OYSTERHOOD is reclusiveness or solitude, or an overwhelming desire to stay at home.

— @HaggardHawks

A day of accidents. First, while working in my garden, I fell into a sewer drain which was covered by rotten boards that could not support my weight, and I ended up on the ground on all fours, hurting both my feet, my left leg, and both my hands, the left one quite severely. Fortunately, I can still type, but I had to take off my rings because of the swelling in my fingers. Bruises, swellings, scratches and a sore soul.

Then, shaken, I had a difficult conversation with my brother about a topic that has been kind of lurking between us for a while, and because, purely by biological coincidence, we stand on the opposite sides of a great historical divide, it is not easy to know that we struggle to find common ground when we know, love and respect each other as much as we do.

Then, shaken and stirred, I drove Topolino into a closed property gate. Luckily, no great damage was done, but my ego is still sitting in a corner, weeping into her elbow.

Yet, at the end of it all, not only completely shattered by the global effects of the pandemic, but also acutely reminded how fragile I am because of the two accidents I had in the course of six hours, I listened to Finuala Dowling’s script about death, “Ice Cream, Thank You”, performed – beautifully – by John Maytham at the stunning Summit Place Guest House tonight, social distancing and all. One would think that the grim topic would have driven us all into misery, but that’s the magic of literature, and especially poetry, that it can uplift even at the saddest of times. We even laughed, a lot. And all of us went home feeling a little bit less alone, and a little bit less frightened.

Thank you, Finuala and John, and poetry!

Be kind. Wear a mask. Support local.

“Physical distancing remains one of the key strategies to curb this pandemic.”

— NICD