This year has become all about silver linings….because quite frankly, it’s been the hardest year most of us have ever lived through. The deaths, the illnesses, the disappointed looks of our kids as they realized their birthdays and holidays had to be “different” (read: family only) this year. Then there's the stress of keeping a small business afloat, coupled with other friends’ unemployment. It has been unremitting. Hence the silver linings: appreciating what we still have, while we still have it. Like that short window of childhood when the Magic of Christmas is palpable, and, if lucky, the bonus window of getting to relive it years later through your own kids, nieces/nephews or grandkids. With that in mind, I search to see if there are any COVID-safe options for our 4, 8 and 10 year old kids to see Santa Claus this year. Turns out, there’s a place where Santa sits behind a plexiglass screen, while also sporting a face shield. Temperature readings and masks are required. Knowing that visiting Santa on Zoom will be a bust, I make a reservation. On the appointed day at the appointed time, to get into the store housing Santa, we must stand in a long line. Of all men. Even more odd, many of these guys have masks around their chins as they puff on cigarettes. Coming from LA, we don’t smoke in public, unless of course, the smoke is of that blissfully sweeter variety found at concerts. Cigarette smoke???? Ugh. This harsh second-hand smog has our 10 year old coughing and coughing through her mask. Her coughing is interrupted by the squealing of our 8-year old, as she points in disgust to about 10 roach carcasses filling the small round patio lights in the ceiling. Where are we? Once finally inside, we are greeted by taxidermy deer as they creepily graze throughout the store. A few stuffed bears stare down at us, their glass-eyes vacantly staring through us from their mounts on the ceiling. Oh Sunny Saint Nicholas: We have come to see Santa in a gun store. Our 4 year old doesn’t move; he himself having become petrified. We physically steer him to the back of the store, following “Santa This Way” signs, walking through a sea of camouflage: hats, sweaters, boots, pants, backpacks, shell belts. We finally stumble upon a shack labeled “Santa’s Work Shop”, outside of which is a faux wooden porch, on which a very sleepy Santa methodically rocks in a large rocking chair: back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. My 8 year old, an ardent Santa believer, turns to me and says, “Mom – he is NOT the REAL Santa.” She doesn't miss a thing, that one. Three sloppily dressed elves pounce on us. This “North Pole” shack is deserted of other people, most sane and local parents recognizing that a weapon store is not the jolliest or most appropriate of places in which to see Santa. “Do you have a reservation?” a masked and bespectacled elf asks. I look around at the deserted area. “Does it matter?” I ask. Affronted, the elf straightens up to his full stature (waay too tall to be an elf), and my husband quickly gives him our name and reservation time. “AH! Yes! Here you are. Rosens. For Santa.” He speaks as if we are in a sea of humanity, hoping to get us in. “Right this way.” There's no where to really go, so he points and we turn to see Elf #2. Elf #2 suddenly wields a digital thermometer like a drunk orchestra conductor. Elf #2, just for the record, is a woman who should never ever be in spandex pants under any condition or in any public arena. Not for any holiday. Not even in the Ozarks of the North Pole. She finally aims and settles the thermometer on our four-year old’s…..wrist. After all wrist temperatures are satisfactorily recorded (wrist temp taking apparently the rage in the backwoods of the Arctic), my children just stand there. Our girls are thinking "Can we just go??!" but are too polite to say anything. Our five-year old is still petrified - not thinking at all. The Man in Red sits quietly, rocking in his chair on his porch behind plexiglass. He makes no effort to greet them. Elf #2 leads our son towards the plexiglass, causing his sisters to quickly surround him with protective gestures. As my children encroach on the other side of his plexiglass, the Man in Red warily eyes them through his face shield. Then an emotion registers on his face, not of joy or of interest in my children. No, it is clearly forlornness, a look that says, “Hot damn what I wouldn’t give to be out in Nature right now with them guys, nursin’ a wad of chaw, in our camo, totin’ our rifles, instead of with this lot of ....masked kids!" (Scenarios play in my mind as to how he ended up on this porch: he drew the short stick? Couldn’t hold his moonshine?) My children tentatively perch on the edge of the bright green riser, the Grumpy Santa still silently watching them as he rocks on his porch. To complete the picture, a Taxidermy Reindeer with magnificent antlers witnesses the scene just to Santa’s right. Was this Comet? Cupid? Santa’s reindeer are supposed to live forever, unless apparently they encounter Grumpy Santa with his gun on the wrong day. This scenario is a perfect metaphor for 2020. Elf #3 hides behind a desk with a camera. “Look over here!” he yells at my traumatized kids. Except, it turns out, the two who follow his directions to look "here", means they are looking slightly above and away from the lens. Two things are abundantly clear:
Here’s to you, 2020.
