One year. Wow. For the one year anniversary of Covid, I listened to Chris Hayes' Why Is This Happening podcast. He visited with a guest, Michelle Goldberg in an episode called One Year of Plague Living. They both live in the city and talked about how difficult lockdown was on them I loved their point that we all had that shared experience of lockdown during a pandemic, but each experience was different and very individual. They wondered if there was anyone who didn't feel the strain of being shut-up for a year.
I very quietly raised my hand. (Of course, I was alone in the truck with just Tallulah, which made the action a bit quirky...but hey, I've been locked up for a year, so give me a break. LOL)
Imagining is my job and I can easily imagine that if I were a city person who was accustomed to eating most of my meals out and spending my days out and about, this enforced isolation would have been hard to deal with. But I'm a hermit by nature and I feel a bit guilty admitting how very little my life has changed over the last year. I still write, pot, and take care of minions. Yes, I weighed the risks and still keep the minions a few days a week because their parents are in the healthcare field and their jobs are as necessary as things get right now. But otherwise, my life is mainly Himself and Tallulah. I still talk to family, mainly on FaceTime. I shop a lot less but I hate shopping, so that's cool. Mainly, I write and pot. Pot and write. Take walks with Himself and Tallulah. Then write and pot some more. I'm either here in Erie, or in the county at The Cottage.
As I write this, I acknowledge that I am beyond fortunate. Not only that my job is inherently solitary, but also I'm hermitty by nature. I'm super lucky that I'm married to my best friend and a year together made me realize how lucky I am over and over again.
It's not that my year hasn't had heartache. The biggest one was we lost Marge (I've blogged about her here before and she really was the inspiration for the May-December friendship relationship in Something Blue) early on in the pandemic. She was alone at the end and I still feel guilty about that. But I know she knew she was loved. The nursing home let us come for one compassionate visit the day before she passed. We got to say goodbye. Still, there's a hole in our family without her. The minions still talk about her.
It hurt when I canceled our family Thanksgiving and Christmas. The fact I canceled wasn't because I wasn't desperate to see my kids, but BECAUSE I was wanted to see them over the holidays for years and years to come. FaceTime is great, but it's not the same and we all know that. To lose a few holidays and a trip to Disney was so worth knowing that we'd have many holidays and Disney trips in the years to come.
It was an interesting podcast that really left me reflecting about this last year. (Books, podcast, movies...anything that can leaves me reflecting is worth my time.) One of the things I've been thinking about since the podcast is there's a light is at the end of this Covid tunnel. I'm more than willing to hold tight and shop less (I'm always happy to do that), mask up and social distance because someday I won't have to do those things. Someday soon we'll have family holidays. And to be honest, someday soon I'll be in Disney again.
And I spent a lot of time this last year (like so many of you) thinking about what's really important. I've always known the answer to that...my family and friends. And yes, I think of all of you as friends. You've made this year so much easier for me. I hope that some of my glee has eased yours as well.
So while I wait for herd ammunity, I'll be potting in HollysWoods Studio, writing (I wrote a pandemic short story last year, aptly named Quarantine and I'm working on a new Hometown Hearts short story now) and hanging out with Himself and Tallulah. I'll take care of minions. I'll go along with my quiet, hermitty life and I'll enjoy every moment this spring out at camp. Today I saw Canada geese and mallards at the pond. And deer have been visiting a lot. Birds are loud when I walk and the snow is finally melting. Yes, we're going to go from ice and snow to the mud season. But I'm okay with that. Summer will arrive and things will be better.
My heart goes out to everyone who's suffered a loss. I hope this next year is a healing one for you.
Things will be better...that's my lasting thought after the podcast.
However your year has been, I don't think anyone will complain when it's over. And it WILL be over. Until it is, stay safe!
Holly
