull pecking at my ice cream was a reminder that it’s easy to let precious things slip through your hands. I want to hold onto the moments I have with my family and treasure times together even in the midst of this uncertainty. We can’t let the seagulls win – the virus has been sucking our joy away, replacing it with fear and anxiety.
But we need to keep eating ice creams while taking sensible precautions. Next time I visit Dartmouth I will take my umbrella – I think that should do the trick!
I wish there were such simple solutions for coronavirus.
Twenty-nine years ago to the day I was sitting in church in a small Cumbrian town. It was Maundy Thursday and my husband was leading the service. It was a bright spring day, just like today. I was 29-years-old and expecting our second child. Another twinge in my tummy made me shift in the wooden pew and wince. Could it be starting? I wondered.
Some hours later we welcomed our beautiful daughter into the world in Barrow-in-Furness hospital and it wasn’t long before her brother and her grandparents arrived to seal that very special Easter weekend event.
Today I wished our grown-up daughter happy birthday via Whatsapp video. She is expecting her first child and the due date is tomorrow. I can’t believe my baby is having a baby!
But the world our grandchild will be born into looks vastly different.
When our eldest son was born, it wasn’t the easiest birth and I was grateful for very personal care and visits from my midwife and sometimes a health visitor. Having a baby brings enormous change. We didn’t make it easy for ourselves, of course, as two weeks after his birth I drove across the country from Nottingham to Carlisle for his father’s ordination and within another couple of weeks we moved house for a new job and life in Cumbria.
But all this stress and change pales into insignificance beside what is happening today with the Coronavirus.
It’s a daunting time too for anyone to be giving birth and caring for a tiny new person.
Yesterday I heard that midwives will no longer visit new mums at home, as all home care and checks have been suspended. They really are on their own once they leave hospital. No neighbours or friends will be allowed to call by and family aren’t even allowed to visit. I am worried about how isolating this will feel.
Our daughter is a paediatrician. She should be well equipped to keep an eye on the development of her new baby, who we pray arrives safely very soon. She has a loving husband who will take care of her. But I know she will struggle with not sharing this special time with friends and family or enjoying the practical love and support of her community.
Apart from the awaited new arrival, the virus is a challenge for us as a family in many ways with special events in jeopardy and all of us facing hidden fears of what might happen next.
This morning I read an article from an Italian writer talking about what we will face in the coming weeks. Francesca Melandri wrote: “At some point, you will realise it’s tough. You will be afraid. … That boat in which you’ll be sailing in order to defeat the epidemic will not look the same to everyone nor is it actually the same for everyone: it never was.”
But there is one thing that is the same. And it was the same 29 years ago in Cumbria, when I burst into tears on arriving at the hospital – I had my own fears to conquer.
I knew then, and I know now, that these words from Psalm 46 are true:
“God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.”
When the world seems to be crumbling all we can do is remember we are standing on a rock and God is a the rock that can’t be shaken.
Is this your new site? Log in to activate admin features and dismiss this message
rachelfarmer 