(Not really the end. More like a different kind of Hunkered Downed-ness.)
Like it or not, Day 80 marks the end of my twelve weeks of being Hunkered Down here at home. The Commonwealth of Pennsylvania has declared that businesses like mine can open their offices, so if I’m working, that’s where I’ll be.
It’s a big change—leaving the house regularly. You’d think after eighty days I’d be prepared and I could articulate how I feel. But I’m all over the place; clearly agitated about this mess. I’m upset that this pandemic has split us along political lines. I want to write about that … but I’ve got this condition.… When I write politically I can feel my stomach turn, my jaw clench, my heart grow heavy. (Even as I wrote that last sentence I suddenly fell into the passive voice—a defense mechanism to spare me the anxiety.) Alas, my friends, November is coming, and I fear the stomach-turning and jaw-clenching is just beginning.
Our shared COVID experience is far from over. Leaving the house for work isn’t going to change the rest of my isolated life. Even so, returning to work is a milestone. So I have questions concerning where we are, right now, during this time we’ve had, together yet apart:
Could we have done better? Did our global community share the burden of remaining safe and isolated? Did we become stronger, smarter, and more compassionate because of it? Did we make the most of our opportunity to step back, get out of the way, and let smart people and doctors and nurses and scientists do what they do? (Sorry. I had to pause and derisively chuckle about that last question. We sure haven’t made it easy on the people who are trying to help us the most.)
We all have a different set of answers for those questions. As for me, I have learned I love my wife and son and family more than I ever thought possible. I have learned I love working from home, and being at home. (Apparently spending even more time close to Laura is even better than I imagined.) I have learned I am a mask wearer. Seems to me that wearing a mask is a simple gift we can present to our fellow human beings: I’ll take care of you … you’ll take care of me. I can’t understand why people would disagree. It’s so simple. It’s a chance to do something infinitesimal for the greater good. It’s not like we’ve been asked to storm the beaches at Normandy.
Sadly, my happy, maybe-overly-optimistic viewpoint must be viewed through a lens smeared and stained by the horrors occurring in cities across this thoroughly divided country during these first days of June of 2020. There is no way around it. I need to find my role in it, because doing nothing is a terrible response.
So it is that this phase of Hunkered Down is over, and the next phase of living life during this pandemic has begun. And, because I can’t help myself, I’ll leave you with this bit of silliness:
Almost every day during the past twelve weeks, to mark my time here at home, I’ve taken some kind of photograph in my office. Me. My whiteboard of dopey messages. Rotating photos and posters on the wall. Sweatshirts. T-shirts. Hats. Hair. (Good god, the hair!) All the while, straining, and ultimately failing, not to repeat the same angle. I made this movie of each photo, in random order. I found it fun to arbitrarily click on the movie to pause it, freezing on a single image. If I’m lucky it takes me back, and I remember the brief moment—maybe it was only five seconds—when the photo was taken. And if I’m really lucky, I have found five more seconds of happiness.
(What’s the deal with five seconds?)
OMG, a typewriter!!??!!
It’s my dads! It’s in horrible shape, unfortunately. I’ve got to decide if I want to get it refurbished or not. But I do love the thud, thud, thud of a typewriter. It’s why I’ve gone back to a mechanical keyboard for my Mac. Stay healthy!
Let us hope that the next time we are home together (for an extended period of time) it is for joyous reasons. I loved being home with you too.
I fear that humans will remain human. Remember when PBS was referred to as the WWII channel. Nothing but documentaries on the rise and fall of the Third Reich. Never thought I’d see it first hand. In the words of the eminent philosopher Mel Brooks, “Hope for the best, expect the worst”. There’s now divisions in police departments! I need a slice of pizza…
“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo. “So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”
Of course, I had to do the thing at the end where you click on stop whenever. I had to do it several times haha! As usual, i loved your writing. Thanks!!!!!!!!!
David, thanks for sharing your thoughts in such elegant prose. These are strange times that bring back strange memories. In 1969 I was stationed at Fort Holabird near Baltimore. Race riots were taking place across the nation, including in Baltimore. We were ordered to come in on weekends to practice crowd control maneuvers; close order drill with fixed bayonets. Being a platoon sergeant it was my responsibility to direct the 50 men in my platoon in these practices. Thank goodness we were never called into action. We were all desk jockeys and I could just envision the mayhem that could occur if anyone in the unit was hit with a rock or bottle or worse and over-reacted, as well as the Constitutional question of an arm of the military taking action against fellow Americans. The really sad thing in looking back at that situation is that in 50 years we have not really made much progress in racial equality.
Your words resonate deeply, especially those last two sentences. Thanks so much for sending them my way. Stay safe and healthy. I am so thankful to be part of this great big wonderful family!
Don Roy, thank you so much for your writing. It was so detailed and descriptive and meaningful to me. Mom often mentioned the time you were at Ft Holabird in various context. She had such an incredible memory. I really appreciated your writing!!
Let’s get to the REAL issue at hand – the redneck golf challenge! Boy howdy, it is time to dust off the required equipment – beer coozies. I have no problem social distancing myself from the long line of losing teams that are going to go home crying, possibly in their beer. So polish up the PVC pipes, get out the rule book and prepare for a large can of “whoop-ass” to be cracked open.
You have been so advised. These are the facts, they are undisputed.
Let’s make it happen, brother. Prepare to be CRUSHED.