"I still recall the terrible feeling of anxiety and uncertainty of those first few months of the pandemic. Two years had barely passed since the sudden loss of Charles, my soulmate and companion for almost 50 years and I was still grieving. I was missing his nearness, his booming yet so gentle voice, our togetherness. I felt lonely and could not get to grips with my aloneness especially during what I call 'the devil's hour', the twilight hours. The silence and emptiness inside were sometimes unbearable.

Then Covid 19 struck and life stopped. We were ordered to stay locked inside. Everyone became suspicious of carrying the contagion. We became obsessed with ultra-rigorous hygiene practices and at 12.30 pm every day we tuned in for the 'numbers found' that day and hung on every word of Professor Charmaine Gauci. I never thought of myself as being particularly vulnerable but because I am a mature 65+ I could not help being affected by the continuous drumming in of my cohort's vulnerability. It felt too oppressive and depressing. 

Pauline Miceli’s daughter Vanessa

But no, I had survived worse things in life. Being more of an outdoor person, who felt joy at the break of day with its new and sunny promise I could not let the devil drag me into the abyss. I let the rebel in me take the upper hand and there I was walking the empty streets early in the morning. After a while I could no longer stand talking to my daughter Vanessa and grandchildren outside the door and moved in directly to the garden where we sat and talked with a mug of coffee. Shouldn't I be left some freedom to manage risk myself? I trusted myself to behave responsibly and never contracted the virus.

Food and cooking are more than just eating and sustaining myself, but during the pandemic I did not bother to experiment with baking and sour dough bread making; Frankie my Qormi baker continued to deliver Maltese bread daily. Nothing really could ever come close to his traditional bread which I love and eat with relish. Besides, my daughter who kept trying new recipes with her children always brought me little parcels of freshly baked goodies. Nor did I clean out my cupboards and drawers. Instead I scoured my shelves for books which I had never had time to read or others which I had thoroughly enjoyed and reread enthusiastically. No more Margaret Atwood though who for many years inspired me with her writing. Her latest sci-fi novels are much the harbingers of a terrible dystopic future. I turned to Edna O'Brien, the Irish novelist and reread once more her Country Girls with whom I could relate and identify as it reminded me of my teenage years conditioned by our Catholic upbringing when everything was taboo. Edna O'Brien, now in her 80's, challenged conformity and dogma and for many years was considered a pariah in Catholic Ireland.

I read whatever I could lay my hands on.  Escaping into the imaginary world of fiction gave me some respite and joy. Among the books I came upon my own Maria Eva, the narratives of Maltese women which I was commissioned to write to highlight the condition of women in Malta.  Through their stories I wanted to show that women could not be pigeonholed into

either one of the two models presented to us. On rereading them I realized that although there is more awareness regarding women's rights there is still a way to go. I had also ventured into the realm of writing fiction and published two children's books and some short stories.

The days were too long. Of course, there was the garden which I had neglected for a long time since my husband's passing. I had lost interest in it and the chickens and the cats could no longer give me pleasure. The garden itself was also giving up on me and I could not bear going in it. I simply had to do something. So I tackled it bit by bit; emptied and organized the compost bins, fixed the irrigation system, trimmed and pruned and freshly dug up the empty patches where I could grow and experiment with various kinds of vegetables. My sister who lives in England and who grows lots of veg and flowers was remotely egging me on in her efforts to help me regain my confidence and zest for living.

After months of doing my little bit every day I started to surface and the new found passion in my garden have given way to the Zinnias grown from last year's seeds and together with the tall sunflowers from Vanessa's seedlings are brightening my summer with their riotous colours.     

Surviving Covid 19 enthusiasm for gardening was returning. My daughter Vanessa shares the same interests and she has managed to create a roof garden and a collection of succulents and many flowering plants. Growing things was her own way of coping with the loss of her father with whom she was very close. Now we exchange more than seedlings and plants. The white June daisies which ushered in summer have actually served as catharsis and I can now enjoy life, the silent house and solitary living.

This series is conceived and edited by Marie Benoît who contributes her own Diary occasionally. [email protected]