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”