Ghosts
Did anyone else who keeps a physical, analog calendar write CANCELLED across all of April and May?
I secretly held out some hope for May, but from the first (and very welcome) announcement of closures, I knew April was toast.
And now we're at the point in April where, because we're isolating and distancing, I'm more aware of ghosts.
Or, more properly, the ghost of the life I'd set into motion for April. *
I'd planned a trip to the US, for various reasons. One of my siblings had a birthday that ends in zero, which is as good a reason as any for us to gather. Also, April is usually the month in which my stores of "being a good sport about fickle weather" are extra-low, so I plan a trip to Tucson, which is almost always sunny and warm. (Comparatively, for sure.) So the five of us were set to rendezvous to say "hi." And probably other things.
But of course we're not doing it, although the events linger on my calendar under the ballpoint pen line crossing them out. Presumably, they also linger in the multiverse in which the world was better-prepared for novel coronaviruses.
I'm sorry to miss this trip, and the other events I had looked forward to in May (because, let's be real, those that aren't already cancelled will be). Of course I'm sad. Wistful.
I wonder if that other version of me in that other multiverse is enjoying the trip and the anticipation of the other events. I wonder what events she's anticipating that won't come to pass.
I still don't have Big Conclusions--still taking a pass on Big Meaning.
But, because I'm "stuck" here in this lovely place with its fickle, dithery spring weather, I'm fortunate to have a front-row seat to its indecision. The skiffs of snow, the ice re-forming in roadside ditches.
And the sunrises. All worth staying for--safe at home.
_____________
* Today, April 15, is also the date income tax is normally due in the U.S. It's also the date my father died, back in 2007, speaking of ghosts. It tickles me that a man who valued thoroughness and diligence over efficiency accomplished both inevitabilities, death and taxes, on the same day. He was a lovely, complicated soul, which we five siblings would have talked about--and will, when next we gather. A gathering that, itself, would have given him so much pleasure.
I secretly held out some hope for May, but from the first (and very welcome) announcement of closures, I knew April was toast.
And now we're at the point in April where, because we're isolating and distancing, I'm more aware of ghosts.
Or, more properly, the ghost of the life I'd set into motion for April. *
I'd planned a trip to the US, for various reasons. One of my siblings had a birthday that ends in zero, which is as good a reason as any for us to gather. Also, April is usually the month in which my stores of "being a good sport about fickle weather" are extra-low, so I plan a trip to Tucson, which is almost always sunny and warm. (Comparatively, for sure.) So the five of us were set to rendezvous to say "hi." And probably other things.
But of course we're not doing it, although the events linger on my calendar under the ballpoint pen line crossing them out. Presumably, they also linger in the multiverse in which the world was better-prepared for novel coronaviruses.
I'm sorry to miss this trip, and the other events I had looked forward to in May (because, let's be real, those that aren't already cancelled will be). Of course I'm sad. Wistful.
I wonder if that other version of me in that other multiverse is enjoying the trip and the anticipation of the other events. I wonder what events she's anticipating that won't come to pass.
I still don't have Big Conclusions--still taking a pass on Big Meaning.
But, because I'm "stuck" here in this lovely place with its fickle, dithery spring weather, I'm fortunate to have a front-row seat to its indecision. The skiffs of snow, the ice re-forming in roadside ditches.
The returning ducks and geese. The breakup of the ice across the bay.
And the sunrises. All worth staying for--safe at home.
_____________
* Today, April 15, is also the date income tax is normally due in the U.S. It's also the date my father died, back in 2007, speaking of ghosts. It tickles me that a man who valued thoroughness and diligence over efficiency accomplished both inevitabilities, death and taxes, on the same day. He was a lovely, complicated soul, which we five siblings would have talked about--and will, when next we gather. A gathering that, itself, would have given him so much pleasure.