I am baffled.
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Shocked.
And oddly, a little inspired.
Like everyone else, I’m cut off from everything around me more than I ever could have imagined.
You couldn’t make up what we are experiencing right now.
And yet strangely I’ve never felt more connected and interested in the people – and places – that are part of my life.
Not just the people I am interacting with via Zoom or telephone but all those I try to avoid on my daily run around the streets of Shepparton.
It could just be me but people seem more kind, interested and interesting than normal.
Probably because they’ve finally come across someone not confined to the walls of their home.
The other day a man offered a wave when I ran off the footpath to comply with social distancing and a dog guarding a Shepparton business sat muted – as if he or she knew I was not a threat.
Just a person trying to get out of their home. I say hello to him every morning mostly just so I can say the words.
Of course he doesn’t talk back, but there’s a feeling inside that he knows somehow of what we are all going through.
And instead of barking at everyone passing by he chooses to sit quiet in a ‘you-wouldn’t-believe-it’ moment of understanding the situation we are faced with.
He couldn’t know, he couldn’t understand but there’s no denying that feeling simmering underneath it all that he does because we need him to.
Then there are the conversations between loved ones.
I am speaking to my brother more than I ever have.
We’re comparing runs, sharing memes and reminiscing on times almost forgotten.
My mum’s impressing me with how tech-savvy she actually is – sending photos of Easter gifts yet to be received.
She works in a hospital and, not for the first time in my life, I am in awe of her efforts.
And I’m tagging my Dad on livestreams of local musicians because I know how much he would appreciate their talent.
Then there’s Zoom family dinner on a Sunday night and the barrel of laughs that comes with it.
It could be argued there’s more laughing at each other than with each other but it’s entertainment all the same.
The get-together still happens – every Sunday night.
Except we’ve already had dinner and everyone is staring at a computer screen.
There’s one family member in darkness.
Bizarrely he works in IT and yet hasn’t found the light switch.
Another sits with his fiancé on the couch, pulling faces every now and again and putting his leg in front of his incredibly patient partner.
He’s preparing to celebrate his 30th birthday – except he won’t be able to have a party, but he’s not at all bothered by it.
“Hopefully we can have the wedding next year and that will be enough,” he says – aging into a wise man even before his milestone has had a chance to appear.
And then the leg’s back blocking his fiancé and his wise grin turns cheeky and the screens burst into laughter. He’s at it again.
The master Zoomer – the father of the IT wiz kid – isn’t proud of the set-up tonight.
He insists it really was working better this morning.
But his wife sitting next to him seems less than impressed, especially because somehow it is her that we’re all struggling to hear.
Despite the added frustration, she’s smiling, apparently content that we’re all together, even though we’ve never been further apart.
We’re given a virtual tour of new camera surveillance at another family member’s house – and all nod in impressed agreement even though the pictures of the screens, through a screen, capturing the different screens all seem the same.
Her son, who is five and the youngest of the crew, started homeschooling this term, which means his Mum is at her wit's end trying to now be a teacher and juggle everything else.
He’s in the background playing virtual golf and not phased by his mother’s fear of what’s to come.
And what about family camp in June?
It’s likely it won’t go ahead so master Zoomer says we need to think of a skit we could do virtually.
Family camp’s off? Shouldn’t we all be sighing and disappointed. Shocked and saddened that we won’t be able to do what we’ve always done?
Sure, usually. But this feels different.
Almost as if it has the potential to be more memorable than before.
Then there’s the shocking revelation that we’ve been talking (of nothings that are now somethings that have never been more valued) for so long that it’s bed time.
This is what it has come to and yet here we all are, connected via a tiny square, smiling, pleased that at least we have this.
And the wait for next Sunday – or the next virtual connection – begins.
Tyla Harrington is news editor at the News.