Time telescopes. Kaleidoscopes. Gyroscopes. Fractals of moments. Pendulum clock. Ticking. Unspooling. Escher time; Mobius loop.

Panxiety is how I described the panicky anxiety I feel; I’ve come to think of it as pandemic anxiety.

I live in a town of with a population of around 18,500. This morning, we had 50 cases of COVID-19. This evening; one less. Our first death.

Living not far from an epicenter of the disease,  I am acutely aware of impact of the virus. But, this makes it seem more personal. This is someone I passed on the street; smiled at in the drugstore; held the door open for at the post office. Most of my neighbours are in the high risk category. For that matter, I am too.

In molasses-time, I am compiling another oatcakes & snowdrops moment in Canadian women’s history – Charlotte Small’s life narrative as a window on women in the fur trade/country wives. This post exemplifies how I get overwhelmed. As an educator, I included a section on the role and experiences of indigenous and Metis women’s in the development of the Northwest by European fur traders. My life narrative meld/mingles with those of the women’s who I’ve shared. Revisited videos, books, essays. Discovering new scholarship, websites, experiences. I have more than enough information – it’s trying to write it into a coherent post that freezes my fingers on the keyboard, the words inside the emptiness of my head. Oh, to have access to my old lecture/seminar notes or drafts of the instructors’ manuals I created . . .

This journey’s over
Another’s just begun
Beneath the moonlight
Or by the warming sun
I seek to hold you
In sunshine or in rain
Beneath the heavens
I’m coming home again
So far we drifted
Like ships upon the sea
Horizons fading
We lost to destiny
Storm clouds hover
Our vanity like pain
Which held back the winds
That bring us home again
Oh could I see now
The swallows in their flight
Watch the moon dance
On oceans in the night
The trees reach upward
To help the birds to fly
And of the creatures
Who’ll hear them when they cry?
We walk the hillside
Like lost souls in the night
And in the darkness
We’re searching for the light
And in the morning
Like freshly fallen dew
Much like a moon’s breath
I’m coming home to you
This journey’s over
Another’s just begun
Beneath moonlight
Or by the warming sun
For I remember
That if my heart be true
Just like an eagle
I’m coming home to you

*oatcakes & snowdrops: Canadian women’s history, one minute, one moment @ a time