It’s been awhile.
I wrote a whole blog post before we left on vacation, wanting to feel the sense of freedom that a completed task list could offer for the next two weeks, but the narrative just struggled too hard to make its point or tell the story I wanted to relate.
My husband, best reader and critic, shook his head after reading my third attempt. “It’s just not your usual good writing, Sharon.”
It was lifeless, that was why.
Not only the writing, but the subject.
I’d wanted to post about my first mask-free outing. Invited to a gathering of local writers to watch the Author’s Guild Gala Awards night at a nearby gorgeous home on the lake, I’d thought—well, it would be a good idea to go and mingle—I don’t really know any local authors and this might a be good way to meet some…and everyone will be vaccinated so I’ll feel safe…
Wrong.
It was a ghastly affair, the kind of fancy small-talking cocktail party I generally despise. I slipped out early and drove happily home to my pre-pandemic solitude.
So, the pandemic is sort of over. I guess. Maybe. Anyway, it feels that way to me, in my small universe, but I imagine, not to many working and living in the larger world. Many people are mask-free now, restaurants are opening, we can safely gather with other vaccinated people for indoor dinners. I’ve gone back to the grocery store for the first time in a year and a half, bought plants at two garden centers, had breakfast in a restaurant this morning, and it just feels so good to be out in the world without fear.
I’m trying not to think pessimistic thoughts, or too far into the future. It’s not hard, here on vacation in stunningly beautiful Little Compton, RI, nestled in a charming little cottage a brief walk from a gorgeous beach. There are good friends here from college and high school, newly made ones too as we’ve been coming here for years-- there is delicious fresh fish, the joy of sea and sand, long walks by the water, great books to read, lively conversations with others than my husband, but best of all, the total absence of stress.
I don’t think I’ve felt that for a long time.
I know it won’t last; already I’ve had some bad news about an in-person writing weekend I’d planned for the fall, and going home will bring a new list of the tasks, repairs and phone calls that managing our house and property bring. I’ll have to cope with how to deal with unvaccinated friends and family, a non-pandemic host of appointments and obligations, and the frightening political issues that grip our time, especially the voting rights legislation being passed in so many states and whatever horrors come from Biden’s talk with Putin tomorrow. I’ll be 79 next week, and though I feel fine and agile, aging is unavoidable and with it will come a whole host of new questions and problems as I try to face it.
First world problems, I know.
But “coming out” for me has been pretty smooth so far and I am really grateful for this halcyon time that restored and refreshed my pandemic-slammed spirit.
My hope for all of you is that you’re able to take some time, somewhere, to do the same.