If I don’t write, I feel like I get nothing accomplished. Mind you, it’s not like I am writing an Op-ed piece for the New York Times.
I used to be news junkie, watching and listening and reading about the events of the world and day-to-day local happenings. Now, I spend days with no radio or television, and when I am in the car I listen to audible books.
All the places I go to run the dogs are closed, the beaches, the parks, even the local dog run area closed because too many people were congregating or getting too close.
A friend is not taking this week four of stay-at-home order well. She doesn’t do well alone and is a good networker but the organizations and programs she supports are shut down.
Another friend is able to work full time at home and so that keeps her going. Another friend has the ability to play golf every day where she is in Florida. Lucky her as she is walking eighteen holes and getting exercise. Another friend is able to get out of the house to care for two barns and eight horses which gets her exercise and fresh air and out of her full house including one daughter, two sons, a son’s girlfriend, and a husband.
I am lucky as I have worked at home at various times in my life and understand how to discipline and schedule my time. That is why writing is important to me as it is part of my daily routine. Somedays there is nothing to say and other days I cannot wait to write.
I wonder why I straighten up the love seat cushions in the kitchen every time I pass by. Why do I make my bed every day and why do I still wear a little makeup and why do I dress neatly when I am self-quarantined? I remember so long ago my mother telling me to always dress like a lady, especially in the morning. She never appeared at breakfast on Saturday mornings without looking neatly put together, even if she was in her robe, her hair neatly combed, her skin glowing.
I peruse my books in the living room and the library. There are books everywhere even though I got rid of a ton of books when I moved here a year and a half ago. I look at the titles, I remember them and some I realize I have yet to read. I wish I read faster because there are so many books to read and so much more to learn. I am listening to Wagner’s “Tristan and Isolde” for my Opera class at the Harvard Institute. We are using Zoom to hold our classes. Wagner is heavy going and this opera is over four hours. But then again, my dance card is fairly empty at the moment so there is time to listen.
When I first thought about downsizing and moving, I explored options such as Savannah, Georgia where a great friend lives, or North Carolina where I was born, or back to Vermont where I lived for eighteen years and miss. I ruled out Savannah because there are too many poisonous snakes and alligators that would eat my dogs. And besides, I cannot stand air conditioning and also, I felt I should be near my doctors in Boston because of my health challenges. These factors disqualified North Carolina as well.
I looked at real estate ads for small Vermont properties with barns and land for paddocks for my horses and other livestock. I imagined a farmhouse like the one in the film “Baby Boom”, charming with a small apple orchard, and beautiful views of the Green Mountains. I imagined living a solitary life, being self-sufficient, spending days and weeks without seeing anyone.
I kept remembering passages from “Journal of a Solitude” by May Sarton. It seemed like this would be the perfect way to life out my golden years. (By the way, I know there really aren’t golden years, but rather aches and pains and doctor appointments and every good day is astounding as you can marvel that you got through a day without some new ache or new ailment.)
Somehow or somewhere a light bulb went off and I came to my senses. I like being with people, I need community, I am a social being, I like to play sports, not just for the exercise but also for engaging with my gal pals. So, what was I thinking? And that brings us full circle to where we are now. With the current pandemic, I have been self-quarantined for four weeks, not even going out to the market. My family will not visit me because they worry that I am immune-compromised.
Guess what? I miss social interaction, I miss people, I miss day-to-day contact. I miss my friends, I miss meeting for drinks and dinner, and good conversations and dinner parties and sharing life. I miss hugging friends. I miss laughing and telling stories and sharing life. I would be miserable living in a tiny house off the grid like Ted Kosinski and I would probably go nuts. Good to know right? Maybe this current crisis is helping us recognize how much we need each other and perhaps we will make more time to foster our friendships. I know I will, and I look forward to a time when we can be together. In the meanwhile, I continue to write to record my thoughts and to keep my spirits up.
Stay well and safe.