Pandemic Times

It was an uncertain spring…

Virginia Woolf – “The Years”

            “Is that an airplane overhead?”  I ask Art.  We are hiking in the woods above our house on the trail to the water tower. 

            “Could it be wishful thinking?”  I wonder as I stop to look up into the cloudless sky. But the usual sight of an airplane landing or taking off from our nearby Asheville airport eludes me.  

            “I can’t see anything,”  I reply.  I know most airplanes are grounded now but a glimmer of hope pushes me to want to see one overhead again.

            Our hikes in the woods around us are quiet these days with only the sound of chirping and song as birds respond to spring.  Leaves are growing into their own new green, wildflowers bloom alongside the trail, and skies are more clear than ever. News articles tell us that our planet is winning during this pandemic with the lowest levels of pollution in decades.  One would never guess that scenarios of illness and death are playing out among the human population in this season of renewal.  (At least it’s the season of rebirth in the Northern Hemisphere but of course, not in the Southern Hemisphere who face fall and winter.)

            With the absence of air traffic overhead, even the hum of road traffic is less than usual.  For us, the water tower hike is closest to home, We prefer it because fewer people want to venture up the mountain and some of our neighbors don’t even know about it.  We won’t encounter many other hikers when we go that way.  In contrast, our mostly flat lakeside trail of 2.2 miles has been more frequented than ever these past weeks. Everyone from kids on bikes, to runners, to dog walkers with as many as two or three dogs, parents with strollers, and elderly walkers are out using it.  When coming up on someone while on the trail, people step aside giving a six-foot distance for passing.  It’s all very civilized and polite because the pandemic is on everyone’s mind… 24/7.

            Nothing around me looks very different and yet nothing feels the same.  On the bench in my front hallway there are safety masks and boxes of sterile gloves.  A reminder to take them with me if we venture to the grocery store or on some essential errand.  The calendar that always stays open on the end of the kitchen counter is put away.  The pages in it are now wiped blank indefinitely as all trips, social engagements, and reminders of things we want to do on certain days are cancelled.  Art’s orchids are thriving in the bay window as the sun shifts into this new season and we have more daylight. The pantry is full of good things to eat but not overly full…no room for hoarding or desire to do so in this household.  

Art's orchids

            Our days unfold as we go along and we notice the endless sense of time we have to “do” or “not do” as we choose. There is time to tap into creative endeavors – my writing, Art’s stamp collection, getting through the magazines and newspapers and books that cover the coffee table.  There is time to read and have classical music going in the background. To talk with old friends on the phone.  Sort through old photos…and yes, even clean out the kitchen cupboards which have been ignored for months. (I have yet to tackle that one…)

            I like the challenge of “making do” with what I already have. It is a reminder that I have more things I can make use of than I realize.   I’ve missed my public library because it’s closed.  I am used to going often and coming home with stacks of books to choose from.  It took the pandemic to push me to dig in the closet in the office and come up with my old, (really old) Kindle that Hayden gave me ten years ago.  I charged it up for the first time in years, and it works.  Now I have the entire North Carolina Digital Library at my fingertips.  I even discovered the print on the Kindle easier to read than many print books which tire my eyes

            Staying home requires no wardrobe. After 3 weeks, I get out something “nicer” that I haven’t worn and search in the mirror to remember what I looked like in my “before” period. (“before” I gave up on makeup and sweats.)  I think about my usual angst regarding haircuts and getting my appointments spaced just right to look my best.  I haven’t been to the hairdresser in more than two months . Art said to me recently, “your hair looks quite nice the way you are wearing it.”  Really?  (Luckily, I have gone “au naturel” forever so don’t need to cover up the gray.)  I quite like my new look.

            There is time now for everyone to step back from the daily “busyness” to consider the more important things in life. For many, taking time to reflect is not built into their nature much less their daily lives.  We keep our distance but talk more now with our next door neighbor who lives alone.  We check up on each other. I am grateful for the good choice we made to live in Biltmore Lake in times like these. Covid-19 cases are fewer here, neighbors are friendly keeping their distance, and we have nature all around us for comfort and reassurance that our planet goes on with life.

