Face-to-Face as Life Adjusts

 'While the pandemic has created a bubble of semi-solitude that, for some, has allowed for clarity of introspection, it has also fostered an increased dependency on technology. As we reached out to friends near and far over email, phones and Zoom, we have connected but have also reinforced our isolation. And we have become comfortable with it. Like donning a too-small sweater, we stretched its sleeves to make it seem more comfortable.'

I wrote this today in response to Diana Baur's post on Medium.com, Romance and Privacy in Overexposed Times. 

Cell phones travel with us, keeping company with the ubiquitous water bottle we never seem to be able to leave at home. They tether us to a form of human contact that has nothing at all to do with companionship. 

We 'touch base' and 'check in'. We scroll through Instagram and Facebook for snippets of someone's day, pleased that they had a good time, but not entirely happy, in comparison, with how we spent ours even though we did exactly what we wanted to do.

I have become fascinated with the psychological effects of the pandemic that has been with us for more than a year and a half. In setting out to discover the changes to my own habits, I fear that some may have become permanent and that aspects of my pre-pandemic mindset have altered in ways that will restrict my future desires much as the mandates and precautions have changed my present actions.

The desire to travel, something I consider one of the important aspects of my life, has been tamped down by virus restrictions and slow recovery around the world. I still add to my planning book for the next adventure, soak up words in books written in and about Italy and keep my meager language skills alive with dubbed documentaries and Duolingo. I am hopeful that I can return to the part of the world that holds half my soul in its hands.

My reality, right now, is very different than it was when I returned from Rome on March 1, 2020. I stepped off the plane looking forward to a return to Europe in mid-March. Then the world started tipping on its axis and what seemed a minor inconvenience became a major upheaval. It seems so long ago and where have we gone since then?

Inward.

That is a good thing but also what I fear. That time ticked away in semi-isolation will forever change my outlook and that of others. Vaccinations have eased concerns a little, but I still see the hesitation on both sides of an anticipated hug. My small weekly group of girlfriends went to extraordinary effort to see each other last winter when we gave up on Zoom and sat huddled under blankets around an outdoor fire on blistering cold nights just so we could see each other face-to-face (or partially face-to-face, as it were).

We adjusted. We stocked up on scarce things. We stopped shopping as a means of entertainment, concerned that stagnated jobs might dry up reserves altogether. Libraries were closed and online services stepped up as books were downloaded to pass the time. Stores closed. Restaurants, too. Even parks and museums. 

Since then, we have become accustomed to doing without extraneous things, and that money we feared would dissipate, actually stuck around. 

Habits altered to fit the circumstances. Many cleaned and purged, going from selling clutter on Facebook to offering it on FB Buy Nothing pages. Charitable mindsets strengthened. As I explore the aspects of my altered life, I will discover more nuances, some that I like and a few I will miss. My travel bug? Well, circumstances being what they are in my life, I am tied to home for the foreseeable future. But I will nurture it carefully so that I am ready when the next chapter begins.

The Only Constant is.....

There is a rime of frost on the deck railing. The ground is painted with it. The rising sun has begun to clear a path through the trees and it illuminates the bark of its neighbors deeper into the woods than before.

It is November and winter is close by. Our first snow was in October and it created an ethereal world of unique color. Change is in the air, at least for nature.

Thinking back over the past too-many months, we have adjusted to many changes of our own. Summers, for instance, have always had days filled with laughter and camaraderie, food grilled and shared, close conversations murmured late into the night in front of flickering bonfires. Trips to the beach, travel to foreign lands, hugging and touching and connections made without a care in the world. Our winters, with layers of snow insulating us, kept us mostly indoors as we shared tables groaning with food and cozy visits where we removed our snowy boots in the hall and reached for warming cups of tea after a generous hug. We read, make puzzles, cook sustaining meals, and think.

There has always been a natural balance to our seasons and it is missing this year. Many of us have been too much in our heads for most all of this year. Although it began optimistically, the days and freedoms quickly narrowed to one place and a reluctant sameness ruled. We did what we needed to in order to keep others safe from the virus. In the process, we discovered what we were missing most in our lives. Some things were revelations, others a deep pain to the heart. We have been separated from those who need us most, each of us having to shoulder burdens of grief and distress virtually alone. As the numbers rise, I feel weary of our careful restrictions, but plod on for the good of my family and friends.

I told myself that I am okay with more solitude, okay with phone calls and listening to the joys of others expressed through a handheld device instead of in person. But while I was okay with it for a while, I no longer feel that way. I am missing so much that it hurts.

A big part of this is that my brother’s 62^nd birthday was this week. He died in July. We watched his Ohio funeral on You Tube. As I went through my stash of birthday cards last week, I pulled out Jim’s, smiling at the message. He will like it. I went back through the stack twice more, looking for Jon’s. I always buy my brothers' cards at the same time.

Then I remembered. Tears have been gathering ever since.

