Day #318 Writing Through COVID-19: Marriage and Ping-Pong

My husband Dan and I have been playing lots of Ping-Pong of late. Most nights we battle through the best two out of three games. Our skill is equal enough to keep the competition alive. We laugh a lot. We sweat a little.

Is it lame to celebrate happy Ping-Pong? 319 days into COVID and 13,450 days into marriage, any new diversion is welcome. 
-------------------------

Thirty-six years ago, Dan and I broke all the rules by meeting in October and marrying six months later in April of 1984. 

Looking back, I can only think: OMG! 

Our parents surely thought we were making a far-too-hasty major life decision. 

And we were.

But at 25 and 24, Dan and I thought we'd dated aplenty. We thought we knew what we wanted in life partners. 

Plus we were crazy about each other. Emphasis on crazy.
----------------------

Come April 2021, we'll mark our 37-year anniversary.

This means we have had a wonderful marriage. And a terrible marriage. And a boring marriage. And a scintillating marriage. It's been peaceful and firey, stable and shakey.

Will any long-married people challenge me on this? If you're in for the long haul, you better establish a wide swath of "good enough." 

Celebrate Ping-Pong.

Good enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

Day #317 Writing Through COVID-19: Moments in an Ordinary Day

5 a.m. 
Wake and check the news. COVID is the third story this morning, following Rep/Dem tension and more details about the Jan. 6 attack on Congress.

6:45 a.m.
Local radio reports the daily COVID numbers. Cass County positivity is at 7.5%

7:15 a.m.
Choose a mask that (almost) matches my outfit.

8:02 a.m.
Remind Bryer to keep her mask over her nose. (Repeat all day to various students.)

8:48 a.m.
Ariel, my TA, sprays down the desks. Students know the routine, grabbing a paper towel as they enter the room, wiping down their desks, and settling in. (Repeat this every hour for the rest of the day.)

Open the Zoom classroom. My remote student is a no-show (again).

10 a.m. 
Pull my mask down during my prep period. My TA is across the room. She keeps her mask on.

11:30 a.m.
I spend five minutes heating a bowl of chili in the teacher workroom, surrounded by unmasked lunching colleagues, enjoying their lunch break together. I return to Room #408 and eat in solitude. I've been cautious for 10 months. I want to think the end is in sight.

12:05 p.m.
This period the first of my two loyal remote learners logs on. My masked students are learning to articulate and project their voices behind their masks. Our discussion is vibrant, everyone contributes. 

3:13 p.m.
The final bell rings. I turn off the visual presenter, hit the lights, head out. I wear my mask until I'm in the car, appreciating the scarf protection it provides in the low temps. 

5:30 p.m.
I mask up again to visit my mother-in-law and practice accordion.

6:30 p.m.
I use WhatsApp video to see my grandbaby across a world in lockdown.    

7 p.m.
Dan and I play three games of Ping-Pong, our most recent attempt to be human in these strangely endless days. 

8:30 p.m.
Blog about COVID. 
--------------------------

When is your day is impacted by COVID? I would love to hear what you are experiencing in this unrelenting shared experience.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison    

Wolf has a little Grandma time.

Day #316 Writing Through COVID-19: Again, My Mom

I had such a happy day of teaching. 

At 8 a.m. the broadcasting team opened Amazon boxes that held our new equipment purchased with a school foundation grant. Watch here: https://www.tiktok.com/@ahsneedle/video/6922820405329726725?lang=en&is_copy_url=1&is_from_webapp=v1) 

Next, the Journalism Production students filled the classroom with laughter and learning as they analyzed their first attempts at video sequencing, exemplified here: 

My yearbook editors took their Day #1 stab at selling sponsorships over the phone. In the past, students have visited local businesses face-to-face. COVID prevents this, so we're learning how to talk on the phone. (#notice Kids can text, but talking on the phone is a scary new skill.) 

I taped eight $1 bills to the cordon that separates my space from student space (yup, COVID). Our classroom energy was electric as the students bucked up their courage to make the calls,  Five of the bills were claimed for sales before the period was up! #Winning
-----------------

My freshmen are reading the first chapters of John Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men. Guiding young people as they dip into the classics is a book-loving English teacher's nirvana. I love how my repeated question of "What did you notice?" leads to vibrant discussions of character, theme, and writer's craft. When I am teaching at my best, my role is merely to open the doors. The students then step up, venture forward, and guide each other through.