A gift left on my front porch from my friend Anne...so thoughtful

            I remember to practice gratitude more, appreciating my small family. I don’t have a date on the calendar, as I always do, to look forward to when I will next see Austin.  However, we now Facetime daily during the week for a 30 to 40 minute Spanish session which is more than we ever have done.  Austin seems to like it and it keeps a connection with him from afar.

 FaceTime with Austin in Spanish

            

            The bigger concern for us is having to put our lives “on hold”.  Now that we are 75,  we have reached a place when we don’t postpone things.  We do them “sooner” rather than “later”  We don’t postpone trips, or spending money, or exploring something new.  We have worked at learning to live more for the “now” because as we approach 80,  there comes the realization that there is an end. There is an end to feeling well enough to travel, physically fit enough to plan European walking trips, and even the desire to venture away from the comforts of home. While we are not there yet Art and I have both thought more about our own mortality as the years go on. For us, we feel a sense of impatience to have this behind us. We hold out hope that we can continue to explore the world as we always have. 

            The 2020 pandemic has everyone “on hold. Most are suffering far more than we are. However, I try not to think about not having endless amounts of time on our side. Putting those thoughts away, we will do more hikes to the water tower and one of these days we’ll go beyond…

If you don’t know the exact moment when the lights will go out,

You might as well read until they do.

Clive James – “Latest Readings”

             

From the Ugandan bush to Capitol Hill… 2007 - 2020

          Jeter, our” grand dog”, as we affectionately called him, is the only dog I’ve ever known who had his portrait painted by a well-known Asheville artist.  Angela Alexander has a studio in the River Arts District of Asheville.  We visited her studio several years ago. Hayden was in Asheville with Austin and asked if we’d mind driving him down to the River Arts District…”I have something I have to pick up there.”

            “Sure, we’ll take you,”  we told him.

            We parked on Depot Street and went into a building with several artists' studios. The “pet artist” was upstairs.  One could not have walked past it without noticing the floor to ceiling displays of colorful portraits of all kinds of animals from pigs and cows to cats, dogs, and roosters. Alexander seems to capture the energy and personality of the pets she paints in bold strokes, strong colors, and an abstract technique. 

            Hayden spoke to the gallery attendant, “I’m here to pick up a portrait I had done of my dog.”  We looked up and there was Jeter’s portrait hanging on the wall.  Although done in thick oil paint in tones of blue, and gold against a dark blue background, Jeter was a snow white dog in real life.  However, the artist had captured his face, the way he held his head, and his dark intelligent eyes.  We recognized him immediately. 

Portrait by Angela Alexander

            On the way home, holding the wrapped painting, Hayden explained that several months ago he had gone online  from Washington D.C. and found Angela Alexander, a pet artist who happened to live in Asheville.  He had corresponded via email and “commissioned” her to make a portrait of Jeter. He had sent various photos of Jeter which is what Ms. Alexander works from.  He had not said anything to us about it before.  I wondered if that was because it was an unusual thing to do or perhaps because he wasn’t sure how it would turn out.  I’m not certain what lead him to order a professional portrait of Jeter. Now it seems like the best thing he could have done.  

            Jeter’s unexpected death last week came as a real shock to all of us. As Hayden said when he called to tell us the sad news, “I had no idea Jeter did not have more life in him…it seemed too soon for him to go.  I wasn’t ready to let him go.” 

            I thought of that this week as I came across a review of Mary Oliver’s book of poetry called Dog Songs.  In the book she echoes Hayden’s exact sentiments when she writes:

Dogs die so soon.  I have my stories of that grief, no doubt many of you do also.  It is almost a failure of will, a failure of love to let them grow old - or so it feels.  We would do anything to keep them with us, and keep them young.  The one gift we cannot give.

            We loved Jeter and looked forward to seeing him when we visited in Washington D.C. or when he came to Biltmore Lake.  Art would walk him three and four times a day in the city from 15^th St. all the way to Lincoln Park and back. He and Jeter came to know every city block and every house in the northeast Capitol Hill district.  Jeter knew where the leftover chicken bones were that he was not supposed to pick up.  Art became familiar with which houses had the yappy dogs or the unfriendly ones to avoid. 

            When we first arrived at Hayden’s door straight from the airport, Jeter would get excited when he knew it was Art.  He would squeal and talk in his “dogspeak” as if to say, “Oh, I’m so happy you are back…let’s go for some walks.”

