My mother-in-law has a friend in Ireland who thinks it’s interesting we call it “quarantine” in the states; she says they call it “cocoon,” which is cozier, according to my MIL, and I think more optimistic—a promise of things to come.
I don’t look at our current situation through doe-eyes: this is terribly sad, disappointing, and scary for so many of us. Considering ourselves cocooning, though, opens the possibility of renewal, that we may emerge a little more colorfully. And in the meantime, if we are lucky, we are wrapped comfortably at home, perhaps with immediate family in tow.
From my cocoon: I’ve learned that I don’t miss taking multiple trips to multiple food stores; and that even in the most dire of circumstances, there are some tasks, like organizing photos, that I just will not complete. I’ve seen one daughter take control of her day, creating routine, and another free-styling her free time. When cocooned, my husband paints kitchen walls white and I attempt to write a middle-grade novel. We work puzzles together. I’ve discovered that agave pales in comparison to my favorite creamer, and while the sound machine on ‘ocean waves’ may be comforting, it’s no replacement for the real deal.
In our neighborhood there’s a three-mile loop, and these days, in 50+ degrees, it’s the Grand Prix. On several of my walks, I’ve seen the same man, scootering. I’ve noticed he stops a lot (I imagine longer than he normally would; that is, if he even scooted at all, pre-cocoon) to admire various blossoming shrubs and trees: the magnolias, the cherries, the forsythias.
Perhaps cocooning will help us rediscover what we’ve known all along. Spring is here, delivering on its annual promise, and still, we get to take it all in.