I miss hugging something awful.  When the nurse cradled my arm against her hip as she took my blood pressure a few weeks ago, I drank in the feeling of contact. Someone laughed in another room and it felt remarkable. Sue and I, safe for each other right now, worked on a puzzle together for the first time since last winter. It felt marvelous. I am keen on noticing these small pleasures. I drink them in as I would a spectacular sunset. Solitude, something I treasure, a state where I am my most creative, I now find burdensome. I need to find a way out of all this waiting.

I do not mind the thick blanket of leaves on the ground this year as they signal another passage of time that might allow us to reach some semblance of normal soon. I scuff through them on my way to the studio, releasing their crisp autumnal fragrance. I dig out the cozy afghans, draping one over my legs as I settle into the corner of the couch to read. I cook – even better than before – winging it and writing details down when the flavors prompt us to scrape the juices off the plate with a heel of bread. I have forsaken TV in favor of soothing nature films and vlogs on You Tube. They calm my anxiety over what I cannot control and reduced the plethora of negative commentaries filtering into my brain during this contentious month. I bake bread, learn new things. I clean my home and purge out the unused and no longer necessary. I meditate, stilling my fractured mind. I accept what I cannot change (sometimes not particularly gracefully) and pay attention to the blessings that will console me when times are difficult.

It is still too early to put the birdfeeders out. Bears are roaming, foraging for their last few meals before hibernating. Once they do, winter will bring the pleasure of birds nearer to my windows. The cooling air brings with it cozy nights and snow-blown days. Whiteness offers a refreshing vista. The slate is clean for a while. I can draw what I want on it. 

I do not want this winter to have the sameness of the previous nine months, or even the sameness of last winter. With the snowfall, I will clear my own slate in order to welcome new experiences, new thankfulness.

Italian Vision

Travel affords us a unique perspective. At least it does for me. Travel keeps me in the moment, without cares and concerns to distract me from soaking in my surroundings.

I am drawn to Italy, as are so many others, by one's immersion in its history. Antiquity rubs shoulders with the modern world. Here, unlike anywhere else, present and past meld together. There is a sense of rightness to it that transcends analysis. In fact, it is best to avoid thinking too much and just savor its blend.

There is no 'before and after'. No chapters. No division. It feels as if history is one continuous flow and that you are part of it all, no matter where you came from or where you are going.

The wavy glass in the windows of Palazzo Altemps enhances the view. Old and new blend under its spell.
Rome's cobblestone streets are adaptable. Repairs are easy. Pile up a heap of cobblestones, repair or level what is underneath, put them back into place. Dig deeper and you find remnants of a previous community, one that sidles up to you and caresses your thoughts with the possibility that all flows continuously through your veins. Between the stones, reminders of a party, a gathering of revelers.

Wish you were here.

Snow in Rome

I thought it was supposed to be warm? That's what the weather predictions said for all the months leading up to the trip. That gauze shirt I brought? Didn't see much wear. My sweater, though? My constant companion.

You know how, once in a while, you are in the right place at the right time? Who knew it would snow in Rome? The last time was in February 2012, six years ago. To be there for such a rare occurrence made me smile...no, it made me grin like a fool.

Now, some may bemoan the inconveniences, but we reveled in the uniqueness of the scene. Waking to the crackling of crispy white flakes falling on the roof and several inches of snow covering the terrace was a delicious treat. How exciting!

While I got dressed, my daughter went out to take take photos of Trevi Fountain while it was still snowing. When we set out for the Vatican to be on-time for our tour appointment (silly us), we found the taxi stand around the corner barren, the Spanish Steps almost deserted. Only a few people were gingerly ascending, and most everyone was walking in the center of the deserted streets.

We suspected that they were mostly tourists. Any sensible Roman would still be at home, sweaters on and a hot espresso between their hands. It has a lot to do with what you are used to, I guess. Being from New England, four to six inches of snow is not an crisis. But since our boots were in the closet in Massachusetts, our toes began to feel the icy effects of the snowy streets in short order. Still, we plodded on.

The tour had been canceled, St. Peter's was closed, as was the Vatican Museum. Hundreds of visitors walked the snowy streets trying to figure out what they were going to do with their day. Most probably didn't have the luxury of an extended stay. 'Wasting' the day was not an option for them. They were moving on or going home in short order. I am glad we had the time to linger.

As we left the tour check-in point and headed back across Piazza San Pietro, laughter and singing greeted us as priests, parishioners and students flung snowballs, slipping and sliding in the wet snow. It was glorious. Nuns created a snowman complete with a real clerical collar. After months of bad news and governmental strife at home, it felt like a cleansing breath to see and hear such carefree joy.

The third attempt was the charm and we took our special Necropolis tour the next day. It offered us a different view of Rome, one that was reverent, meaningful in a different way. Deep underneath the Vatican, we explored streets of the dead with two-thousand year old 'houses' built specifically to honor members of Roman families who had passed on. Rather than feeling macabre, it felt peaceful.

