Idol of hindu goddess kali during navratri festival
Warning: this is a rant. A month ago, I might have written something more cheerful. Maybe next month.
Warning: this is a rant. A month ago, I might have written something more cheerful. Maybe next month. But I’m suddenly undone.
But I’m suddenly undone. Easter did it. Not that we’re churchgoers, but we’re musicians. Watching yet another ZOOM of people gathering when covid numbers are climbing, hit a nerve. The volcano stirred, growled, erupted. All the loss, all the fear. All of it. Grrrrrrowl!
Two years ago, tomorrow my father passed at age 100.25. Nothing extraordinary, except his extraordinarily long life and the central place he occupied in our family. With his going, it was as if our whole social world winked out. We had built a large community of support around him, good job, us. It vanished.
I had a thriving piano studio with a satellite giving pro-bono lessons at an after-school program, with a team of my students as “practice partners” helping out. In the chaos of early Covid, virtual teaching seemed too hard to learn. Virtual music just didn’t cut it for me, though it’s worked for many.
We had an active life, singing in a church choir, yoga classes, the gym, Undoing racism meetings, anti-poverty meetings, restaurants, movies, symphony, and the like. Friends.
Then, the pandemic swept away the whole web of inter-relatedness quickly as a spring-cleaning broom whisks off ceiling cobwebs.
Lucky us, we escaped to a country home, my husband and I. We ZOOMED the life out of computers, wore masks to shop, and risked travel to see a new grandchild. ZOOMED some more. Made a pod with our daughter and her partner nearby. And learned survival, the distanced conversations on the country roads as we and others walked and walked and walked. We thanked our stars for our companionship with each other, even though at times we drove each other crazy. We vaxed, vaxed, boosted, boosted. And grumbled at the redder state’s resistance to both vax and masks.
We practiced gratitude. So many others, in much worse straits. Blessed the saving grace of technology. ZOOM, like the RNA vaccine, was ready when we all needed it most. We thank this virtual sphere, FaceTime our growing grandson, do yoga with square images of comrades. But, really, it’s not the same. We’re still in a room alone. Does it remind anyone else of the Kier Dullea “2001, Space Odyssey” character once he gets to his Saturn pod of solitary survival?
So, what’s changed? This morning, did I forget to armor up, thinking we were done? Is it spring, April’s promise of newness? Or simply admitting my father is gone?
Suddenly, it’s not OK. Any. More. Covid numbers here ramp up again. One after another, my friends “catch the Beast.” We continue to fear each other and withhold hugs, Seven million are Covid-dead, and now Ukraine. Patience wears thin to ripping.
I tried to think of some funny COVID time story. Really I did. Something about masks looking like face underwear drying on the clothesline. But can’t. Boo hiss on COVID if you can’t laugh.
I warned you this was a rant. I can’t un-rant it without soft soaping. Tomorrow will be different. This too shall pass. I will cheer up reading what you have to say. And though a nor’easter is whipping us with wind, I’ll go out to walk. That will help, too.
I say this much. We have been through something, and it continues. Wishing it over doesn’t make it so. Juicing the “it” for meaning helps. Thanks for the prompt. Only today, I’m really, really angry.
Note: Image is of Chumanda, or Kalik, or Durga, all demon slayers, flighting evil and bringing peace.
Lucinda WinslowLucinda's past lives thrash in the rearview, among them TV captionist, children's theater director, opera director, spiritual junkie, piano instructor, and other nefarious activities. Now she writes, works for social justice--ending poverty and book banning--while building gardens in Connecticut and New Hampshire.
Totally get this, Lucinda, along with the roller coaster feeling. Sometimes we just have to rant. I really feel for extroverts and well-connected people, who must be suffering more than an introvert like me. Spring always does me good, so I’m hoping, for all of us, for more good days. After having survived “the valley of death” of more than 15 friends and loved ones last fall, I dread the coming of next winter.
Thank you, Marian. We’re stronger together, introvert, extrovert, or ambivert like me. I feel heard.
And, Marian, so sorry for your valley of fifteen. FIFTEEN! Excruciating. Blessings.
Rant away, this is the place to say what’s on your mind. I, too, can’t believe the numbers are rising and just like that, the idiot Trump-appointed judge overrules the mask mandate on public transportation! Thanks for nothing – for bringing on more death and destruction! When did we forget about the common good in the face of “personal liberty”? When did this country become so stupid and selfish? “It’s a Republic, ma’am, if you can keep it?” said Benjamin Franklin more than 200 years ago. Good luck to us.
Thanks, Betsy. Yes, good luck to us. May sanity prevail. At least in us.
Thanx Lucinda – even your rants are wonderfully written and you’ve hit all the nails with all the hammers. It’s all so friggin unfair and now Ukraine.
Sorry for the loss of your father, we’ve also lost loved ones these past two years,, not Covid caused, but because of Covid we Zoomed when we wanted to hug.
Rant on.
Thanks, Dana. Yes, sorry for us all! Yet we mush on.
This is a wonderful rant, Lucy! No need for a warning. You have expressed so well what we all have been feeling at times. Many of us wrote covid stories during the first year and did some ranting then. We’re so happy to have your new perspective.
Condolences on the loss of your father, I felt a similar loss of network when my mother died, even pre-pandemic.
I hope when we see each other (and sing together) we can hug!
Thank you, Suzy. I was just blindsided by the rage.Feels good to put it out there.
And yes to singing. I just ordered black N-95s. Will be at this Saturday’s rehearsal. It’s a LOT of music.
And yes to hugs.
Well, Lucinda, that vibrated the hell outward from the heart. You struck a chord for so many of us. Enough. Enough Covid. Enough Russian brutality. Enough Republican culture attacks and shaky-kneed Democrats. Screw this. We will win in November. Just ask Kali.
Thank you, Charles. Whew. Let’s go.
I’m with you, Lucinda. We have all lost so much of our normal lives and relationships for over two years. You also lost your father — my condolences. When a judge in Florida (rated unqualified) can overturn the travel mask ordinance for the whole country before the CDC makes a ruling on the safety of doing so, and that judge’s ruling stands, I’m furious. How does it hurt people to wear masks on planes and public transportation? I’d better stop or this will turn into a rant rather than a comment.
Rant on. Yes. Yes. Yes. Thanks, and yes.
A very expressive piece!
Most of us have been whip-lashing back and forth between incandescent fury and clammy despair for over two years now. I personally seem stuck on despair.
Me, too, till I was side-swiped by fury this weekend. Great images, all true: whip-lashing, incandescent and clammy.All of it.I supposed at least turning towards rather than trying to outrun is a first step.
Great image, and good and hard-earned rant.