------------------------

Two weeks ago my father sent his computer (via taxi) to be repaired. He didn't need to do this, as his error message was "unstable connection," which meant it wasn't his computer but his WIFI that was preventing us to play Bridge on Zoom together. 

The computer tech called me to say my dad's machine was old, but fine, and should be able to handle his meager requirements.

Excuse all that BORING. I needed to say it for this next part to make sense:

Tonight my dad and I played Bridge for the first time in two weeks.

My mom made a short (and lovely) cameo in her long underwear on her way to bed. I told her about my happy day of teaching. Her smile looked sincere.

She was also shrunken, diminished, so tiny now. 

This woman has never been physically large, but her personality, intelligence, and force of effort have been mammoth.

What does it say that I couldn't love her then but can now that she is so small? 
I'm not sure I want to answer that. 
----------------------

I began writing about my Zoom time with my parents intending to expound on my dad's and my fantastic execution of our 6-hearts bid on our Bridge hand! 

Yes, it was awesome. 
Yes, we laughed together with glee. 
Yes, we topped the other 74 players on our app.

But when I started to write about it, I wrote about my mom.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

Day #315 Writing Through COVID-19: New Zealand / Cass County, Iowa

New Zealand is widely regarded as the country that has executed the best COVID response and control. 

For my little family there (son Max, wife Andrea, and baby Wolf), this is wonderful. After an initial hard lockdown, a nationwide let's-protect-each-other campaign, and strict quarantining for anyone entering the country, New Zealand is (minus its important tourist industry) essentially back to normal. 

This means that last week my dear ones celebrated Andrea's birthday with a restaurant meal. They walk around maskless. They invite friends over for a barbecue, attend mom-and-baby swim classes, greet each other with hugs. (Remember those?) 
-----------------------

As of today, New Zealand has experienced 2299 COVID cases and 25 deaths, while Cass County, Iowa, has had half the cases (1155)  but nearly twice the deaths (41).

New Zealand is a country with a population of nearly 5 million.
Cass County is home to 13091. 

In other words, Cass County is ONE-QUARTER of ONE PERCENT of NZ's population, but we've lost twice as many grandparents, friends, and colleagues to the virus. 
---------------------------

Because New Zealand has been responsible in its handling of the pandemic, today's news shouldn't have startled me. 

But it did.

New Zealand plans to exclude travellers from the rest of the world until they vaccinate their population and can be assured that incoming visitors will not bring the contagion to their country. 

At this time, they are estimating non-admittance to extend through the year of 2021.

---------------------------

Yes. I understand.

No. I don't understand. 

For months I've held to the hope that if I were vaccinated, I could get to NZ to hold Wolf before he turns one. 

Enough.
Enough.
Enough. 

Be well.

Write.

Allison

William Wolf Hoegh, 6 months

Day #313 Writing Through COVID-19: Pangry

Today was a snow day, and tomorrow will be too. 

This morning before the storm descended, Dan and I went to town to grab groceries and get a tire on the pickup fixed. 

In the grocery store, I was standing at the meat counter when two un-masked shoppers walked up beside me, debating their order. I stepped away, feeling irritated. Almost everyone in the grocery store was wearing a mask. There were disposable masks available at the entrance to the store. 

I don't think it's possible to have missed the wear-a-mask memo, which leaves me thinking maskless shoppers are publicly flaunting their disregard for others, disbelief in science, or some me-over-you self-centeredness.
--------------------------

Next, I took a seat in the empty waiting area at the tire repair shop. The television was on, and a news anchor was reporting on the 420k U.S. COVID deaths, exhorting people to maintain their diligence in preventing the spread of the virus.

In walked (another) un-masked man who joined me in the waiting area, one chair over. He called out to one of the workers in the shop, expelling his potentially COVID-breath across the waiting area. 

As a teacher these past five months, I live in hyper-awareness of where I am compared to others in an open space, who is masked (and masked correctly), what I've touched, who's sniffling.

I carry this awareness into the public sphere, where I sometimes feel like I'm using my glare as a lightsaber to keep the enemy at bay.
---------------------------

Are strangers in my community the enemy? I don't want to think of my neighbors that way. Yet as I stood up and walked out of the tire-store waiting room, choosing to wait outdoors in an oncoming blizzard rather than share space (and breathable air) with someone who, like the men in Fareway, displayed an open dismissal of civility in this trying time, I'm out.

As I stood outside the building, I turned my back to the wind and thumbed through the newsfeed on my phone. An article caught my eye: Are You Pangry? it asked, giving a name to the feeling I was experiencing: anger at people ignoring the pandemic. 
---------------------------

I did not confront any of the people who boiled my blood today. I couldn't think of a helpful way to do that. 

But when I found a new word to describe what I was feeling, I felt less alone. 

I'm pangry.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

New Zealand Angel

Day #311 Writing Through COVID-19: Senior Photos

My role as our school's journalism teacher includes overseeing yearbook production. Design and deadlines are not my strengths. Photography is not my friend. But over the past nine years, I've learned a lot through brutal mistakes. 

One struggle we always have is gathering a portrait photo from every senior. There are some students who dream of Vogue-style photoshoots from middle school on, then spend hundreds of dollars, and travel across the state to pose in sunflower fields or on Omaha's Old Market cobblestones. 

But other students do not have the funds (not to mention the style confidence, positive self-image, and organizational wherewithal) to orchestrate a senior photo session. 
-----------------------

I want to find a way for all AHS seniors to be featured in the portrait section. We ask students to send in selfies they like, and we have also had yearbook staff take senior pics.

This year a local photographer reached out to me. She offered students in need a no-cost, no-obligation photoshoot, a picture for the yearbook, and an 8x10 print. She said high-school seniors are at a beautiful place in their lives, at the cusp of adulthood. They deserve to capture who they are at this time. 

I was wowed by her generosity.
-----------------------

When our photo submission deadline came and passed, I approached students individually to extend the photographer's offer. 

I immediately hit a snag:

"Couldn't she just come up to the high school and take my picture here?" a boy asked.

His request sounded on the surface unappreciative, surly even. But I sensed unknowable layers beneath his words: Did he have transportation? Did he feel self-conscious? Overwhelmed? Did he not understand the generosity of the photographer's offer? Or was he defensive in accepting "charity"?

"I'll ask," I said. And I did.
-------------------------

So on Friday, the photographer took a half-day off work. She brought lights and backdrops and stools and cameras into the school and set up a studio in an open classroom. She'd printed off sample photos to let kids select styles and positions they liked. She varied the seating and background to make sure each student's photo was unique. 
-------------------------

It was an exhausting but uplifting day. Students who lined up for their photos nervously left with happy smiles. 

The COVID moment? The photographer had positioned a Hawaiian-shirted beauty in a pose designed to look casual, but which had actually taken significant adjustments to achieve. 

"Oh! Your mask!" the photographer blurted. We all laughed. The student removed her mask, and the photographer repeated her multi-step process for the just-right photo.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

Day #309 Writing Through COVID-19: Beating the Students :-)

Last year a dozen students organized the AHS Game Club. The group (now up to 20+ members) meets Thursday afternoons under the good-natured supervision of Randall, my English-teaching colleague. 

The kids play Dungeons & Dragons, lots of video games, VR, and even an occasional board game.

I don't attend every week, but when I do, I gravitate to chess, where Randall and I face off in brutal competitions that I consistently win. Yes, I gloat.
---------------------------

Today I rolled a Ping-Pong table out of the P.E. closet and into the hall by the room where the club meets. I challenged all takers. 

We played games to 11 points, and I managed to beat eight students in 45 minutes. I also lost the most significant game to Randall, 11-8, during which he corrected my serving form and humbled me a bit.

A couple of the kids played well enough to make me pay attention. Mostly I lobbed balls back and offered encouragement as newbies grew in confidence, not by winning points, but by managing a few consecutive hits. 
--------------------------

Everything has a COVID dimension.

As I played Ping-Pong, I took off my lanyard and keys. My mask, which I wear on a chain of beads, was also distracting and uncomfortable. I figured my opponents were six feet away and justified removing my mask and tossing it on top of the water cooler while I played. 

But any lightening I felt in removing my distracting bead-chained mask was outweighed by my guilt. I have been the model of responsible masking at AHS since school resumed in August. Yet here I was, tugging off my mask to increase my chances of beating 16-year-olds at Ping-Pong. 

Pathetic? Yup.

Fun? You bet.

I put my mask back on. I still won. (Except to Randall.)

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

AHS Game Club Ping-Pong competition. Randall vs. Q.

Day #308 Writing Through COVID-19: I'm Back (and church)

My daughter in Des Moines texted tonight: How is Aunt Adrienne? 

She was asking because one of her friends reads my blog and had said I'd left her hanging. (Sorry, Courtney!)

