Day #251 Writing Through COVID-19: Optimism and Memory

My son in New Zealand sent an excited message to our family group chat this evening:

"There's an end in sight for the coronavirus. Before the end of the year, over 12 percent of Americans could get their first dose of the vaccine. That could happen within 3 weeks of the vaccine being authorized. Has the school talked to you about you being vaccinated, Mom?"

My daughter in Florida chimed in:

"It might work in your favor that they're not letting you work remotely because the CDC recommends vaccinating essential workers who can't work from home before ppl who can."
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Tuned in daily to NYT, WHO, and the CDC, my dear children know more about the vaccination progress and process than I do. In a way, this reminds me of 15 years ago when I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I felt okay, but the people who loved me were in pieces. It was actually easier to be the one with the disease than the ones watching.

Here in COVID-land, I just keep getting up in the morning, driving to school, hiding under my mask, spritzing down the desks, slapping on the hand-sanitizer, and teaching English (kind of).

But I hope my kids are right. I told my son my goal is to make it to NZ by next summer. "Maybe as soon as March," he said.

That feels dangerously optimistic to me, like back in March 2020, when we hoped this virus was a short-term deal.
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Some people, pessimists, like to hunker down with worst-case thinking so they can be pleasantly surprised when their dire predictions don't materialize. 

Some people, optimists, like the balm of positive thinking to get them through the days, even if they're at times knocked sideways by cruel reality. 

I am the latter. I've been smiling all evening, thinking I might spend spring break in New Zealand, vaccinated, with Max and Andrea and their beautiful boy (and the doggos).

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My mother-in-law messaged me tonight to declare a "night off due to fog" cancellation of accordion practice. In its place, I played Bridge on Zoom with my dad.

He can't remember if he should click "Share Screen" or "Join Meeting" after opening the Zoom icon. He can't remember more than three digits in sequence as I read him the meeting ID number. He can't remember how to position his computer to capture more than his forehead on video. 

But when I asked him if he wanted to play Bridge tonight, he unleashed his critique of our game four days ago: We would have won if we'd remembered the Ace of clubs had been played! 

How can he forget so much and remember specific tricks played last Saturday?
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Unfortunately, we were not dealt good hands tonight, and we did not play well.

Pretty sure he'll remember this.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

Max and Wolf loving on Goose.