A Strange Samhain

Well - here we are again, on the threshold of Samhain 2020, and it's so different to any marking of the end of the Celtic/Pagan festival year than I have experienced before. It's normally a time of peaceful reflection, when I sit in the summer house, set up an Ofrenda for my beloved Ancestors and Loved Ones, light the candles, remember and honour them in tranquility.

Not this year - This year, the year of COVID-19, the year of confusion, of the unknown, of the unexpected, of the unwelcome - this year is different. From the death of my dear cat Pip back in February, to the alien world of Lockdown and then social distancing, mask wearing, vigilant sanitary precautions and a whole world of uncertainty about how to behave and how to relate to our fellow human beings, even for somebody such as myself who has not been personally touched with tragedy through the Covid virus, the world is a very different and strange place to what it appeared to be this time last year.

Samhain is the time when we move down into the dark days of the year, when the natural world up here in the Northern Hemisphere starts to go into a period of rest, decline, death and decomposition. As we observe the nonhuman world enter this period, then so we are reminded of our own material, corporeal beings, our own mortal existence and the fact that this will also reach a point of decline, death and decomposition.  But also - if we observe in the long term - it will become clear to us that the decomposition is a vital precursor to feeding what will come after - the new life that WILL burst forth from the earth and will continue the circle of life.

These concepts have been, I must admit, both a poetical and a theoretical idea for me up until now; but during the last few months, I have had health issues which have caused me to very literally look death - briefly - in the face. My own mortality is now a thing of reality, rather than just an academic concept. It's a tough one to start to face, no doubt about that, but it's a fact that will become only too real to us all one day. I guess it's a privilege to be given the time to get used to the idea (a LONG time I hope!) rather than having Sister Death turn up and tap me on the shoulder, out of the blue with no warning.

And now, this very evening, our Prime Minister has held a news conference to tell us that we will all be going back in to a form of lockdown for another month, in order to try to quell the upsurge in Coronavirus cases, an increase which is threatening to be larger and even more devastating than the first surge of the virus in the early part of this year. The leavening to this serious news is that we are (supposedly) better prepared - more protective equipment and staff numbers for the National Health Service, more systems in place to support the economy and a well prepared and fast (15 minute) form of personally administered testing that will be available, distributed and coordinated by the army, to be available nationwide within days. (Hmm - I'll believe it when I see it; like politicians of all colours, promises are more easily made than kept!)

But there is a little light at Autumn Cottage in all this darkness… a little cat has joined the Cawley family. We have acquired “Fluffy”, a 14 year old tortoiseshell and white little lass from the local cat rescue organisation, after we were told that her age and health problems (she has a cardiac issue) meant that little interest was being shown in her; the possibilities for her adoption did not look very bright. Since we are none too sturdy ourselves at the moment, we thought we would all make a good match and could be three old fogies together! So far, that is exactly how things have turned out to be 😊

She is, as we were warned, “extremely nervous”, though after three weeks she is a great deal less nervous than she was. She is more or less left to her own devices, spends a good part of the day sleeping and the rest of the time eating tasty morsels & little biscuit treats and getting numerous cuddles and pets. It seems to be working well and it is certainly lovely to have another little living creature in the house, though it goes without saying that she will never be a replacement for our darling Pip, nor would we ever want her to be.

So, my friends, down we go into the dark days together here; I will be calling on all my creative resources to keep me going through the next few months. I'm undertaking a memoir writing course with the University of  Oxford at the moment that is keeping me busy both with my own writing, but also in devouring lots of wonderful biographies and memoirs written by others. I also intend getting my sewing machine into action again - though this requires a certain amount of clear space in which to work, which may well be a little time in coming, according to how the energy levels go. They are slowly returning, but it may well be a long job, so stick around to keep me company in the meantime (and enjoy this little video walk around the garden this afternoon)

 

Comments

[Sheila]

Dearest Roz, this is some shocking news to
absorb, the aspect of our own demise. It is something that we all will eventually have to face, but we hope not for a long time. And so it is that I hope for you a period of recovery, a restful winter with plenty of inspirational reading and writing, and plenty of time in your garden next year. Sending you love and strength, and Fluffy purrs.

[Darla]

This year has been hard enough without the addition of health problems. I know your new Fluffy must help in keeping your spirits up. I hope you finally get rid of that miserable virus and begin to feel better.

[Avis Keener]

Good to hear from you Roz, glad you are feeling better. Fluffy is a beauty! These are certainly strange days. Gardens, nature and friendships will help get us through them.