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Much is revealed about a culture from its vocabulary. In reflection, 2020 gave us a load of new lingo. Consider: Yoga Pants – Former meaning: “I’m working out / going to yoga.” 2020 meaning: “I got out of my pajamas today.” Drive-by - Former meaning: a shooting from a moving car. 2020 meaning: Adorning one’s car with signs & balloons as one joins a procession of cars, waving at friends on a lawn, yelling, “Happy Birthday!/Happy Graduation!/Good luck on your move! We’ll miss you!” Mask – former meaning: a facial covering for Halloween. 2020 meaning: Public statement of those who believe in science vs. those who don’t. Family time - former meaning: a special time set aside for family members to catch each other up on their day, relax, eat dinner, play games. 2020 meaning: Every minute of every day. (Antonym: alone time, now a term used in fantasy or sci fi.) Urban Moving Vans of Any Kind - former meaning: “We’ve been transferred!” 2020 meaning: “We did the math, and OMG, what we can buy elsewhere for half the price while working remotely!!” Date - former meaning: an outing that two people in/or wanting to be in/ a relationship take to have fun, relax, connect. 2020 meaning: ??? Pivot - Former meaning: “to turn on, as if on a shaft” 2020 meaning: To reinvent one’s self out of necessity. Ex: “My business collapsed…I got laid off…our economic model isn’t viable…I need to pivot here….” Quarantine: Former meaning: a strict isolation imposed to prevent the spread of disease. 2020 meaning: daily life. Zoom: A noun (Ex: Let's discuss this on zoom). Also, a verb (Ex: Let’s zoom next week). Also, an adjective (Ex: Mom, I’ll see you on the Christmas zoom meeting). In short, zoom became EVERYTHING: a lifeline for business and social interaction. Would that we had bought stock…. Virtual/Remote Learning – Proof that kids can actually tire of watching a screen. Postponed Memorials – A plan to celebrate a recently deceased loved one’s life in the distant undefined future History of term: As the death toll mounted to horrifying numbers, many found that zoom (adj) memorials leave much to be desired. We’ve learned how important hugging and being physically together are in times of grief. The COVID-19 – Cousin to “The Freshman 15”, "the COVID- 19" is the approximately 20 pounds of weight gained by staying at home, mostly in the first few months of the pandemic. (not to be confused with COVID-19, the actual disease). Social distancing – an oxymoronic phrase denoting how one is trying to be health-conscious while also acknowledging one’s deep need to laugh and be with family and friends. Now, for an obscure ancient word that has been a 2020 companion: Trumpery Samuel Johnson, in his dictionary of 1755, defined trumpery as: (1) Something of less value than it seems (2) Falsehood, empty talk (3) Something of no value; trifles Its meaning not only stands, but has new depth. Top Two Words more commonly used than ever before: Hope – synonymous with the election…the vaccine…the future… Gratitude – buzzword of sanity. Grateful for what we have. What we don’t. That this year is finally ending. For who we have become during this time. And Concluding - on Perspective and Relationships – “Life will present you with unexpected opportunities, and you won't always know in advance which are the important moments. Above all, it's the quality of your relationships that will determine the quality of your life. Invest in your connections, even those that seem inconsequential." (Esther Perel came up with that – and it’s good, so it’s here). Thanks for your friendship and for having subscribed to my blog. Happy Holidays to you and your loved ones. Who had vision for 2020???? Whodda thunk???? The tree is up, with all its lights and ornaments. The Chanukah candles will burn every night for the next week. Funny that there is such a terrible history between Christians and Jews, when we are ultimately searching for the same thing: love, community, joy, peace, safety and light. We each created rituals to light the darkness, to celebrate life and creativity in an unforgiving world of disease, greed, and fear. Here are three writers that illuminated my 2020. 