Lockdown- the beginning

Early January 2020, I began getting my company organised, I sponsored a floodplain management training, I called municipalities and offered my services. I ordered all my FEMA manuals. I downloaded a variety of open source software. I was prepared, or at least prepping.

I had attended the Presidential candidate debates while I was living in Tally. Having returned to Venice, I thought I'd check out what the Venice Democrats were up to … and then Dave and I met for lunch. The meeting derailed me and threw me into a deep dark hole.

You have no-one to blame but yourself when you choose not to see the signs; the friends you don't get to meet because they're racist, the things you don't get to do because he's hungover, the arguments because he's drunk, the arguments because he hasn't had a drink, the trips destroyed because of alcohol, ignoring the quiet voice inside saying "leave now. Walk away now. I know you love him, but you don't deserve this." My anger at myself for allowing the relationship to continue, my introspective questioning why I kept taking him back… The grief, the anger, the sadness hit me hard, to the point of paralysis. I did not come out of this until March … in time for the country to join the rest of the world in Covid lockdown.

At the Venice Democrats meeting in January, I had innocently asked about the elections, poll watching, precincts. I realise now I had been quite vague so when 'they' said "we'd love to have you as a precinct Captain" I said "oh. Ok. Sure. Sign me up." And so, I became a precinct captain; the cheerleader who chivvies everyone to the polls to cast their ballots, making sure they know for whom those votes should be cast. The chivvying, in my case, takes the form of a weekly newsletter. Nice and impersonal, very informative, all my organizing done from the anonymity of my computer screen … except the registered Democrats in my precinct began emailing me and calling me, telling me how much they enjoyed the newsletter, asking questions, stopping me to chat in the parking lot.

My precinct is a little one – we are an anomaly in this very red (Republican) county; currently we have 324 Democrats, 326 Republicans, and 225 non-party affiliates. The numbers fluctuate, but only by 1 or 2 a week. Having this knowledge has enabled me to embolden my little band of Democrats: they no longer whisper to each other when they're at the pool, they've been ordering car bumper stickers, I set them tasks each week; read up on one of the seven races, know why you're voting for the candidate - and why you're not voting for the other candidate. It's a bit like being a cub scout den leader again, except they're 70, not 7, there are no merit badges, and there are 300+ of them instead of 10. It's actually quite fun! - and I feel I'm doing my bit towards the election, towards maintaining democracy.

Covid lockdown brought another element. The Governor's Executive Order mandated that all those aged 60 and over remain home. Florida is known as God's waiting room. The common saying hereabouts is "when you retire you move to Sarasota. When your children retire to Sarasota you move to Venice. When your grandchildren retire to Sarasota, your children move to Venice and you move to Englewood." All those retirees do a lot of voluntary work. Suddenly, as food banks were being over-run and polling locations were being prepped, those volunteers were ordered to remain home. Not only was I still allowed out - taking necessary precautions - but I was now able to volunteer for positions not usually accessible to me because of a perverse twist in ageism!