#QuarantinedThoughts is a random series of ramblings and reflections brought about by a mild case of cabin fever. The author currently resides in an Oregon field with her husband and “The Red Headed League” a family of Staffordshire Bull Terriers named after Sherlock Holmes characters.
I have very little faith in humanity these days. Not that I have always been such a pessimist, perhaps it’s just old age. Or maybe is watching dumb kids go to the park to play basketball.
Sure, it’s only a recent development that this became a dumb thing to do. It used to be considered a healthy, desirable activity. But those were different times. A time when I didn’t spend a few minutes in the morning listening to my neighbours coughing from across the fence and wondering whether it’s just smoker’s lungs or whether they’ve got the bug.
But whether or not we personally get lucky (either by avoiding catching it until they find a vaccine or catching it and recovering quickly) I am quite certain the virus will have its fill of death and devastation before this is over, because as a species, we’re really not very clever at all.
And Easter will prove that. Across many of the current hot spots (U.S., The United Kingdom, Europe) this is a time when we’re starting to get nice weather, and many of us have it in our minds that it’s a holiday (nevermind if we’ve been off work or school for weeks, that doesn’t count) and the itch to just sod it all and have a bit of good o’l fun is mighty powerful.
We’re basically at that stage (which funnily enough often comes at Easter) when we feel like we’ve earned the right to eat a few dozen chocolate eggs because we’ve been going to the gym for a whole week and a half and eaten mostly healthy food for “ages.” There’s a reason why so many people succumb to Yo-yo dieting. We’re very good at having good intentions and very bad at seeing things through.
That’s true even when the consequences of your willpower slipping up are evident (chocolate, apparently, makes your clothes shrink) but in battling something that we cannot see until it’s (often tragically) too late, we really are fighting a losing battle, I fear.
Not to say that we won’t have many people — maybe even the majority of us — doing the right thing, but we’re also shit out of luck in that in order for this to work we do need the idiots on board too. And that, I’m afraid, spells out a rough patch ahead for us all.
Pickle, Ruby, Nanico and Bob. They’re my new friends and Netflix-substitutes. Insatiably thirsty, fearless and feisty, these guys sweep, zoom, fight and flirt, making an incredible amount of noise considering they’re the size of my finger.
As far as I can tell, they represent three different hummingbird species. Pickle a bright iridescent green, and Nanico is the not-so-clever newcomer (keeps trying to drink from the colourful string of light bulbs we have hanging out front) named after the miniature bananas I remember having in Brazil (he-or-she is yellow, and “nanico” also means “little guy” in Portuguese).
Today I spotted another green one, smaller than pickle. I shall name him Cornichon, should he become a regular at our feeder.
Watching their antics as they become part of my isolated world (or perhaps as I become part of theirs) reminds me that it’s all going to be OK. Nature knows exactly what it’s doing. How else can you explain something the utter heart-breaking perfection of a hummingbird? Mother knows best.
Maybe the virus is her way to tell us to slow the f**k down and take a good look around. And maybe, just maybe, to quit shitting on the planet while we’re at it.
We probably won’t get the message, but I, for one intend to enjoy the show.