To the editor:
I think we are more than 140 days into this pandemic pandemonium, too. I “think” because I am not sure what day this is. Well, that’s not true. I do know.
To date, I have received 16 calendars for 2021 — clouds, birds, animals, national parks, Jewish holidays. Please, no more. I do not want to see empty dates. I do not want to see “promises to keep” and “miles to go.”
But I did put aside some of my favorites. I have received beautiful brochures to places I dream of seeing someday. I have received labels with my name and address, and I am not in the mood to send cards — which I also got — or letters. I don’t get too many bills, since I am not buying many things. And I don’t get those beautiful invitations to what would be happy occasions.
I have become a “zombie” — Zooming, FaceTiming, WhatsApping, and walking in the middle of the night out on my terrace to check that the world is still there. How many of the 7.8 billion inhabitants, more or less, are smiling today? Not too many.
And maybe if I can see that smile, that’s not a good sign — they should be wearing a mask. How many of them in places I can’t pronounce have a place to hide? Have food and clothing? Even clean water? Have hope?
I try to be humble, to be appreciative of what I have and the bounties my family and friends have, and what we do not have to worry about. But lately, it is not enough. Like you, I want to see this over. End. Done. I want to move on and out. At a recent senior citizen Zoom writing class, every one of us wanted to hug our families, or even just be able to see them.
But I plod on. I continue writing my memoir and poems. I wake up to see the sun in the east and the gorgeous summer sunsets over the river. I enjoy the summer rain. I make banana bread or think about making some, and a yogurt shake in the morning. I cut out millions of suggestions for things to do, television shows to watch, candidates to watch, recipes.
I read a book or do a crossword. I try a new thing, but in despair, give it up. I take a walk and try not to look at those not wearing masks.
Instead, I see roses of Sharon blooming, look at the jewel weeds that can help with all the poison ivy thriving. I see day lilies growing, the marigolds on my terrace, and leaves even now beginning their journey to the ground.
I wait. I hope. That’s all I can do. It’s hard at 77, but I shall persevere.
Judith Veder
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