H E A D W A T E R S
Pandemic
N E S T
fatigue
BY BETHANY LEE
Dance through the April break Not quite sure what to do during April’s “March” break? With travel out of the question, it might be time to check out the expanding world of online master classes taught by national and international experts. Among those that caught our eye are the Zoom classes put on by instructors at Toronto’s famed National Ballet. Categorized for absolute beginners and up, they include the Children’s Spring Break Dance Intensive for students age 7 to 11 (with two years of dance experience). On Monday to Friday mornings, April 12 to 16, the course offers instruction in ballet, hip hop and contemporary dance. At $250, the fee is hefty, but cheaper than a ski holiday. national.ballet.ca/explore/in-studio
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ILLUS TR ATION BY SHEL AGH ARMS TRONG
T
he pandemic just keeps going. Even as the tsunami of the second wave recedes, we’re dragged back by the frightening undertow of virus variants from across the globe. Although many of us reading this in our cozy homes have not been hit head on by Covid, it’s fair to say that young and old alike have experienced an epidemic of loneliness and frustration, leading to family struggles and difficult decisions. It’s not that we haven’t been trying to fight the isola tion and to construct – in that overused phrase – a “new normal” for our families. Zoom calls have helped connect us to others, for sure. Outdoor hot chocolate dates and socially distanced hellos are within the rules. For our more vulnerable loved ones, grocery drop-offs are celebratory affairs – waves from the driveway, a surprise of baked goods tucked inside the boxes and bags, and a cheery but empty honk! as we drive away. Most of us are doing our best to conform to these fairly safe or “approved” outings and interactions. But now, more than a year in, there are days when, love them or not, one more minute confined in the house with “these people” could cause an implosion. In the early days, my family’s best tactic for managing the madness was based on “one foot in front of the other.” We had a family meeting. An emergency had been declared, and I liked to think our family is pretty good at emergencies. We talked about Gramma and Grampa, how they have been through so much, and what we could learn from them, and their parents before them. Just take things
step by step, don’t think too far ahead, focus on survival. Food, shelter, sleep? Yep, we’re good. Now repeat. But what about when the emergency isn’t just about food, shelter and sleep? What about the disintegration of everything we know, and the feeling that there is no end in sight? The sadness of not visiting with friends and family, of not celebrating the joy of small road trips or skiing with kids and friends this winter, or meeting workmates we haven’t seen for a year (or in my husband Derrick’s case, ever, as he lost and gained a job during the pandemic and has only seen the screen version of his new colleagues). We really reached a nadir this winter and at times it’s felt eerie, sad and intolerable. As hard as my family has worked to be vigilant, we also struggle with the rules and making sense of it all. I have many friends who are angry, out of patience with what they feel are poor official communications, mixed messages and reversals. As a teenager, my son, Adrian, tries so, so hard to pay attention to the numbers and obey the rules. But as many times as I say, “Maybe it’s not about us” to try to shift his perspective, it’s hard for