As history's events flow in a tidal wave of reminiscences, so do its people. We each have our place in the river of time with recollections and stories passed down the line until we are also included in the telling.

We are born into families whose history spans the millennia and beyond. Whether we know all the details is not important. The history is there regardless. We grow, we learn, we age, and we eventually die. Some will miss us, others might have cause not to be concerned. So be it. Perhaps our contributions make us seem remarkable beyond the family and honors are bestowed. A statue marks our spot and our story is told. We provide inspiration for generations to come. Over and over, people flow in and out of life's river. They grow our society, contribute to its welfare, and if we are lucky, impart their wisdom, art, and compassion for others to build on.

Finally, we blend back into the grains of sand of the universe. We are once again part of the realm of earth and sky. We are carried on the wind and find harbor in the hearts of those who loved us. Memories hold us dear. Stories keep us alive.

When I think of the works of the great writers I have enjoyed, I know that each have given me insights that have shaped my thinking. When I see the creations of nature and man, I am inspired. When I hear music, I am soothed. The embrace of God, the hands of craftsmen, the minds of the thoughtful, and the curiosity of the explorers are the silt that runs along the bottom of the river of man. They are our foundation.

They are our salvation. Learn or weep.

Wants and Needs

I am reading a book called The Little Paris Bookshop by Nina George. At first quaint, somewhat frivolous, but then its characters fill out and its messages become deeper, more meaningful.

Which means I am now writing down phrases – snippets of wisdom that provoke further contemplation.

‘Love may come and go, but the caring goes on.’ Oh, yes, it does.

‘It only takes one word to hurt a woman, a matter of seconds, one stupid, impatient blow…but winning her trust back takes years. And sometimes, there isn’t the time.’ Life feels shorter under the task or maybe, one perceives they have little left and therefore there isn’t time to figure out how to regain her trust.

‘And that is why it hurts so much. When women stop loving, men fall into a void of their own making.’ Yes, they do and it is horrible to see because it becomes obvious that they don’t comprehend, don’t acknowledge, that their new-found feelings of loss are the result of their own actions. So they do nothing.

And she can do nothing more than continue the caring. Because she wants to.

Trying to Understand

My words are stuck in my throat this morning and writing is my only solace for the welling of emotions careening in my head. I can't seem to stop writing. I feel like someone or something died and I need to make sense of it. 

I hardly slept for checking the updated election results throughout the night. Got a few hours towards morning. While my forty minute drive into work this morning looked the same, it sure didn't feel right. 

I have always felt so proud of my country and this election has uncovered things I never even contemplated about how half of our citizens may feel and think.

One can only hope that the rhetoric of his nasty campaign was the result of the heat of his battle, but it is hard to forget his words or actions when contemplating his true nature or to imagine his plans for our country and our relations with the world.  I am still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that there are so many people in this country - who are so different from the people I know - who feel such hatred and bigotry. I am stunned. It has been quite the revelation. 

On the other hand, half our society feels strong, responsible and open to diversity of both people and thought. I'm with them. If nothing else, this has pushed me to dig deeper, be better, be stronger, and more involved.

Rambling, I know, but just trying to work things out in my head and having an awful time of it. 

Ad-Less

The assault is insidious and completely over-the-top. More stressful that one could imagine. Consumerism, media-hype, claims and counter-claims.

Why, you can't even go to a public toilet without looking at an advertisement on the stall door. Grocery cart? Yup, ads there, too, in case you need a funeral home or a bottle of wine.

I just perused my Pinterest account, one of the few places sans ads. Nope, as I cursored down, a stylish pic of fruit popsicles showed up, sponsored by Outshine and 'picked just for you'. Seriously? Shame on you, Pinterest.

I have Sirius Radio in my car to avoid ads and listen to the music I like best. I pay for it. A lot. If I want ads to disappear from my phone's Solitaire game, I'd have to pay for that, too. Even my email account has a line of ads running down the side as I try to pay attention to my incoming correspondence. I can't pee without seeing an ad, drive without staring at the back end of a heavily emblazoned vehicle touting its company's finer points. Even bumper stickers sell some kind of message.

I rebelled. I watch little TV. Frankly, that was also because I have better things to do that I have been neglecting for too long. Fun things like reading and painting and being outside soaking in what nature provides (for free). I don't miss the box. I certainly don't miss foot-tapping through commercials or fast-forwarding and still seeing them as I try to spot the next segment of the show. I got rid of magazine subscriptions. They had more ads than articles. The ones I really liked closed down because of lack of advertising. Of course, they did. I choose my news for its content, not sensationalism. There are ways to do that but it takes effort. It is worth it.

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I want to be childlike again. Outside more than in, exploration and conversation trumping entertainment via electronics. Laze in a hammock, pull a few weeds, make America beautiful and fulfilling.

Because it is beautiful, it is fulfilling. We don't have to sold a bill of goods to know that fact in our hearts. Go forth, ad-less, and enjoy.