1) EB White: The Essays of E.B.White Thoughtful and inspired writing is always a panacea to whatever’s going on. Gary, my favorite cousin on my dad’s side, gifted me this incredible treasure. While Charlotte’s Web and Stuart Little may be White’s calling card, his true brilliance is on display here. Coincidentally, Hugh Jackman shared this year that White’s Here is New York is his favorite go-to as a gift for friends (and it’s included in The Essays), so we can say Gary was on to something. At the age of 58, White reflects on the night before getting a new puppy that this could be his last evening gazing on a world of “order and peace” because for the first time he realizes there was a strong likelihood "the dog would survive the man. It has always been the other way around”. This artist took nothing for granted: “One never knows what images one is going to hold in memory returning to the city after a brief orgy in the country…Children hold spring so tightly in their brown fists – just as grownups, who are less sure of it, hold it in their hearts. White’s time is up, but his love of life is on full display for us in this remarkable collection. 2) Elizabeth Gilbert: Big Magic In a year of disappointment, grief and quarantining, Gilbert’s call to creatively express ourselves (paint, drum, dance, write, sing, bake) is an Anthem for 2020. How's this: Your own reasons to create are reason enough. Merely by pursuing what you love, you may inadvertently end up helping the rest of us plenty. (“There is no love which does not become help,” taught the theologian Paul Tillich). Do whatever brings you to life then. Follow your own fascinations. Writing lights me up. A dear friend and fellow mom of three texted me, “Yes, I think I need to find my own outlet.” We all do. It’s a silver lining of 2020. 3) Olga Tokarczuk: Drive your Plow over the Bones of the Dead This 2018 Nobel Prize Winner is virtually unknown in America. This Polish tome deserves mention because it’s unlike any fiction I’ve ever read. It’s a feminist Fargo written by a darkly comedic Thomas Mann. Musings like this: Sometimes it seems to me we're living in a world that we fabricate for ourselves. We decide what's good and what isn't, we draw maps of meanings for ourselves... And then we spend our whole lives struggling with what we have invented for ourselves. The problem is that each of us has our own version of it, so people find it hard to understand each other.” And this: I have a Theory. It’s that an awful thing has happened—our cerebellum has not been correctly connected to our brain. This could be the worst mistake in our programming. Someone has made us badly. This is why our model ought to be replaced. If our cerebellum were connected to our brain, we would possess full knowledge of our own anatomy, of what was happening inside our bodies. Oh, we’d say to ourselves, the level of potassium in my blood has fallen. My third cervical vertebra is feeling tension. My blood pressure is low today, I must move about, and yesterday’s egg salad has sent my cholesterol level too high, so I must watch what I eat today. Tokarczuk creates an odd, unapproachable protagonist who is wounded and alone; someone easily overlooked in every day life, and show life through her eyes. Reminds me that not only are we all fighting our own battles, but we are each the hero of our own story when we take action. Share your favorites below, and the why (and notice, none of mine even came out in 2020 – though I did read many many wonderful recent releases in my book groups). Excited for the new insights and awareness from books that will light me up in the coming year. Monday morning, Lillie Grace looks into her computer as if facing a firing squad. She is the “new kid”, having left her Los Angeles school of over four years to join fourth grade here in Albuquerque (at a school aptly named Georgia O’Keeffe). On the bright side, Lillie has gone from a class of 26 kids to a class of 16. But the anxiety she feels in wanting these 15 other kids to like her is palpable. “Smile!” I stage whisper from just off-camera, reminding her that first impressions can be lasting. After getting kicked out of her room, I remind myself that her teacher is on it, describing Lillie’s passions and hobbies to her 15 classmates. Who can forget the anxiety of being the “new kid”, especially in the middle of the year? I still feel the anxiety of starting schools in January 1980 and April 1977. Anxiety. The dictionary defines it as “full of unease or distress because of fear of misfortune