“Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.” This line from John Lennon’s song “Beautiful Boy” has come to mind in these days. Usually my life is busy with all sorts of lists and plans, things to do, people to see, places to go. Lock-down is strange; I kind of float or bump along without any plans, I have to stop myself to ask whether going out to shop is really necessary, couldn’t we go for another few days with what we have or even longer. I decide spontaneously to defrost the freezer, to repot my winter-weary plants, to try to fix that leaky tap, to write. I choose to do things in the moment, without hashing it out in my mind, on lists or with others beforehand. My head starts to clear. I find myself wondering what day of the week it is, what day of the month. The flow of time has changed, slowed. I catch of glimpse of a prisoner’s life in isolation and am thankful that I’m not a prisoner. I am choosing to cooperate with the rules that are being imposed because I believe it’s for the greater good of the larger community. Again, I’m grateful that I’m not stressed by it, that I have food and clean water, I have the companionship of Jethro, our dog Caleb, and our three chickens.
Unfortunately, this is not the reality for a lot of people right now. Many Italians are waking up to another day in a cramped apartment or to work with inadequate protection amongst co-workers, clients or patients who may be carrying the virus. Not to mention, the anxiety and depression of people at risk with mental illness. And those of you not living under clear lock-down directives are wondering whether your supermarket will have restocked the shelves, whether you should cancel your meeting, your party, your family visit, whether it’s safe to take your children to the playground. Tough decisions.
Two weeks ago, we were in the same position. Every day, the numbers of those infected were growing, the numbers of those dying were rising, mostly in the 12 provinces that had been locked down, and the first cases were also popping up in Tuscany. We’d erred on the side of caution, cancelling a meal with friends as I had a slight cough, buying a few extra things at the supermarket so we wouldn’t have to go down to the city as often. But then on Thursday evening, we decided to drive into the mountains to a meeting of the Camino di San Bartolomeo, a group tending the pilgrimage route that passes by our house. We were finalising the guidebook before it goes to print. There were about 12 of us who showed up; we avoided the customary kisses.
On Saturday, we went down to Pistoia to take part in a protest organised by friends only to find that it had been cancelled. Although the city was not as busy as some weekends, there were a good number of people milling together in cafes and strolling along the streets. It gave us a false sense that everything was fine, that maybe we were being a little too cautious, that we should relax a little while keeping our distance and washing our hands. That evening, knowing that our village pizzeria was struggling with few customers in the winter and expecting there to be next to none given the virus, we decided to eat there. Surprisingly, over 30 people showed up, perhaps with the same idea. There were even tables of 6, 8 and 12 friends dining together. While we were eating, to the north of us, 9000 people were boarding trains in Milan to flee south. The lock-down of the Northern regions planned for Sunday had been leaked to the media.
Three days later, the whole country was in lock-down and one week later, Italy experienced the greatest rise in cases since the epidemic began. The rise was expected. Not only because the Milanese had fled but also because Italians are a gregarious people and weekends are for getting together with friends and family.
Many friends have been asking me whether Italy has been experiencing panic buying. I must admit that we have not seen much evidence of it, not on social media nor on our forays into local supermarkets. Reflecting on why this may be, I come up with several reasons. Italy is a net exporter of food, so supplying its own supermarkets probably isn’t difficult. Also, at least in a provincial city like Pistoia, it would be socially embarrassing to be seen to be hoarding food to the extent that none would be left for others. In fact, one friend asked on social media how many cans of tomatoes he could safely buy without appearing to hoard, half-joking of course. Last and, I think, most importantly, the Italian government has been taking steps all along to try to contain the virus. Although many wish the lock-down had started earlier, the government didn’t dither around wondering what it should do and whether or not to do it and when. It acted. This created a sense of security amongst the populace. It seems to me that the panic buying has been most severe in the countries where the national government has not been acting decisively and with a clearly communicated strategy.
I have been heartened, however, to hear of some supermarkets offering exclusive senior citizen shopping hours and hope people can start to shift their perspective on buying. Years ago, my family and I lived in Oklahoma City. We lived there when the federal building was bombed; our whole house shook with the blast. But what struck us afterwards was the enormous outpouring of love and support within the OKC community. People volunteered at food banks, took turns taking meals to those affected and feeding the rescue workers in church halls, organised free events for children to help them deal with the trauma. It was an incredibly moving and inspiring experience, one that gave me immense hope in our ability as humans to care for one another in times of suffering and need. This is what I see now is happening in Italy: the singing-alongs from windows, concerts from balconies, flash-mob applause for all the medical staff caring for the ill, jokes and positive support circulating on social media. And from friends around the world. It helps us feel less lonely, less alone.
Last night I threw open my window and gazed out at the yellow and white stars in the valley and the constellations in the sky, the air was crisp, an owl hooted. And it was beautifully silent. No chorus of machines, planes flying overhead, cars zooming around. It is at once lonely and peaceful, blessedly peaceful. I hear the birds returning to make their nests, the humming bees, smell the wild plum blooming, take time to notice the small purple crocuses, daisies, forget-me-nots popping up all over. My thoughts slow and my heart opens to the magic that is always there around us but that so often happens while we are busy making other plans.
Olivia's Journal 