            Jeter knew Art’s voice, his gentle touch and truly loved him.  If ever Hayden put us on “speaker phone” from Asheville to Washington, Jeter would start to whine with excitement when he heard Art say something.  They bonded and stayed that way despite the 475 miles between Asheville and Washington. 

            It is spring again in Asheville and when I open the front door every day to our green lawn out front I see Jeter happily sitting with his paws stretched out underneath the shade tree with its new greenery.  I remember his ears twitching as he would take in the sound of the many birds around here and smell the air which is not like inner city Washington.  Hayden would tether his leash to a stake in the ground and he could contentedly lounge outdoors for hours.  I like to think that he, too, had his “vacation mode” which he fully embraced on his visits to Biltmore Lake.  

            Whether on walks with him in Biltmore Lake or Washington D.C., he drew attention from many because of his very white, short haired coat. He stood out as being different. 

            “Oh…what kind of dog is that?” people would stop to ask.

            “He is not a breed,” we’d respond.  “He was born in the bush outside Gulu, Uganda,” we’d say.  No one knew quite what to say after that.

Jeter on a visit to Biltmore Lake...

            He was born in Uganda and Jessica got him as a puppy in 2007 when she lived on her own compound in Gulu. She named her puppy Jeter after Derek Jeter, the well-known New York Yankees baseball player.  (She is a passionate baseball fan as I learned after getting to know her.)   She and Hayden met in Gulu, and several years later decided to return to Washington D.C. to look for jobs.  Hayden called us to tell us they were moving back to the US and that Jessica was bringing a Ugandan dog.  I remember thinking about the long trip back from Africa for a dog . How would a bush dog adapt to city living in Washington?  Surely, she hadn’t thought this through very clearly.

            Jessica and Hayden first settled into a basement apartment in Capitol Hill and Jeter began his transition from bush dog to trained city dog.  They walked him on a leash regularly and frequented dog parks.  Only once did Jessica confess that Jeter still had his hunting dog instincts.  One day he broke free when she hadn’t grasped the leash strongly enough and killed a squirrel that was darting off across the park. Jess was mortified and took care after that.  In time Jeter grew into a well behaved and much admired city dog.

            Hayden bought a house in 2011 with a small fenced back garden. They moved in and found jobs and went to work. Jeter took to the dog walker who came at noon each day for a half hour walk in the neighborhood. Hayden and Jess fell into the rhythm of early morning and late afternoon dog walks.  Jeter mellowed as he grew up and matured in the city.
          Austin was born in February 2014 and Jeter went from being “only child” to “second” child even though he had come first. Jess and Hayden took great care to make sure Jeter kept his distance in case of jealousy and he did.  As Austin grew up he never took to Jeter and we always wondered why.  Perhaps he isn’t a dog lover.  

            Jeter did get boundless love from Jessica and Hayden and then from us, his grandparents.  I haven’t truly loved a dog as I did Jeter since we lost our own poodle Sabrina in 1991.  I am glad we got to share in the love of this unusual African dog.

            Now I want to say to Jessica, “You did the absolute right thing to bring Jeter back to the United States…even though we thought you were crazy at the time.”

            I want to say to Hayden, “You did the right thing having Jeter’s portrait painted by a known Asheville artist.  That will always be special.” 

            I will think of Jeter this spring and summer as I open my front door and picture him “in spirit” enjoying a lazy stretch on my front lawn.  

            Art and I will miss him when we next visit in Washington D.C.  How can we walk those familiar blocks in Capitol Hill without him along?  I like to think he will be along “in spirit” when we are there. 

            I was drawn this week to Mary Oliver’s book Dog Songs and this poem in particular,

The Sweetness of Dogs

What do you say, Percy?  I am thinking

Of sitting out on the sand to watch

The moon rise, It’s full tonight.

So we go

And the moon rises, so beautiful it

Makes me shudder, makes me think about

Time and space, makes me take

Measure of myself:  one iota

Pondering heaven.  Thus we sit, myself

Thinking how grateful I am for the moon’s

Perfect beauty and also, oh! How rich

It is to love the world.  Percy, meanwhile,

Leans against me and gazes up

Into my face.  As though I were just as wonderful

As the perfect moon.