Memoirous

In my last post I wrote about visiting the Art Institute of Chicago and the Museum of Contemporary Art. At both I took in NEW exhibits. Of course, we ask ourselves: What is new? I’d venture to say it is art that speaks to us today and hopefully to those in the future. There’s nothing like a plague to drive people into the hands of God and into outpouring of their soul. I mean if you thought the end was near wouldn’t you want to express your innermost longings, desires—or to leave a message for the survivors? Kilroy was here . Medieval art is full of representations of the Black Death: corpses and skeletons. Along with interpretations of the Devil and demons. The macabre was a big draw. Like today: shock jocks pull in an audience and ratings. The church used such depictions to warn congregants against rough living and the vices. The seven deadly sins. Indeed, much of religion was a warning against instead of for living/life. Not a lot has changed. Fast forward to the worldwide p...

 Sooooo what’s it like having Covid? If this were 2019 I’d say it was an inconvenient head cold and be back to work in 3 or 4 days, but because it is Covid I’ve had to be off work and isolated for 10 days. The Great Interrupter: I had to cancel plans for a bike trip. At the front end of my quarantine was a 3-day trip I’d planned and negotiated a day off from work. I had train tickets and a hotel booked, all for naught. Then at the end of quarantine I cancelled friends coming from Chicago to visit. I just didn’t want to have to deal with the possibility that they could get sick. All of this has been stressful—more impacting my psyche than physical. More than ever it has again reminded me of the Lockdown, when in spring 2020 we were told to shelter in place. Where I felt I was living a parallel existence. As I’ve been in isolation is seems as if spring has finally arrived. The weather got hot, then cooled off. There was a storm. The trees flowered and ripened and have begun to ...

 I contributed to an article written by  Alisha Haridasani Gupta  of the NY Times. She is a gender writer and has tackled some big topics in Women's news lately--notably the restriction of abortion rights in many states.  The genesis of my contribution was a call for submissions from the National Women's History Museum looking for "journals" or writing from women during the pandemic. They saw these years/this event as a point in time and history where women's stories might be overlooked. As caregivers as well as ESSENTIAL workers most of us during lockdown have not been inactive. We've had to take on more responsibilities than ever. In this piece are perspectives from an oncologist (just imagine dying during a plague--pretty much batting zero out of zero), a first-time mother--who had to enter a hospital for pre-clampsia  and hold out until the birth of her child in total isolation. The portions of the collection, as well as my full contribution, are online at...

Another sign of re-opening: I browsed the stacks at the public library the other day. I felt like such an interloper, surreptitiously sneaking around the “new arrivals.” I couldn’t stop thinking: I shouldn’t be here. Quick! Get some stuff and run! I kept waiting for a guard to lead me out or someone to say my time was up. I’ve been surviving on hold requests doled out to me like a prisoner meal slipped into a slot in the door. The feeling of walking around and browsing was a bit disorienting. It felt like I was driving on forest roads without a map—never quite sure of which fork to take. Meandering. Lost in stacks of books. Even the smell took some time to get used to. I waited for the old familiar to come back— But it didn’t. I was constantly aware, that this is the first time in 14 months since I was in a library. Not just shuffled past a desk or holds section, but left alone to breathe the air and find a home. I’m still getting used to it.

Remember. Squint your eyes and think back, back to that feeling of having stepped off a cliff. It was right around St. Patrick’s Day 2020. When the world shut down. Of course we’d been hearing about the virus and seen pictures of exhausted doctors and nurses and the staggering death toll in Italy. But here in the US, with our walls and borders and nationalistic superiority, we were immune. Then the first case, second, third. A death. Then it was everywhere. No one knew how to stop it. I remember sitting and thinking in a detached sort of way that people I knew were probably going to get it. People I knew might die. I might die. So I had to let go. Still the next day, waking up after the shut down, I had nowhere to go and no to-do list. It had all been obliterated. I get my energy from doing and I knew I wouldn’t last long anyway at my age, so I volunteered to go over to the shelter to cook lunch. I decided I wanted to die with my boots on. So many people who worked at...

Since March I’ve been thrown into all kinds of Covid havoc. All the things we used to say such as you are not the product of your productivity or your identity is not your job might have worked at one time—like when I had a job, before the pandemic lay waste to my routine. People who still have a routine or are kept busy with Zoom meetings seem to have no idea of how it feels to flounder, to be unmoored without time structure. It was a big reason by I simply took off at the end of May when things opened up to do my cross-country bike trip to Seaside, OR. On my bike ride I experienced structure—albeit one I had no control over. I never knew what the day’s weather or roads might bring. You can have a map, but that only goes so far in telling us how the journey will transpire. I’d awake everyday before dawn and as a sliver of yolk was breaking on the horizon was ready to set out. I’d eat and rest as needed (or not, again as the road allowed). By evening I was READY to stop. I’d shower...

 I can’t begin to describe how much I hate 2020. Suffice it to say it has been difficult. I’m constantly on the lookout for wellness solutions. I rode my bike 2,500 miles to the West Coast. I bought a Britta water pitcher. I either run or take an hour-long walk, getting outside daily. I don’t hesitate to eat ice cream. I’m intentional about scheduling calls with friends to catch up, sending cards and letters. Yet nothing can dispel this unease with myself and my life. Part of it is a lack of routine. At least when I was on my epic bike ride I knew what my job was each day: to get somewhere, to pedal and make miles. There was never a problem with motivation; I had a purpose. Since returning home I’m left with discovering what I need to be about. Even writing feels like tossed salad, words chopped and mixed up, trying to find meaning. What feels good? Standing yesterday at the edge of the sand and watching the water wash in. There was a duck on a raft of tree corp...

The one whom I loved has turned to clay.-- Epic of Gilgamesh, translation by Kent Dixon There are days . . . months, a year . . . or two where we are challenged. The solidness of this world turns flimsy. Where what is up is suddenly down and down is up. We can no longer trust our senses or past experience. I remember as a teen at church singing a song about sinking sand. I am drowning in quick sand. That house set on a firm foundation, sucked under, the timbers cracking and splintering. I can smell the wood pulp in the air. And, I ask myself, is this how it has always been? We blame smart phones, social media, big government, the deep state, the media, Democrats, Republicans, our parents, our kids—but none of these seem to resolve the feeling, the reeling. The transience around me. It’s not just the boy scouts going bankrupt, the church going down the toilet, pastors and priests—it’s all of us and everything that comes under question. Is this the existential period ...

Well, I'm going to stop posting because life is getting too crazy. The last couple posts I've done have had to be cancelled or deleted as the content has suddenly been made obsolete by that day's headlines. I feel like an old person who says the world is going much too fast--                            except I think we're about to get a re-set. LIVE UPDATES Updated  March 9, 2020, 11:49 a.m. ET 8 minutes ago 8 minutes ago Coronavirus Live Updates: Governments Clamp Down but Virus Still Spreads Italy is beginning perhaps the largest restriction on the free movement of people ever attempted in a Western democracy in peacetime to try to slow the spread of the virus. RIGHT NOW Dublin’s St. Patricks Day parade has been canceled, joining those in Cork and other cities, Ireland’s national broadcaster, RTE, has reported. 新冠病毒疫情最新消息 Here’s what you need to know: