social distancing

The Absence of Smiles

Do you ever feel like the celery in a hot wings basket? Or an ad on YouTube? Or the tootsie roll in the bottom of the Halloween pumpkin? Judged and found lacking? Or ignored altogether? Unable to connect?

I’ve been feeling that a lot lately. And I think it’s the isolation behind the mask. I find myself trying to connect by overcompensating — chattering aimlessly, using lots of hand gestures, smiling till my eyeballs vanish — trying to appear welcoming, to sound happy, to be happy. But I probably just seem crazy.

Teaching through a mask to 190-plus students also wearing masks is lonely business. And no matter how hard I try, they mostly stare silently back at me. Judging me. Or worse — not caring. Or even worse still — feeling as isolated as me.

Because I definitely feel lonely. And dejected. And detached. (And I fear that they do too.)

There’s a human connection we miss when we can’t see whole faces. Two-thirds of our features are currently hidden. And what’s hurting me most is the lack of smiles. I’m missing them something fierce.

And it’s breaking me.

Smiling’s my favorite. They’re so contagious — way more than COVID-19. And while the virus droplets aren’t getting shared and spread, neither are the smiles.

And I’m not just missing the smiles. I’m missing myself. It’s like my personality has been purloined by my PPE.

I never thought not seeing smiles could impact me so much.

But even without the masks, smiles are so few and far between right now. Everything and everyone is so angry and divided. Between the plague and the politics, I feel a social distance not solely attributable to the pandemic.

We’ve been losing our humanity for a long time now. And it’s what I need more of. More connections and grace. Not more exclusion and judgement.

Not more I’m better than you because I think like this. Or I’m better than you because I have accomplished this. Or I’ve been rewarded with this. Or I wear this. Or drive this. Or live here. Or work there. Or have this skin color. Or vote this color.

I want to belong, not to exclude. I want to be a part of something. Not to feel like the last one picked. But also not to be part of a click. And I definitely don’t want to be a dick. I just want to be included and to include others. To be a part of, not apart from.

Can’t we do better? Can’t we love better? and live better? and be better? Even behind masks? Because I am a believer in the safety and science of masks. But I’m also a big believer in smiles.

I miss sharing and spreading and basking in smiles.

September 10, 2020 4

the magic (and power) of words

Whether being driven to the Jitney Jungle with Mom or into the presence of God with Dad, I learned from a young age what words could do. My mother was a music major, and when she sang “Ave Maria” in the car, she opened up their magic. My father was a self-made preacher man and when he prophesied in our living room, he unhinged their power.

And while some people prefer the power, I prefer the magic of words. And believe me, there’s a world of difference.

Magic is revealed. Power is wielded. One shows itself to you. The other strips you bare — or does its best. Enlighten. Or ensnare. That’s what words can do.

And lately, against my better health and judgement, I’ve been caught up in the contagious power of words. In the feverish state of negativity running rampant right now. I’ve grown flush with fear and anxiety. Words have wielded their weight on me, and I’ve wielded out weighty ones of my own. And my recent blogs have been a result of that fever. And I’m sorry about that.

That’s not usually who I am. I’m generally an eternal optimist — an alchemist who tries to turn iron into gold. To dig around in the dark till I find the dawn. But social and news media’s words of contagious power got me.

Thank heavens a good friend recognized my symptoms, cautioned me against getting caught up, and prescribed the appropriate cure: Books.

In my cul-de-sac cult days, when things went all catawampus, I read books to escape. Words with magic to counteract the words of power being catapulted at me. Books sheltered and shielded me. They took me away from my reality.

Emily Dickinson, who self-cloistered for nearly her entire adult life, still enjoyed getting away from the four walls that both protected and penned her in. By reading.

She claimed “there is no frigate like a book/ to take us lands away,” and I agree. And what better thing to do while we’re self-cloistering (so much more poetic than “social distancing”) inside walls that protect and pen us in, than set sail on the pages of a book?

Big Magic, by Elizabeth Gilbert, has been my cure. It’s helped me rediscover the sweet magic of words again, which is what I desperately needed. But it’s also helped me remember the sweet magic of this universe and my part in it.

Gilbert’s words are positive and playful and they encourage us all to find the “strange jewels” planted in our souls by the universe. Some of us will rise to the challenge of unearthing those gems, she says, and some of us are content to sit back and let them simmer unseen.

These last few weeks, sitting at home on my couch, its been easy to turn slack and cynical and to leave the magic simmering somewhere. But her words are nudging me back toward action and light.

Big Magic’s subtitle is Creative Living Beyond Fear — and that’s exactly what I need right now — a way to move beyond fear and into a positive creative state. To go on my spiritual scavenger hunt to find the words truest to me. Words of love and inspiration and persistence.

Because words are my hidden jewels. My magic. I love to twirl them like pinwheels till they flicker and flash. To sharpen and shape them into glittering strings of paper dolls prose. To fling them like stardust into the nebula of my brain and see what riches take flight.

I need to remember to play with them again. Not wallow in them. To relish in their magic, not fall beneath their power.

And if you feel the same way, I highly recommend you giving Gilbert’s Big Magic a read.

She’ll help you find and reclaim your birthright.

April 14, 2020 0

on pollen and this pandemic

It’s almost April. In Georgia, the sun is warm, the breeze is balmy, the azaleas are bursting to bloom. Trees are erupting in celadon halos, one after the other, scattering their dander far and wide. It settles on truck beds, on patios, on skin.

As I sit on my back deck, a hawk rides a thermal overhead, while all around me bees buzz, crows caw, wasps flit, dogs bark. The air is alive with life.

It’s also alive with COVID-19, floating unseen and unheard. Until it’s not. Until the coughing starts. The fevers mount.

My husband mows for the first time this season, dry dusty Bermuda silt floats in his wake, catches on the currents, dissipates in the breeze.

And so goes the virus… spittle and nasal exhaust swirling behind one person and into the unsuspecting path of another as they search the aisles for that ever-elusive toilet paper, their weekly ration of milk.

Eyes water, throats burn, lungs react. Is it the pollen — or the Corona?

How crazy is it that so much death and destruction can be carried in the same currents where so much evidence of life still swims?

If we could detect the virus the same way we can detect the pollen, there’s a high likelihood none of us would be out in public unless we had to be… needed to be… for the greater good. Like those heroes out there facing the public, willingly walking into the invisible wake of this pandemic to help their fellow man. They are selfless and intentional.

And we need to stop being selfish, intentional or otherwise.

We need to stop being stupid. Stop taking for granted the lives of the first responders, the nurses and doctors, the grocery clerks and food service folks, the heroes of this world as we now know it.

Not all of us are susceptible to pollen, but we are all susceptible to COVID-19. And at this point, we’ve all been impacted. If not with the virus, then with the fall out of the virus: lost incomes, lost school years, lost loved ones, lost life as we knew it.

As of this morning, more than 124,000 Americans have contracted the virus, and 2,100 Americans have died. Infectious disease expert Dr. Fauci predicts millions of cases in our homeland… and over 100,000 deaths.

It’s’ not all gloom and doom. We have beautiful spring days, full to bursting with new life. So I choose to revel in the earth’s breathtaking beauty. I’m enjoying my backyard, my driveway, the woodland path with the violets sprouting underfoot…

But these days are also full of breathtaking danger. So I respect that danger. I avoid my neighbors, my family members across county, the siren call of social gatherings and the false sense of security because it’s warm and gorgeous outside.

It’s so easy to convince myself that all is right with the world.

But it’s not.

Stop being selfish. Stop being naive. Stay out of the wake of this pandemic. So that more of us may wake tomorrow, and the next day, and the next, and eventually we may wake to a more normal world once again.

Stay Home. And Stay Healthy, my friends.

March 29, 2020 1

when it's your child who's been tested for COVID-19

I’ve been waiting on my daughter’s COVID-19 test results for the past two days.

Her testing happened Saturday afternoon and was like something out of a sci-fi movie. Occupational Health arranged for her to drive from home to a clinic. Completely robed and masked nurses met her at the car. They immediately masked her as well, then opened all the doors and ushered her into an exam room where they swabbed her nostrils and walked her back to her car. She was in the clinic less than five minutes and never touched anyone or anything.

The nurse categorized her as High Risk. She’s traveled recently. She has all the symptoms (101 fever, extreme cough and debilitating headache, chills, and fatigue — everything but pneumonia, Thank You, Lord). And her job puts her up-close-and-personal with the virus.

She’s a surgeon, a seventh-year chief resident in Dallas, Texas. and one doc in her hospital has already tested positive.

I am an eleven-hour car ride away from her, and she lives alone. I’ve been a tangled-up torrent of worry and fear. I wanted to drop everything and drive to her, but I was told NO, that she must self-quarantine for the duration.

The thought of my girl locked in her tiny apartment, sick and weak, the groceries depleting, the garbage piling up, the loneliness setting in… all by herself, it was almost too much for my heart.

Luckily, she has a wonderful family of resident and attending physicians who surround and love her. I immediately reached out to two of her best friends, asking them to check in on her by phone. They stepped up like the angels they are.

Others swept in to assist as soon as they got word. Her research mentor volunteered to drop food at her door. Colleagues called nightly. Residents FaceTimed her. So many kept her in their sights, relatively speaking… I can never explain how much their support soothed my Mama’s Heart.

Midway through writing this blog, I got word she tested negative. So much weight has been lifted. I really thought the odds were stacked against her.

My sweet girl is embarrassed that she was ever tested. She feels guilty that others had to carry her weight while she was home sick. She’s so thankful she’s been cleared to go back to work and help carry the load.

Well, Mama Bear talking here, so bear with me.

She’s not the one who should be embarrassed. She’s not the one who should feel guilty. She’s doing her part to help fight this pandemic. She’s putting herself deliberately in harm’s way to help people in need.

But there are individuals out there who should be embarrassed and ashamed. People who refuse to see the seriousness of the situation and keep leaving their homes for careless contact with others. Conspiracy theorists who refuse to listen to the experts and think its all hype and hoax. Folks who strongly believe it is their God-given, American-born right to run their lives like normal.

Well, maybe it is. But life is not normal. It’s as far from normal as anything even the oldest among us has ever seen. And while citizens may have a right to live their lives as they choose, they also have the responsibility to look out for their fellow Americans.

And if they don’t care about their fellow man, they should at least care about their own families and friends — who they are putting at tremendous risk every time they venture out.

People are still playing soccer at Dellinger Park. They’re still meeting neighbors for barbecues and beers. They’re still sending their kids out for play dates with friends.

AND they are putting so many people at risk. The elderly. The infirm. And my child. At risk. And that’s not okay with me.

Medical professionals are working their bodies to the breaking point. They are on the front lines, giving so much.

People should at least be willing to give up some of their all-mighty freedoms for this short period of time.

For Goodness Sakes.

March 23, 2020 1

Finding Gifts in the Darkness

Last night, on the eve of our boys’ sixth birthday, our family did what we do every night. We turned on a lullaby, and while it played, Tate and I danced in the dark, and Parker and Mike tossed the football.

Tate is into interpretive dance these days — sort of ballet, sort of slow-mo breakdance. Parker is perfecting his quarterback stutter step. He fires three-foot bullets to his father; Tate pirouettes in our pas des deus.

It is my favorite time of day. I love how the boys still curl into our bodies like baby bats as we lift them into bed, clinging to our necks for kisses.

Last night, Mike and I snuck out after tucking them in, to sit on the their new birthday trampoline, have a glass of wine, and stare at the stars. There was a fine mist covering the sky. At first only Venus, in a blurry halo, was visible. But then, the night pulled back her veil — its long, wispy strands rushing off in every direction — to reveal the scattered, bright pinpoints of stars overhead. It was so peaceful.

I couldn’t help considering the chaos and uncertainty in the world right now, contrasted with the quiet, soothing simplicity surrounding us there in the dark.

A plane whirred overhead. An occasional cricket chirped. Someone had lit a bonfire not far away. The slight scent of woodsmoke drifted into the spaces vacated by the mist. A few doors down, the soft murmurs of back porch conversation.

Our neighbors had our same idea… seek refuge in the stillness of the night.

I wished upon a star then… that all the hazy uncertainty surrounding us would dissolve into studded pinpoints of clarity and hope. I prayed for fresh opportunities to emerge from the fog of fear and the fever of disease. Quickly and soon.

And I know it’s going to take a while longer. Still, if people who can stay home would just stay home. If they would stop running the roads and pounding their metaphorical chests and proclaiming themselves immune from the virus… Then it wouldn’t take nearly as long for us all to reach the other side of this pandemic.

The number of cases in Georgia has tripled overnight. Here in Bartow, we almost doubled. We’re climbing that exponential curve. We’re about to start knowing people who are sick. Some of us already do.

So stay home. Please. Find the stillness within to contrast the chaos without.

Sit on your porches, your patios, your trampolines. Sing songs and dance dances here in the dark. Because these are, indeed, dark times.

But there is sweetness to be found inside darkness, too. There is. Find those sweet, quiet rituals that can center your soul and soothe your worries.

Kiss your family. Take long baths. Star gaze. Read. Write. Meditate. Pray. Pray for those who are sick, pray for those who are in the battle zone fighting for patients’ lives, and pray for your fellow man.

Today, the boys have no birthday party. No school celebration. No family gathering.

But they have gifts. Gifts delivered by grandparents maintaining a socially-safe six feet between them. Gifts delivered by Amazon from grandparents with three big states between them. And gifts delivered by a novel virus currently sweeping the world.

Yes, gifts have even arrived courtesy of this pandemic. Because these boys have been gifted with lots of time with their parents. And we’ve been gifted with lots of time with them. And that is a gift not to be taken for granted.

Because they are growing up so fast. And we are growing old even faster.

Yes, there is sweetness to be found in the darkness. So when night pulls back her veil and reveals all her scattered, bright pinpoints of simplicity and light, receive those gifts. Relish them.

Oh… and Stay the F at Home.

March 20, 2020 4

Sweet Nothings are Everything Right Now

Primary school drop off was a ghost town on Friday morning. So was the toilet paper aisle.

But I would rather the ghost towns be in driveways and aisle-ways than in the hallways of our homes and the alleyways of our hearts.

These are scary times. Every day we hear of more infections, more hospitalizations. The friend two doors down, the principal one county over, the young mother with two sweet littles. The dozens waiting confirmation. The hundreds hosting symptoms.

Every time we check our social media — which is all we can do since this social distancing has been implemented — we see more scary things. Read more scary things.

But perhaps the scariest of all is the vicious political finger-pointing. This virus is targeting us all. Let’s not target each other.

In the past, I’ve been the first to rail against the machine and wag my finger and tongue. But right now, the most important thing for us to do is find our humanity and discard our hate.

We need to band together on our bandwidths, not launch hatred from our laptops.

Italy should be a lesson to us all. How to quarantine, yes. But also, how to love. How to carry on loving one another despite social distancing. In Italy, they’re singing from balconies. Serenading from rooftops.

And we… we can do the same. From our keyboards.

Spread kindness and love via laptop and phone. Share all the puppy pics, the family snapshots, the prayers, the love. Whisper sweet nothings into your friends’ and loved ones’ virtual ears.

Because right now, they are far from nothing. Right now, they’re everything. Because we are running woefully low on Sweetness right now.

My oldest twin boy, five days from six years old, whispered the sweetest little nothing-that’s-everything into my ear yesterday morning.

You said it Parker. And I agree.

Let’s water everyone’s eyes with beautiful things. All the kind, sweet, joyful, loving, prayerful, beautiful things.

Our heart health and humanity depends upon it.

March 15, 2020 0