As I enter my woodland
backyard and appreciate the freshness of the air, the blue perfection of the
sky, and the glistening of the leaves with heightened clarity, it’s difficult
to believe the pandemic danger that we are experiencing. Amidst the fear, anger, and sadness, a sense
of peace has come over me at a time of greatest uncertainty.
It may be a generational
thing. As I speak with friends of my age, we do not fear death; our lives have
been fulfilling and if it’s time to move on, so be it. Well hold it—I’m not
quite that ready. There is one unfulfilled dream that I intend to make
happen, so I must survive the crisis.
I admit to an occasional relapse
from serenity. There are moments when solitude can be so tedious after five
weeks of staying indoors. Nevertheless, I’ve been good about following the
safety rules. I only leave my home to pick up the mail, throw out the trash,
and take a daily walk down the oak and palm-lined trail, then crossing onto
Bayshore and circling the Bayou pond. I observe the six-foot rule, and
thankfully most people I encounter are equally considerate. I’ve learned to
sanitize door knobs and the outer layer of packaging that enters my
apartment. I wash my hands—over and over
and over again. And I’m even mastering the fine art of tee shirt masks.
My children have forbidden
me to go to the stores. Instead they drive over an hour to deliver supplies
every two weeks. They arrange Zoom dinners with family and Zoom Happy Hours
with my friends. I look forward to the day when we can once again create
adventures in person. In the meantime, I
have a duty to my children to survive the pandemic and beyond. After all, they are
putting so much effort, love and caring into keep me healthy, connected, and
I wish the same to you,
my readers. Say healthy, connected, and alive.