OK. I'll admit it. The running thing didn't last very long. and as Autumn progresses I find it harder to even make myself go for a walk. There have been many too many days when I haven't left the house or wanted to, even when the weather has been lovely.
I have poked my nose out of the bunker to visit with a (very) few select friends. I wear my mask and I sit six feet away. Then I take off my mask to drink my perfect martini (thank you, Cathleen) and to nibble on a little something and to revel in the sheer joy and weirdness of being in the presence of real, live people. There is a fire pit and wonderful conversation and I'm going to be so sad when it ends because of snow. I will be there, however, on November 4 to dance around the firepit (masked) and to pop a bottle of something sparkly. I expect to have a reason to do this.
But select moments of joy notwithstanding, the world is just getting too strange for me. The muse is apparently on holiday somewhere and has not whispered in my ear in a very long time. The church pew still has not had my dwindling posterior plopped upon it, and I'm sure others have taken over "my spot". My hair, which has fortunately been silver for quite a while now, is currently longer than it's been since my senior year of college. It was last cut in February. My dentist hygienist was dressed like an extra from "Alien" when I had my teeth cleaned, and I appreciated that, but generally speaking, I'm keeping a low profile.
Doctor Fauci Bobblehead has been promoted from the kitchen table to the fireplace mantel, next to my "desk". It gets lonely out here. This will not last forever. It feels like forever, but it won't. Yet we have to keep our guard up now more than ever. This impossibly weird year of isolation and sickness, of violence and anger, of racism and division will end. We will get the vaccine. We will be able to eat out and hug grandchildren and have coffee with friends. We will have a new idea of what constitutes "normal" and we will (I hope) not take so very much for granted anymore. Our job for now is to stay away from one another, to wear our masks and wash our hands and to remain grateful to all the front line team out there, the nurses, the doctors, the police, the EMTs, the grocery cashiers, the postal carriers, all of them.
It is also our "job" to try to keep up our spirit and that of those around us. To "fake it until we make it" if necessary. It has been exhausting and it's hard, but it's not over. And we don't quit when we are tired. We quit when we are done. Meanwhile I'll be over here by this wall, banging my head just a little. Not enough to knock myself out, but enough to express our joint feelings about 2020. Doctor Fauci nods his head in agreement.
I have poked my nose out of the bunker to visit with a (very) few select friends. I wear my mask and I sit six feet away. Then I take off my mask to drink my perfect martini (thank you, Cathleen) and to nibble on a little something and to revel in the sheer joy and weirdness of being in the presence of real, live people. There is a fire pit and wonderful conversation and I'm going to be so sad when it ends because of snow. I will be there, however, on November 4 to dance around the firepit (masked) and to pop a bottle of something sparkly. I expect to have a reason to do this.
But select moments of joy notwithstanding, the world is just getting too strange for me. The muse is apparently on holiday somewhere and has not whispered in my ear in a very long time. The church pew still has not had my dwindling posterior plopped upon it, and I'm sure others have taken over "my spot". My hair, which has fortunately been silver for quite a while now, is currently longer than it's been since my senior year of college. It was last cut in February. My dentist hygienist was dressed like an extra from "Alien" when I had my teeth cleaned, and I appreciated that, but generally speaking, I'm keeping a low profile.
Doctor Fauci Bobblehead has been promoted from the kitchen table to the fireplace mantel, next to my "desk". It gets lonely out here. This will not last forever. It feels like forever, but it won't. Yet we have to keep our guard up now more than ever. This impossibly weird year of isolation and sickness, of violence and anger, of racism and division will end. We will get the vaccine. We will be able to eat out and hug grandchildren and have coffee with friends. We will have a new idea of what constitutes "normal" and we will (I hope) not take so very much for granted anymore. Our job for now is to stay away from one another, to wear our masks and wash our hands and to remain grateful to all the front line team out there, the nurses, the doctors, the police, the EMTs, the grocery cashiers, the postal carriers, all of them.
It is also our "job" to try to keep up our spirit and that of those around us. To "fake it until we make it" if necessary. It has been exhausting and it's hard, but it's not over. And we don't quit when we are tired. We quit when we are done. Meanwhile I'll be over here by this wall, banging my head just a little. Not enough to knock myself out, but enough to express our joint feelings about 2020. Doctor Fauci nods his head in agreement.
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