or risk”. Last night, I lead a book group on Fredrik Backman’s latest best seller called…(wait for it)…. Anxious People. An average writer, Backman is a great story teller, and a brilliant observer of human truths: “The terrible truth about becoming an adult is being forced to realize that…we have to deal with everything ourselves now, find out how the whole world works…”.p. 43 In other words, there’s no parent to advise us (as we kick her out of our room), and no teacher to smooth our way. Backman’s book will remain a best seller for months because he shows how most of us are struggling in different ways, that we’re all doing the best we can to get through the day, but we’re not alone. We’re in this together. We are anxious in an anxious world. As I write this, my immediate reaction is to deny that I am in any real way anxious. I was raised Boston Irish Catholic, which meant you pray to God, then suck it up. Focus on the good, the past, the future – anything but the difficulty at hand, especially when you can't fix it. But ignored feelings, I’ve experienced, just morph into back stiffness, then pain. We all face occasional daily anxiety to varying degrees (I went to the dentist this morning, for example. Still, better the dentist these days than the doctor, right?!). My claim to not suffer from much anxiety was further debunked when said dentist outfitted me for a mouth guard because, unbeknownst to me, I grind my teeth at night. Let’s name it to tame it: The cost of living through a historic time is the collective anxiety that comes with it. Consider the latest: One of my favorite former students is now a Rockstar EMT at Children’s Hospital, Los Angeles. He shared that his hospital is now not only filling up with pediatric COVID cases, but also preparing beds for the overflow of adult cases from other hospitals. A total of 14.2 million cases so far in America alone. The number of daily deaths now equals the total death toll of 9/11. This, according to yesterday’s article in Vox, called “America’s failures have lead to a new daily record in COVID deaths.” With no adult yet in the White House, we’re the adults Backman describes. And we haven’t exactly been able to figure out how to navigate this strange new COVID world while waiting...for vaccines. How do we keep paying the bills while keeping safe while staying sane for months on end? No one has it entirely figured out. And while may be in this together, for safety, we physically need to face this apart. Because the Universe has a way of hitting me over the head when I need to face (or feel) something, Jory and I are guests at a lecture (via zoom on Wednesday) given by NY Times columnist and psychologist Lisa Damour. It’s called Managing Stress, Anxiety & Parenting Under COVID 19. What are the odds? Crib notes on her findings on anxiety in italics - my thoughts unitalicized: Anxiety is NOT developmental, meaning we can’t ever just outgrow it. So stop trying. This means that were I to start a job with 15 unfamiliar colleagues tomorrow, I would still feel like Lillie Grace did facing her new fourth grade. Hopefully, I have developed coping mechanisms since I was in fourth grade. Anxiety is good in small measures. It tells us we need to be on our toes, lets us know we’re pushing our comfort zone. Befriend the every day anxieties (because the victory in leaving the dentist today felt all the sweeter). However, chronic anxiety, (like that caused by, say, a long pandemic), is a problem. That’s why we’re ALL a bundle of nerves. Depending on our circumstances, we’re easily tired one minute, edgy the next. Grief-stricken. Bored. Stir crazy. In denial. Overwhelmed. Overeating. Lonely. Helpless. Stressed…..with no end in immediate sight. Some basic coping tools that bear repeating:
We will get through this. A pandemic occurred 102 years ago, and another one will occur again - hopefully not in our lifetimes. But it’s life. And we are here to experience life in the now – with all its joy, heart break, messiness and, yes, anxiety. I’m going to drive around and check out the holiday lights. Because they remind me that, like anxiety, the darkness is necessary to create beauty. (NB - I am not writing about diagnosed mental illness here) |
AuthorSteph: friend, writer, wife, mother, sister, daughter, lover of life, and of chocolate. Archives
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