First, Adrienne's update: After two negative COVID tests and the return of her taste and smell, we think she had only a bad cold or sinus infection. Three of her children were also tested, all negative. 

This is, of course, welcome news. We are navigating a hyper-awareness of symptoms.

For example, today in the teacher workroom, a colleague said that by the end of each teaching day he experiences multiple COVID symptoms: fatigue, headache, nausea, body aches.

Truth.
-----------------------

Last Sunday, for the third time since the pandemic descended in March, my husband attended church in person because he was on the church-council ballot. He'd attended in November to vote for the Call Committee's recommendation for our new pastor, then returned the following week because he had the date wrong. 

Meanwhile, I've stayed home, sheltering in place. 

When Dan ventured into the narthex two months ago, he was met with well-meaning hand-grasping congregants. His COVID-iffy report was all I needed to cement my no-in-person-church policy for the coming months.
-------------------

I'm okay skipping face-to-face church during COVID-19. 

Raised in an every-Sunday Methodist home, I married an every-Sunday Lutheran Dane. We met in our mid-20s when we were both on church-attendance vacation.

What pulled us back to the pew was our first-born's pre-school teacher who suggested our shy daughter could benefit from more social interaction: Had we considered Sunday School?
-------------------

At least some of us attending Sunday services alongside you are less than devout. I've served on Council, taught Sunday School, directed Christmas programs, canvassed members, voiced opinions in annual meetings, organized hayrides, bid at silent auctions, played accordion for worship services...all while treading water in the doubters' pool. 

I write this not to fuel embers of uncertainty, but to widen the definition and purpose for involvement in a church community. 

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

Allison

Day #303 Writing Through COVID-19: Holding My Breath

My son working ski rescue at Sundance got his initial dose of the COVID vaccine yesterday. His girlfriend, a nurse, got hers in December. My parents, brother-in-law, and neighbor have all received their first doses.

My little circle of inoculated precious people is growing.

Harrison joins #TeamVaccinated

---------------------

School was canceled today as a blizzard slapped Western Iowa.  The announcement took me back to mid-March when the COVID suspension of school felt at first like a snow day, before it morphed into a gaping, uncertain waiting. 

The unknown created a suspension, as a nation we held our collective breath. I struggled to focus for any extended length of time. Even reading a book was hard. We were balancing on marbles. I couldn't stop checking my phone for pandemic news.  
---------------------

My dad is having his computer fixed, so we haven't been able to ZOOM this week. When I talked to my mom earlier this week, she responded to my conversational overtures with laughter, but when she tried to respond, I heard her pause and falter. She began with a comment that responded to my words, but ended with a vague, generic "that's so good to hear." I felt as if I was watching her memory last for about 10 seconds and then waft away. 
-----------------------

I don't have a clear hold on how my parents are doing. I need to see them in person. I haven't yet heard the plans their care center has established for visiting after residents have received their vaccines. 

I'm waiting again. Holding my breath.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

Day #301 Writing Through COVID-19: Vaccine!

My parents received their first COVID-19 vaccine yesterday, and their second dose is scheduled for Feb. 2. 

When I called and learned the news, I felt a visceral lifting of my heart. My dad said the inoculations were painless and (so far) neither he nor my mom had felt side effects.
----------------------

Also yesterday, my sister Adrienne texted to say that after a few days of a "cold," she'd lost her sense of taste and smell and was scheduling a COVID test. She verified her loss of smell in a dramatic inhalation of the dog-food bin: no smell.

This morning her results came back negative. However, she was told the test has a 10% false-negative. She scheduled a second test for this afternoon. I'll keep you posted.
---------------------

Adrienne was diagnosed with ovarian cancer almost ten years ago. After surgery and chemo, she had nearly five years clear before a recurrence in 2016. She is one of the few ovarian-cancer patients for whom a second removal surgery was even an option.
---------------------- 

This precious woman is my lifelong best friend. Who knows you better than a sibling?

While her symptoms have so far been tolerable, I do not take her health for granted. 

Nor should anyone.

Wear a mask. 

Enough.

Be well.

Write.

Allison

This is Adrienne, left, and my son's mother-in-law, right, two years ago in Northern Ireland at Max and Andrea's wedding.

Day #298 Writing Through COVID-19: "I know you're busy"

When my parents moved back to Ft. Dodge in August, I worried our closeness wasn't sustainable without living in the same home. 

