from Anne in Adelaide, Australia: more about the Sewing life …

Quilt making

August 6. Further to the sewing life: since my blog about sewing, I came across a ‘good news’ story.

Patricia, my cousin in northern-NSW, Australia, responded to tell me about creating quilts. Various community sewing groups with this specialised skill make quilts for hospitals as well as home-made face masks. They create a range of quilts and kids who are in hospital can choose one to keep. My cousin says it is so much more homely to have a bright quilt covering your bed rather than hospital blankets. They also make smaller quilts for newborns that did not survive. The parents can use the quilt to wrap their tiny baby.

a kid’s quilt

This little story is but a reminder of the thousands of people in small communities doing selfless things for others during these challenging times.

From Brenda in Hove: Another Thing for the Chop!

4 July

I saw a poster recently to the effect that the rush on toilet paper a few months ago wasn’t a patch on 25 million women trying to get a haircut this week when hairdressers opened. I wasn’t desperate but I was on the hairdresser’s list and he emailed me some time ago asking if I wanted an appointment – in the manner of bestowing a favour. I did.

What a performance! Before you cross the threshold your temperature is taken – after being asked to lift your hair from your forehead (fair enough). Through his spectacles, the visor and over the mask the man is not sure what he is seeing. I sympathize. I assure him I do not have a temperature. He takes it again to be sure (so far, so good). Nobody is allowed in without a face mask and at the door I am asked to put on surgical gloves and a plastic gown. All these had arrived from China only the day before (I would have thought the UK could extend itself to manufacturing such simple gear).

The staff are wearing face masks as well as plastic visors and surgical gloves. If I didn’t already know them, I would never be in a position to recognize them again. I have been going to the same place for years and get on very well with the owners. We usually have spirited conversations about politics – although we vote very differently. This time I don’t have on my hearing aids (they quarrel with my mask) and he is incapacitated by all the gear he has on. It is uncomfortable for him and he is still getting used to the whole thing. Very little conversation. He did manage to say he didn’t think much of Joe Biden. What did I think? “He is not Donald Trump,” I say. “He will do.” “Oh!” he said. “I hadn’t thought of it like that.” My heart sinks (for  reasons unrelated to him)  – and so does the conversation. Too difficult through all the masks and whatnot. It is a pity. I used to enjoy our conversations.

The whole salon has had to be reconfigured to accommodate the distancing measures. Much carpentry, electricals, plumbing and paint work. Expensive – and done before the government changed its mind about the distance to be observed (from two metres down to one metre). Really.

Colour applied, hair washed (holding face mask over my mouth and nose), much desired cut done. He makes a remark about the cuts my husband has done. “He won’t get a job here.”  “He neither trained for it, applied for it or wants it,” I say (the cut was rather good in the circumstances I thought). He was amused. Before I paid, my contact details had to be recorded for tracing purposes (yeh, right!).

I  realise that face masks make human interaction minimal – only doing what need be to get the transaction done. Quite apart from not being able to recognise each, no smiles, no frowns, no facial expression at all registered. It completely changes the small pleasures that social interactions provide in the normal course of events. The hairdressing salon was one of those places where people chatted – with the person cutting their hair, with the people in other chairs, people waiting, people providing tea and magazines (the latter two a thing of the past). It wasn’t high society but it was pleasant. That is no more. Sad.

My hair can go grey again, my husband can cut it in future and I can get used to both very easily. One more thing I really don’t need.  

from Susan A. in Ottawa, Canada: April snowfalls and fines for dawdling …

15 April. April is the cruellest month.  When I awoke this morning just after 5.00, the little park behind our house looked strangely light.  Although the sky was clear, there had been a snowfall in the night!  It will surely melt during the day, but it was Nature’s rude reminder not to think about Spring just yet.

And then, checking Facebook while having a first cup of coffee, there was the sad news that the husband of one of my former colleagues at Statistics Canada has died from COVID-19 and that she herself is in critical condition in the hospital.  We had planned to get together after they returned from their stay in Toulouse and ours in Paris.  We returned at the beginning of March but they seem to have stayed till the end.

14 April. And that exchange with my daughter sapped my energy for the week as I waited for a decision.  In the end it was good news, for the time being, and she is at home with her husband and girls, tending her garden.

Now for a little recap of the week that was. 

Fines for dawdling in the parks. Last weekend was quite lovely as mentioned earlier and people were out and about in numbers, but parks had already been closed except to walk through.  Early in the week it was reported that a man had been fined $880 for walking his dog in one closed park, and a man playing with his autistic child in another park had been given a warning.  There were some subsequent negative comments in the press about the harshness of the action, but the mayor noted that warnings were not working.  Still, the communication about what is OK and not OK is as vague as the fines are steep.

Masks. One of my sister’s sons works for 3M Canada, a manager in the Personal Safety Division.  He was slated for a new job just before COVID-19 came to Canada.  Now he remains in his job, is one of the only workers in the offices, and seems to be working all his waking hours.  As one of his self/US protective measures, Mr Trump invoked the 1950 Defense Production Act allowing the government to stop 3M exporting N95 respirators to Canada and Latin America.  In response 3M cited global humanitarian issues as a reason to continue its supply to other countries.  Canada noted that some of the materials used in the masks come from Canada.  Eventually an agreement was reached after the sword rattling and subsequent diplomatic efforts.  That nephew of ours must be learning a good deal about business in a pandemic with an overlay of politics.

Street cleaning. On Monday evening our street was posted with the no parking signs which usually signal that it has finally become almost impassable due to snow banks and the impressive show of heavy equipment would restore it, albeit temporarily, to its two-way status.  Early the next morning there was a very impressive show of heavy equipment, this time to remove winter debris and all the salt and sand that accumulates over the course of an Ottawa winter.  The usual routine of a truck with a sweeper and water spray proceeded up and down the sides and the middle of the street and all quieted down for a bit, then there was a heavy rumble that put in mind the parade of tanks down the Champs Elysees for July 14th festivities.  The rumble was caused by a line of eight trucks spraying again, a sight never seen in previous years.  Later a neighbour told us that it was chemical disinfectant that was being sprayed.  Not confirmed by any press, but very unusual if true.

Easter. Easter Sunday was drab and drear, and we felt sad even though our dear youngish neighbour delivered home-made hot-cross buns for our breakfast.  We had a long phone conversation with our daughter, and caught up with the girls who are at home completing their school years.  The cheerful multi-coloured arrangement of tulips I had picked out to send to them was replaced by the florist with some blue bouquet of odd flowers.  Perhaps it was a representation of the mood of all of us – a little blue.

On Easter Monday we had a Zoom session with a group of our neighbours who we used to meet regularly for dinner or movie nights.  We are four couples, – all retired but one from interesting jobs, and we have a fine time together.  We were immensely cheered by one couple who appeared in large pink bunny ears and related their morning walk wearing same.  They had passed a mother with a little boy, at a six-foot distance of course, and the mother had said to the child “Oh look dear, it’s the Easter bunny.  “Thank you for my chocolate rabbit” said the little child.  The Easter bunny said it had cheered his day!