QUARANTINE LIFE: SUNDAY THOUGHTS

I’ve never had COVID. I’d like to keep it that way. 

“How’d you manage THAT?”, someone asked.

“It’s not extraordinary” I said. “I just don’t go anywhere.”

That’s not entirely true. Perhaps I should have said I don’t go out much, and tend to be selective (and prayerful) when I do. 

I’ve learned that everybody is not acting appropriately— at least when it comes to our duty to care for the wellbeing of others. 

Nothing reminds me of my semi-reclusiveness, like the shocked looks on the faces of people, when they realize the woman under the bushy hair, behind the mask, is me. 

I’m one of those people who took the pandemic seriously. Some may say I took it waaaaay too seriously, as if a virus is something to shrug off, that is no respecter of persons, and isn’t still killing people.

When the former Governor of Maryland said “lockdown”, that’s just what the heck I did. 

His words might as well have been those of the Prophet Isaiah: “Go, my people, enter your rooms and shut the doors behind you; hide yourselves for a little while until his wrath has passed by…”

When I go out these days, I often think about a line from The Montclairs’ hit song, “Make Up For Lost Time”: “…weeks turned into months, and months turned into years, and through it all, we’ve shed so many tears…”

A lot of time has passed, but it hasn’t been unproductive. It’s just been happily minus a lot of the pre-pandemic busyness that I doubt anyone is anxious to resume. Well…some people are, but they’re in for a rude awakening.

We’ve all had time to realize what’s necessary and what’s not. We’ve become efficient. We’ve had time to examine our habits, traditions, priorities and practices. The pandemic left some things on the chopping block.

As the pandemic lingered on, I hunkered down even further than I already had, since I moved in 2018. 

My easel stayed up, and my art supplies were always replenished. (Loved ones chose my Christmas gifts well.)

Some days, I’d paint from sunup to sundown. If I didn’t paint, I made sure I did something creative every day, and those digital art images became my numerous blog posts, titled, “DETAILS”. 

I even figured out how to “paint” on my iPhone using the “markup” feature.

After sorting and organizing my portfolios and sketchbooks, I finished my large collage of old and new drawings, doodles, and small paintings, that I started last January.

 I’ve always been apprehensive about art commissions. You never know if people will be okay with your interpretation of what they see, but I surprised (and challenged) myself, and completed nine.

I edited old Shutterfly books, created new ones, and added to my Art products at Cafepress.com. As of today, there are 839. 

I watched, and was fascinated by the sky, the flight of Maryland’s huge birds, the occasional rabbit or fox, and deer families that passed through the neighborhood. 

I watched livestreams, and listened to podcasts and audiobooks: “Excuse Me Doctor”, “Questlove Supreme”, “Mayim Bialik’s Breakdown”, “Startalk”, “Diary of A CEO”, “Michael Colyar’s Morning Show”, “Behind The Scenes of The Daily Show”, and “The Josh Johnson Show”. 

I fell asleep to “The Velveteen Rabbit”, “Astrophysics For People In A Hurry”, “Born A Crime”, “Outliers”, “Blink”, and “Souls of Black Folk”. 

I watched old movies, wrote poetry, blogged, played Wordle and Semantle, alphabetized my record and tape collection, purged my closet, made oatmeal cookies for the first time, and supported every Double Good popcorn fundraiser that appeared in my inbox. 

I prayed, too—a lot.

Amazon, DoorDash, and Instacart became my go-to’s for everything. 

Funny, but I haven’t purchased clothes or shoes in three years. There’s something about cleaning up, sorting, and organizing— you find you already have what you need.

I skated through the rise in gas prices, although my mechanic reminded me (in a note—in red—on my receipt, that my car needed to be driven. It was a car, not a planter or nest, and the battery was running whether I drove it or not.

Many joked that I was ready for the pandemic. “Oh, you’ve been practicing for this!” 

It’s true. I had neat, clean, organized parents, and the world had already been through another epidemic in my lifetime that reinforced habits in cleanliness. Perhaps we didn’t learn much from that one. 

One day we’ll understand that history really does matter.

Lysol, Clorox, hot, soapy water, and paper towels have been my friends for a long time. I cleaned the clean some days. Trust me. There’s always something to do. If you really want to know if your place is as clean as you think it is, open your windows, or better yet, move your refrigerator. Yuck.

Some suggested that I “enjoyed” the pandemic because I’m such a homebody, and a huge fan of peace, quiet, and minding my own business. Years spent as a live-in caregiver DID prepare me in a way. Watching the seasons change from indoors, was nothing new. A dear friend suggested I’d needed a break, and the pandemic absolutely provided me with one.

Staying at home hasn’t been difficult at all. When you like your home, don’t mind your own company, have stuff to occupy your time, and an endless supply of classic TV shows, even the most unpredictable circumstances we’ve experienced, are manageable. 

