 It seems to me that many of us, myself included, myself most definitely included, are beginning to look a little ragged around the edges. It is seen most in the eyes, that kind of sad and searching and weary and maybe even a bit confused look. It seems to be a sigh, personified. We've all gone through so much, and still it keeps on, this pandemic. In growing used to it, we have added a unique layer of sorrow, I think. But what are we to do? It's here and here and here and so finally it recedes a bit into the background, it has to; but it doesn't stop. Rather than standing in front of us, it stands behind us; it's as though we can feel it breathing. We have not given up, but we are not quite sure what to do while we are waiting for the virus to give up. Such lavish dishes we cooked, in the beginning! What epiphanies we had about the importance of friends and family! I don't think we've let go of that, but here comes what feels like the bazillionth month of COVID-19, and for many of us winter-dreaders here comes the cold weather, and here we still are, and we are most of us tired down to our bone marrow. I mean, right to the core.
Well, nothing for me to do but to make some resolutions, to raise up my chin and plow forward and make living my life a kind of vision board. I am determined to formalize a time each day for reading, and reading deeply. I want too to formalize listening to music with my kids at least once a week as though I'm taking them to their first concert. We can shove the furniture around and make room to dance all over our small living room. Maybe I'll even get dressed up for it. I once heard a story about someone doing this every Saturday night when he listened to ‘A Prairie Home Companion’. This was the story of a man who lived alone in the woods in a house he built with his own hands, and he would have dinner (I pictured him eating right out of his cast iron pan, sitting at the kitchen table and watching the falling snow while he ate exquisitely-roasted potatoes and chicken with the table manners of a European count, kind of like that vampy-looking guy in “Hotel Transylvania”, one of the few animated movies I have ever watched) and then move to the rocking chair, where he sat in his dress-up clothes and did nothing but listen. I think it’s a prayer of a sort, meditation of a kind, to devote your senses fully to something in this way. I think it's good for you. It’s like a big watering can for the parched soul. So yes, reading every day. A concert every week with the kidgets: Mozart, Janis Joplin, Cat Stevens, Joni Mitchell, Glen Miller, Benny Goodman, Bob Wills and his Texas Playboys, The Temptations, Horton Heat, Al Green The meals go on, and most days I can summon up the energy to cook something I'm excited about. My kids usually won’t eat it, but that’s beside the point. We have in place pizza night and taco night, but maybe I can fancy that up. You know...add pineapple or basalmic glaze to the pizza...mix some quinoa in with the taco meat... And caring for others, helping others, I might as well formalize that, too. Giving Wednesday? When I at least send some money online to some cause I care about, although I would prefer to do something more fun, like those people who pay for the order for those behind them in the car line at McDonald's. I have to admit two things: First, I am afraid to “let loose” and do something like that, usually. I mean, what if they order $40 worth of food and I only have $20? Dhat’ll I woo then? Oh, and secondly, I actually still like McDonald's, especially the French fries. I feel like I’ve won the fast food lotto when I get a hot, soggy one. I feel like at almost 44 years old I should have a more refined palate but alas, I do not. One time while stopped at a busy intersection in OKC, a homeless man walked up and knocked on my driver’s side window. Through the glass I heard him ask for money. I didn’t give him anything. I know the general consensus and prevailing wisdom is that you should not give such people money, but I have been known to in the past, back in the good ‘ol days when I had a little extra breathing room. Sometimes if I had an unopened sandwich or some other bag of fast food on the seat beside me I would offer that to them instead, and after pulling away I would feel a sense of satisfaction sit down inside of me. “I don’t think I wanted Arby’s today, anyway,” I would think. And what I get is bigger than what they get. I once knew someone, a bleeding heart, who would give money to homeless people without exception. He said, “I figure it’s hard enough that they have to ask.” If I live to see retirement, I think maybe a day should be given to art: Going to an exhibit or listening to a lecture about an artist, or painting rocks, even if you're awful at it, as I am. Letter-writing Friday, sending a handwritten message, however brief, to someone you care for. Or maybe just someone whose garden you walk past and admire every day: Put a note in their mailbox, thanking them. Or maybe this: GREAT Halloween decorations! Thanks for brightening my day! Also, naps, especially if you have vintage quilts to lie under while you take one. Or a super soft blanket. I'm going to formalize them. Ritualize them: A candle. Maybe my mindfulness chime I have. And then a letting go, a falling away behind the eyes so as to rise up again, at least a little renewed. I feel better just thinking about all this. I hope I'll do it. I have learned a little something about my wonderful intentions. Which is to say I've been reminded that I'm human. Still, I'm going to try this. This time last year, I was vibing so high I felt abuzz with creativity, with laughter, with ableness, almost every day. I had a spark. People wanted to be around me. I’m vowing right now to myself to get that back. I sure cannot just mope around and think negative thoughts and expect anything healthy or good to come of it! In the meantime, this comes to you with the hope that this day will show its blessings to you--in ultra-beautiful shades of the happiest frequency.
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