Today, when I took my almost daily dog walk of one mile, I passed one of the tidy ranch/bungalow houses characteristic of my neighborhood. Outside stood 15 people and several small children and babies in arms. There were colored balloons dancing in the brisk breeze that cooled the air right down. People were getting out of cars all up and down the street, young people in their late thirties or forties.
At first, my heart was lifted and I felt a small jolt of joy. But then, I realized, "No one has on a mask!" People were hugging like they used to do, and I was suddenly doused in anxiety. That was just the kind of crowd that would let a bloom of coronavirus take some of them away.
However, sad was the emotion that won the day. It was so sad to think of a time when people could hug, and gather to celebrate a first birthday, and breathe out and breathe in without fear or danger.
I would have been afraid. I think they should have been afraid, and indeed, a few that I walked near enough to see the expression on their faces, I didn't see happy anticipation, but more tense wariness.
Are we safe yet? I can't seem to find out. Those people were both brave and foolhardy. They took a big risk (was it?). How to calculate that risk - pretty complicated. Last I heard we didn't have any cases in my town, though I am in a county with over a thousand, so, who knows?
A friend called and asked me if I wanted to go to the store with her today. It was a necessary trip because her son and granddaughter were away at the seashore and she needed groceries. I have such fear now of the grocery store, I have to summon my plexiglas armor before I can venture out there.. I felt bad to say no, but I did.
It was unlike me to say no, but over this spring of the pandemic, I have realized how very far from nurturing I have grown. When one of my friends was telling me about her volunteer work at a local wildlife refuge feeding baby raccoons, I couldn't help but observe that I had recently realized that I don't feel nurturing or responsible for people in the way I used to. I suppose it is all part of the aging process, letting go of things, actions, drives, feelings and, I guess eventually, memory.
Well, I still have mine, at least this spring!
Happy trails to you!
Jo Ann
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