What I didn’t want to be, or become, was afraid. I didn’t want COVID to become an excuse, or explanation for not showing up—although it’s a mighty good one. 

I had to admit that the prospect of going out anywhere to do anything—even the things I loved— became less appealing. My comfort zone grew more comfortable every day. I didn’t want to leave. I lived vicariously through people who were making plans, and bravely venturing out. There were, however, those eerie periods of silence from the brave go-getters, and then their sheepish reemergence with not-so-exciting COVID stories, and warnings to share.

The thought of going out did create anxiety. I could control my surroundings at home, but there was no such guarantee in public, in a store, church, restaurant, or on a plane. 

I reluctantly declined four out-of-town trips, and several local singing opportunities that would have been pre-pandemic no-brainers. 

Perhaps I consumed too much news, and far too many viral videos of people behaving very, very badly. What I never said, however, was that I was done. It only takes a few “No’s” for some people to assume you’ve hung up your uniform for good.

 “I hope you don’t mind. I finally got your correct contact number. So-and-so wasn’t trying to give me any information. I’m glad I called myself...”

“This is easier than I thought. I assumed, maybe I had to ask so-and-so…”

“ I didn’t think you would be interested. So-and-so said…”

“Your name came up, but so-and-so said you probably wouldn’t want to since you only work with_______.”

Creatives…O, Beloved, Beleaguered Creatives!

Do you get the feeling that someone appointed themselves your pre, post, or during pandemic mouthpiece? Who’s been speaking, and poorly negotiating for you— unauthorized—and underestimating your interest, minimizing your worth, spewing misinformation, pigeonholing your skills, profiting from your efforts, lumping you in categories, locking you in boxes, keeping you out of certain circles, or TRYING to?

Who’s been deciding that you’re out of commission, focused on other things, can’t be reached, unable, too qualified, not a good fit, tired, retired, uninterested, too much, not enough, or otherwise occupied? 

Who decided that your “No” to them, (at the height of the pandemic) meant no to everyone, everywhere, forever and ever, Amen? Who’s limited, or hung up your instrument, tools, and equipment FOR you?

Last time you checked, maybe you should, but you didn’t have “people” other than your relatives! 

You’re not under contract or management! You don’t have handlers! Check your number and email. It’s been the same since Jack was your first, top friend! Check your accounts! You just filed your taxes. YOU see those pandemic numbers! You’re not on anyone’s payroll or roster! You thanked God, baby, teenaged, and adult Jesus for those stimulus checks! No one owns, subsidizes, nor sustains you! You’re not on a retainer! What makes people think they can just represent you, and affect your work flow all willy-nilly?

There’s neither person nor entity to hurdle to get to you, other than functioning cellular or internet service, home training, civility, common courtesy, and respect! 

There you are, reachable on every social media platform known to man, from AOL Instant Messenger, and MySpace, to Twitter, Instagram, and Tik Tok. You might even still have a landline, but “they” are asking “them” what YOU will or won’t do? What are you? Invisible? 

Who are the infamous “They” who’ve been telling others what you can, or can’t do— perhaps for YEARS? 

And another thing…who’s been trying to test the strength of your relationships by whether you can get YOUR friends and acquaintances to do stuff for THEM— for free or peanuts? Who’s trying to get YOU to speak for, and circumvent the boundaries and protocols of others who DO have their professional ish together? Who’s always trying to get the hookup?

You’d better find out, and in the words of the great philosopher, Deputy Bernard P. Fife, “Nip it in the bud! Nip it, nip it, nip it!”. 

#whattheworld 

But I digress. 

The past three years have been weird, cathartic, and healing. Holidays were intimate. There were no crowds above three.

Catching up with people, and staying connected via social media, group chats, or zoom isn’t nearly as nice as seeing and being in the company of the people you love and like, but technology definitely helped. I really appreciate those who endeavored to provide live Music and Art experiences.

For me, the pandemic has felt like one, long, continuous day. I can’t believe it’s April again. The trees surrounding my home have been like a timekeeper.

It’s not unusual for me to check the date or time. Daylight Savings Time hasn’t affected me at all. The only time I’m keenly aware of how much time has passed, is when I see people face to face. At a funeral I attended, a friend exclaimed, “THERE she is!” as if I were a unicorn.

I guess I really have been publicly MIA. 

I’m slowly emerging from my safe space; saying “yes” to some invitations— local ones, that is. I laughed when a friend said, “Okay. Yeah. You can come outside now.” 

Whenever I mention that I’ve gone anywhere, another friend says, “Whaaaaaaat? You! Who are you?”

I finally went inside my local grocery store for the first time since 2019. It felt like being in Toys-R-Us as a kid. I was overwhelmed by the colors in the produce section! (Maybe that’s just the artist in me.) Going inside any establishment has been a big deal. I’ll do it, but I’m still not a fan of self check-out. Some cashiers seem surprised when you’d prefer they help you, instead.

