When the pandemic hit, Australia became the “butt” of world jokes for responding to the crisis by panic buying toilet paper. For me personally it was less about my reserve stash of paper products in the downstairs cupboard (ridiculed by my family but later appreciated) and more about controlling something as the world changed in a flash, or in this case a flush.
My pantry and freezer were suddenly subjected to the stringent standards I had once studied in a course of Production & Operations Management. At any given moment a contactless delivery could arrive at the gate to ensure a steady supply of what seemed essential. Food, more food and of course paper – toilet, tissue and printer. My title of “queen of logistics” earned from years of scheduling and schlepping children was refocused on household goods, both to ensure possession if the supply chain was cut and to minimise leaving the house as our per lockdown orders.
Finally my telephonic diary accurately matched my paper one. Both were completely empty. With no social, beauty or medical appointments on the horizon, I had to somehow create a new routine for myself.
Walking the dog, exercising, cooking for a large family, Netflix and trying to extend a physical and emotional lifeline to reach my mother so far away, filled my days and nights. This new schedule was extremely flexible but for the one constant – Gladys at 11.
The Premier of our state greeted us every day at 11 am. I was there online waiting for her most days. I waited while her podium was set up, until the person who translated into sign language appeared and then when the sound came on I knew something was about to happen. She was ready and I listened to the clickety clack of her heels as she made her way to the microphone. I would watch as familiar names of people also watching popped up on the screen. That gave me some comfort that despite being alone or in our family units physically, we were all there together somehow. My eyes would scan the often hilarious, inappropriate comments as they flashed past. Yet as she spoke and greeted me wherever I was at that particular moment (usually up the road with my dog or in the kitchen) she had my full attention. She gave us the news, good and bad. She gave us a plan, sometimes vague at first, but always reliable. She was human and humane. Whether we liked the outcome of her decisions or not, her effort and her passion for her people was etched on her face. Calmly and confidently, she led us through the craziest time of my life.
Please know, Gladys, that I can’t stress enough, how grateful I am for the past 24 hours (on repeat) that you have been leading us and for your inspirational service to our state.
Disclaimer: No political party was harmed in the writing of this blog
In My Head 