Showing posts with label what life throws at you. Show all posts
Showing posts with label what life throws at you. Show all posts

Monday, August 31, 2020

Getting Past Pandemic Fears

Carolyn J. Rose

 

 


 

Fear can cause us to fight. But fear can also cause us to freeze. And early reports about the pandemic did that to me. Even with a mask and gloves and a pop-up dispenser of wipes, I was afraid to leave the house. Paralyzed with fear, I brooded about all the activities I was missing out on, took my temperature several times a day, and read every scrap of information that appeared in the paper or on the internet.

And then, because so many reports conflicted with others, I got a grip and forced myself to get past the fear. Quarantine days can seem to be all the same. To counter that, I made a plan and designed a structure for each day. My goal was to begin with anticipation and direction, and end with a sense of accomplishment.

The first step was to eat right and exercise to stay as healthy as possible. The pool and gym were closed, but I got out into the yard and out on the streets for a long walk every day. I raked and weeded and pruned. When it got warmer, I painted and planted. I tried new recipes and ordered meals I’d never tried from local restaurants to do my bit to help them stay afloat.

The second step was to create ways to generate positive feelings and feel I was making progress instead of marking time. I made a list of chores I’ve been meaning to get around to for years and, one by one, I got around to them. I cleaned and sorted and reorganized, I enjoyed the tasks because, with nowhere else to go and not much else to do, I was able to take my time.

The third step was to network close to home. While I was walking and weeding, I waved at and then talked to neighbors whose names I didn’t know. I learned their names quickly and now we have social-distancing get-togethers where we bring our own drinks and food and chat for an hour or two. We help each other by shopping and running errands, lending books, recommending movies and TV shows, and passing along advice and recipes.

The fourth step was to reach out. As I culled and reorganized, I sent photos and knickknacks and books to friends I hadn’t seen for years. They responded. I wrote back. Now, I begin each day by emailing about 40 people who live all across the country, in Mexico, and in Scotland. I send short essays about the hummingbirds at my feeder, stealthy ways to give away zucchini under cover of darkness, worst and best teachers, memories of life in the 1950s, etc. When people respond and react, I often share their comments. We have a sense of community.

The final step was to make a list of what’s really important to me now and another of what will be important when the pandemic passes. As it turns out, the same things are on both lists—health, friendship, and a sense of purpose.

 

    

 

 

 

 

Monday, July 20, 2020

WHERE AM I AND HOW DID I GET HERE?



By Michael Nettleton 

Into The Great Wide Open
Tom Petty, Jeff Lynne

Eddie waited ‘til he finished high school.
He went to Hollywood, got a tattoo
He met a girl out there with a tattoo too
The future was wide open.

My wife asked me an interesting question the other day.
“When you were a kid, did you ever visualize where life would take you? The things you would do, the places you would live, where you’d end up?”
Keep in mind, when I was a tubby little saxophone player wanna-be living with my folks in tiny timber town Bandon-by-the-Sea, deep thinking wasn’t exactly my strong suit. To be fair to my younger self, sleeping, eating, and being an all-around pain-in-the ass didn’t leave much time for self-reflection.
I mean, I knew I didn’t want to end up like my folks. First of all, they were really, really, old. My dad, at the time was fifty-something. And Mom was in her forties. I was never, never, never, going to be that old. And I’d never wear a Lions Club sweater with a caption that read The Sons of the Beaches like Pop. Talk about unhip. I also had a feeling that I’d leave that one horse town and go somewhere really urban, really sophisticated, really hip and groovy. Like Coos Bay. Or maybe, in the wildest stretches of my imagination, Tillamook.

They moved into a place they both could afford
He found a night club, he could work at the door
She had a guitar and she taught him some chords
The sky was the limit

Well, I’m seventy-one now, kinda creaky and crabby and I’ve been lucky enough to have had my share of adventures. Stumbling into a career that turned me into a radio gypsy, I’ve lived in a number of medium sized and big cities, traveled to some fairly exotic locales and with the help of my wife and co-conspirator Carolyn, written half a dozen books, a stage play and a couple of screenplays. (Anybody wanna make a movie? I’ll make you a deal on a script).
Carolyn decided to go to college in Arizona for one primal reason. She was cold and wanted to live somewhere warm. Tucson and the New York Catskills are on opposite ends of the meteorological spectrum. I, on the other hand, started city-hopping based on a voice on the other end of the phone saying “We’ve got a slot open for you. We’ll pay you $50 more a week than you’re making.” I had U-haul on retainer. I didn’t so much live places as hover there.
Facebook is an interesting, frightening, and sometimes repulsive phenomenon. Because of its addictive nature, I’ve reconnected with people from places all up and down my personal timeline. Sometimes communicating with them can evoke a warm smile and trigger expansive memories. At other times I find myself wondering how the two of us ever tolerated each other. As lifestyle, political, and religious ideas get indelibly imprinted on us, we find that our differences sometimes outweigh our common history and one-time fondness for each other.
Recently I heard from a very old friend from high school and college days. He’s retired, living in Florida and seemed happy to reconnect with me. At one point we were very tight, almost brothers. It’s been fifty years since we last saw one another. I fear for what may come: The irreconcilable differences we may discover, the disdain we may harbor for each other’s opinions. Of course, that may just be the creaky, crabby, pessimistic me emerging from my self-imposed social cocoon. Maybe, it will just be two old friends rediscovering one another. Maybe some of the same things will make us smile and laugh as we used to. But I have a niggling fear, impossible to ignore, that the past is never enough to overcome the realities of the present.
Nostalgia’s not what it used to be.

Into the great wide open,
Under them skies so blue.
Out in the great wide open.
A rebel without a clue.