When I go out, I feel like I’m in a new world. I acknowledge how guarded I’ve become. I see changes, progress, and improvements that have been made, projects under way, and new protocols in place. 

I feel like I’m the slowest thing on the road, too. Everyone seems to be in a hurry. I’ve seen aggressive drivers before, but some seem to be doing more aiming than driving.

I realized at some point that I needed to offer a certain amount of grace to the extroverts of the world. So many seemed to be willing to take chances. They weren’t being jerks. They were suffering. Others acted like COVID was a person who cared about schedules, plans, needs, wants, and feelings. 

I felt for those who, frankly, DID need to be out-and-about. When everything stopped, they didn’t seem to know how to pivot. They had to gather. They threw caution to the wind, and seemed angry about the slightest sign of wisdom, or consideration. Masks became triggering, and sources of their ridicule. They couldn’t stand being cooped up, and wanted everyone to snap out of the survival mode that kept people safe. The gaslighting, denial, and manipulative, heavy-handed tactics to get the world “back to normal”, totally ignored the nature of the virus and lead to more sickness and death. 

We’ll never know how many people’s demise was due to the irresponsibility of others. For some, quarantine and lockdowns and masks have been agony about which they were prepared to fight. COVID was more than happy to oblige.

This thing isn’t over. My social media pages often resemble obituary columns. Daily, I’m offering condolences to several people. 

We’re just not talking about COVID anymore. We’re not testing, tracking, and tracing anymore. People are over it, and not calling it what it is. Now there’s a proliferation of head colds, chest colds, sinus infections, tickled or sore throats, and allergies to explain why people are coughing, hacking, sneezing, and sniffing all over the place, so that they aren’t judged, questioned, shunned, or shamed for doing so.

Some things haven’t changed. In every place I’ve dared to go, EVERY time, there were people who, if I didn’t know any better, were TRYING to, or being paid to keep the pandemic going. “If you’re sick, stay at home” is totally a suggestion to them. They’ve decided they’re going out, everyone else is at their mercy, and if someone is infected by them…oh well…too bad…they’ll get over it.

Things ARE resuming, and so are the inconsiderate, arrogant habits of the clueless who think they have a right to go out in public while sick, occupy places in enclosed spaces and dare anyone to say anything to them. They’ve successfully minimized the severity of their ailments, and expect everyone else to tolerate and understand. The ones who perplex me, however, are those who announce their conditions as they arrive, have a wad of tissues at the ready, but are maskless.

“I just got out of the hospital.”

“I’ve been sick as a dog all week.”

“I don’t know HOW I got this cold!”

I only have one question. “Why are you not at home in bed?”

I don’t carry mace in my purse. I carry Lysol, and for what’s proven to be good reason.

People commence to coughing and sneezing like there’s a contest, yet always lean in for a hug or want to shake your hand. In one setting, the person coughed so violently and repeatedly, I was sure her entire respiratory system would come hurling out of her mouth. 

In another, a woman took down her mask to cough. The woman sitting next to her shot such a death stare, I had to look away lest I suffer from the residue.

In yet another space, that required masks, a maskless guy walked in, sat among others, and looked quite smug— until someone else coughed. It was a hoot watching him scramble for the mask he had in his pocket, but he forgot which one.

You’d think that sick or recovering people would be the first to wear a mask in public if they insist on, or just have to go out. Nope. I’m beginning to think they’re planted by some evil force to discourage people like me from ever going out or gathering again. 

There’s ALWAYS one, calling everyone else silly, or scared; proudly listing their daily health routines, or declaring the pandemic over as if they have the authority to do so. There’s always someone who behaves as if the whole pandemic was a dream or a hoax, and I’m somehow ALWAYS near them to witness their antics. No matter how I try to still fist bump, elbow, wave, and practice social distancing I must be a magnet for people who seem to be on a demonic mission to test the strength of my immune system. They always want to stand over you, sit next to you, touch you, and talk, or whisper something at a time when you can’t possibly hear them. 

Yeah. I’ve let down my guard and hugged. It was really good to see people in person, but I know I’m not the universal hugger/ handskaker I used to be.

I guess I just want people to care. Being sarcastic, critical, and apathetic is counterproductive. Instead of attacking the virus, people attacked each other. They treated the pandemic like a contest. 

You’d think after all we’ve experienced, we’d see more kindness, but it’s enough there to be optimistic. 

Yesterday was the first time in years that I was up and out before 6 AM. It was still dark out, and there was frost on the car. I hadn’t been at church on Easter since 2019. I had a lovely time.

I feel a little rusty when I sing, but it feels good to do it just the same. I suppose while I’m extending grace, I can offer some to myself.

Today, I painted a little on the piece I’ve been working on for the past several months. It’s what I thought was the last of my “Thoughts and Prayers” series. Sadly, today I heard of yet another mass shooter. This time in Louisville.

Some things really are back to “normal”.

I think I’ll rest a while.