Lockdown - Day 34

Hubbie and I are planning our escape. 

One evening during the Christmas break four years ago, the whole family sat and watched a DVD of the movie, The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel with Judy Dench.   I love the film and as it came to an end, I turned to my husband of many years and said, "How about we move to India when we retire?" 

He nodded in agreement but said, "India is too far, how about Spain?" 

“I can do Spain.” I said. 

Our castle building in the air was rudely interrupted by grumbles of protest from the boys, "What about us?" 

I looked at them in surprise, "What about you?" I said, "sure you’ll be gone by then."  

"But what about Christmas?" said Tom.

"You want us to hang around until Christmas so you can have a place to stay?"

The boys looked at each other helplessly seemingly lost for words at our selfishness.

I attempted to reassure them,  "You can come and visit us in Spain or better still, we come and visit you?"  That didn't appeal to them either.

Since the lockdown, the planning has become more urgent.  I want to live someplace that is reliably warm where I can step outside at any time.  A cosy house is all very well but it gets claustrophobic if you're sharing it with others.  This good weather we're having has given us an extra living room and I'm grateful we're not in Wuhan or Spain now where they were not allowed outside at all.   

I was heartbroken when my eldest son moved to Dublin two years ago to take up a job.  I did the same to my parents and I expect the other two will move out someday once they can afford it.     When they do, and we're retired, whether it's at 65 or 68, I don’t want to continue living in this house and this country all year round with its wet, wild, windy weather and oppressively dull days and long nights.  If any of our children are still living with us by then, we'll sell the house from underneath them.     

Furthermore, I don't want to live in a house bigger than I need and then preyed upon by sons/relatives who have nowhere else to go.  Selfish of me I know but I've done my bit.  

Other people are hell.  I'm hell.  Living with other people is not easy especially as you get older.  Cooped up together these past five weeks has made me realise how much I took for granted.    Downtime is precious and essential to my mental health.    I need space to be by myself even if it's only to putter about the kitchen alone and not be subjected to: 

"What's for dinner?"
"When's dinner?"
"Are you eating that?"
"You're watching Grace & Frankie again?!?"
"Who ate all the ice-cream?"
"How much cider have you had?"
"Are you going shopping today?  Can you buy me..?"
"If I cut the grass, will you pay me?"
"How much will you pay me if I clean my room?"
"Mum, we're out of ...."
"It's not my turn to cook, I cooked last time."

Extrovert though I am, being around people, 24 hours a day is hard and it's the same people all the time.  I know I should be grateful for this unexpected gift of time with my family; it's something I remind myself everyday.   On the whole, we're doing fine.  We're four mature adults muddling along but occasionally we unravel and tempers fray.

I need structure.  I always knew this but up to now it wasn't an issue.  The demarcation between work and play, hobby and family, duty and pleasure, me and everyone else was clear.  The lockdown has blurred these boundaries into slurry pit of headaches and simmering resentment.  As someone on a spiritual 'journey', I'm aware it's called resistance and non-acceptance but naming it doesn't lessen the pain.  Well, last night, I simmered no more.  I claimed the living room mine from 7pm.  No winkles (I'll explain another time) allowed.       

I created a Frankie night.    I changed into layers of body loving floaty fabrics.  I wore funky earrings and mismatched socks with my clogs.  I lit every candle in the house and placed them at different heights in and around the fireplace.  I laid several blankets on the ground and set up my meditation stool.     I didn't have a joint but I recreated the smell and smoky atmosphere by burning sage and letting it burn out on the mantle-piece.   I watched six episodes of Grace & Frankie back to back while sipping two cans of Bulmers. Occasionally the men in my life stuck their noses in the door and pleaded to have the TV back.  I ignored them.  I alternated between kneeling on the meditation stool aligning my chakras and gently folding myself into yoga postures on the blankets in front of the alter of love and peace.    At 10pm, I surrendered the room back to the animals and crawled up to bed.  This morning I'm hungover but calm again: I've reclaimed my space.  

Namaste sisters.