2020 was supposed to be the Year of Travel for the Walts, Senior and Junior. Guess what? Plans change. Well, plans get postponed. Plans are put on hold. Plans are “up in the air.” (But not literally up in the air, like, on a plane.) Nope. Because like so much of the planet in these anxiety-ridden days, we are grounded.
Our trip to Lithuania is “postponed.” Other travel plans remain ambiguous, flights not booked. On social media, friends alternate between “It’ll be ok by then,” “But you planned this for two years!” to “I just feel lucky and unafraid.” I say, you have to do what feels right for you and your travelling companions. And we are staying home.
The decision has been made for some others – school trips cancelled, countries with borders closed – Italy and Israel, as I write this. (Can we remember in our lifetime whole countries in quarantine?)
We love to travel, but right now, our travel is sharing the sickness. The results of the Covid-19 virus spread are wide-ranging. The stock market is jittery and businesses are projecting huge losses. Airlines, restaurants, entertainment businesses are laying off staff. Hollywood is delaying movie premieres. Sporting events, synagogue services, many “normal” activities are cancelled. I’m not telling you anything you don’t know. Or that you don’t see broadcast 24/7 on your favourite news channel.
Thank G-d, we had our trip to Israel and got in and out before their current lockdown. We decided not to take our trip to Lithuania as there are too many variables. Being someone who hates flying at the best of times, this is not really the time to wonder what other “bonuses” might come along with European travel.
There is a word for the thoughts that go through my mind: catastrophizing. I’m supremely good at it: “But what if?”….could be my middle name.
One website says that catastrophizing “can affect our entire outlook in life, and create a self-fulfilling prophecy of failure, disappointment and underachievement.” Ick. So naturally, travel problems have magnified beyond all manageability in my tiny mind. Nope, not the time for travel. Day to day living is bad enough. It’s supremely disappointing, but there it is. Vilna will have to wait.
However, if 2020 can’t be the year of travel, or not the full year of travel at least, what else can it be? What if it’s the year of cleaning up my house(s)? Or the year of organizing old photos? Or the year of gardening? Writing? There has to some kind of silver lining, which doesn’t involve illness, germs, planes, trains or automobiles.
Chez nous, as borders close, I’ve been thinking more and more about the people who look after us. Grocery store clerks, wait staff, health providers, garbage collectors. People who do so much of the work that keeps society moving. And what crappy jobs many people have, who have to touch….well, everything. And deal with sick, cranky, snotty-nosed people. Those who serve cups of juice to old folks at a concert in their long-term care home. People who have to clean and disinfect, and take away our dirty plates when we’ve finished a meal. All I have to do (usually) is sit at a computer, make my own coffee and avoid touching anything or washing like mad if I go to the gym occasionally to do some laps.
But the thing that is most on my mind these days is this work that many of us do in the arts. Mostly, we work to bring large groups of people together, to create art, and to experience feelings of joy, pity, love, astonishment. That’s what the arts, especially the performing arts, do. Sure, we can do it remotely, tune in to a podcast, watch a concert with no live audience, or a play where actors keep a good metre or two away from each other (no kissing, Romeo!).
But that isn’t actually what we do do. We work very hard to bring you to our theatre, to our concert hall, to our temple of art. We try to sell you tickets, and entice you to leave your comfy couch. We want you sit with other like-minded people and hear and see the wonder of it all. And how is that going to work in a Covid-19 atmosphere?
Clearly, in some places, it’s already not working. Some galleries, opera halls and large cultural trade shows like South by Southwest (a phenomenally important event on the calendar of so many cultural industry practitioners) are closed, cancelled or postponed. It’s such a scary prospect, that I think some of my colleagues cannot even go there. "We’re planning for May, for June, for next season, for season launches, for all kind of amazing events that bring you close with a lot of people – exhibitions, outdoor concerts, sold-out shows. Life and art goes on."
I thought about this hard at the recent Symphony Nova Scotia and Lennie Gallant concert. A thousand or so people, music lovers, and our “band,” SNS, plus Lennie and Co. Superb musicians, giving it their all, for all of us.
Lennie’s songs, as good as songs get, touch people deeply. “Man of Steel,” “Peter’s Dream,” and his closing anthem, “The Band’s Still Playing,” speak to our shared humanity and our Maritime experience. Lennie gets our DNA.
“The Band’s Still Playing” is a rocking tune about the musicians who played on the Titanic, until their sad bitter ends. But it's also about us. It’s a rock song, but there are quiet moments, and in one of those quiet moments as Lennie strummed his guitar, I looked at all that talent on stage, and said a silent prayer for these musicians, the public servants of our souls. Please keep them safe. And please keep the music going, giving us all the respite we need from catastrophizing (even as we worry about our coughing concert neighbour).
We went for supper this weekend to a pub and I tried hard not to catastrophize. We had a delicious meal, and then when it was time to pay, our waitress told us that someone who had been deeply moved by my husband’s playing at a funeral had picked up our tab. Karma. Hubby was deeply touched.
Public servants, artists, you are important. May we be able to continue to gather – to sing, to celebrate, to listen closely, and to close our eyes to the catastrophes, even if just for a few hours. You give us hope, you bring us beauty. Thank you.
The Band's Still Playing - Lennie Gallant
All hands on deck, please don’t panic It’s probably a drill, there’s really nothing wrong Steady as she goes on the Titanic It can’t be too bad, the band plays on.
There’s lifeboats launched upon the water Captain’s crying, “Won’t you please get in?” I don’t believe in this disaster I just don’t believe the mess we’re in.
Chorus: And the band’s still playing Can you hear those horns Crying out for our souls And the band’s still playing The band played hymns And the band played rock ‘n’ roll.
I’m going to rearrange all of the deck chairs I’m going to cover my hair, every inch of skin Trading in my sunglasses for a darker pair So I don’t have to see the mess we’re in.
Chorus
This music’s got me dancing so fast You know I really ain’t got time to think Someone said something about a big hole in the sky Someone said last call, time for one more drink.
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