At first, I called or Zoomed with them daily. Then it slipped to Bridge games a couple times a week. This morning when I called to help my dad log onto online Sunday School, I realized I hadn't talked to him since logging him on a week ago. 

I apologized, hiding behind the busyness of the first week of a new semester. My excuses sounded hollow even to me. My dad was quick respond: "That's all right. I know you're busy."
------------------------

This evening I called him again to play some Bridge. But shortly after we made our first bid, Zoom locked up and kicked us both off. When my dad tried to log back on, his computer gave him the spinning wheel of inertia. He told me to play the hand out by myself and let him know how I did. He'd get technical support tomorrow to fix the computer woes. 

My dad sometimes frustrates me with how slowly he contemplates each play, thinking through how each possibility might unfold (much like the good chess players do).  But tonight as I played without him, I slapped down my cards too quickly, failing to think through the maze of decisions until it was too late and I was boxed in, down by three tricks. 

I did not call my dad to tell him how badly I played.
I'm disappointed in myself on several levels.

Enough.
Be well.
Write. 

Allison

P.S. What I'm NOT disappointed in is my 2-0 domination over Dan in Ping-Pong tonight. Our series stands at 2-1.

NZ <3

Day #297 Writing Through COVID-19: Grading vs. Learning

What a week.

I set aside the planned curriculum in my journalism classes Thursday. Instead, we reflected on Wednesday's attack on the Capitol through the lens of the journalists on-site covering the story. 

We read stories from writers assigned to cover Capitol proceedings who--on a dime--turned from political reporters to war-zone journalists. 

We analyzed the gripping photos snapped in the midst of the bedlam.

We then examined the Poynter Institute's explanation of how journalists must weigh their word choices in reporting the events of Jan. 6.

Students discussed which words they felt were most accurate and journalistically responsible in describing what had transpired.

Note: There was nothing to grade here. Nothing to memorize. Nothing that will be tested on ACTs or SATs. Rather, it was 47 minutes of shared consideration of the press, democracy, and language. We struggled to make sense of a complex, multi-layered national experience. 

Don't confuse testing and grades with genuine thinking and learning.
----------------------

Today is Saturday. Dan and I fought through round two of our Ping-Pong series. I lost in two, which ties us 1-1. 

Our family has played a lot of Ping-Pong over the years. It's a great Iowa winter game that invites heavy smack-talk in our house. I'm a gloating winner but also a generous loser. 

-----------------

My dear friend and neighbor Kathy received her COVID vaccine this week.  She's a retired nurse who has volunteered to be on the inoculation team for Cass County. 

I am grateful for her contribution: reason #10,827 I'm happy to call her my friend.

Enough.
Be well.
Write. 

Wolf had his first taste of solid food this week. Here he enjoys his first banana by chewing on a 
 mesh teething ring.

Day #294 Writing Through COVID-19: Let's Talk About What Just Happened

This afternoon my journalism students were busy interviewing each other for their online bios when my phone buzzed. I glanced down and saw the alert: "Trump supporters have stormed the US Capitol. Congress is on lockdown." 

I felt my stomach lurch and fall: deja vu from nearly 20 years ago, the September morning when I was substitute teaching in a journalism class and the art teacher raced in to insist I turn on the TV: a second plane had just hit the World Trade Center.
-------------------------- 

Today when I read the alert, I interrupted my students' chattering interviews to tell them of the breaking news. "Pay attention," I said. "This is News." 

Our small rural school is 1100 miles from the Capitol. None of us felt an imminent threat today (nor had we on 9/11). But then, and I assume now, we will eventually feel the reverberations of today.
--------------------------

My husband and I are watching the House and Senate speeches and voting tonight.

At least one news commentator is calling continued attempts to derail the election results a "fool's errand."
---------------------------

Today, for the first time in months, I had to scroll past reports about what happened (and is still happening) in DC today...then the stories about the Georgia election results...before I, at last, landed on a Coronovirus story. I'd like to think this is progress! But it's not. It just means that despite out-of-control COVID-19, we have even more impactful and urgent stories. 

This is not good news.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

It's summer in Taranaki!

One more just for Grandma.

Day #291 Writing Through COVID-19: School, Politics, Ping-Pong

School starts tomorrow. 

Lots of people, not just teachers, feel the Sunday-night blues. Even if we love our work, the closing hours of Sunday feel like pulling a sled up the crest of the hill.

Some of the difficulty involves accepting what I didn't get done over the weekend--or in this case, the break. Some stems from knowing Monday demands I crank my energy-dial from slow-cooker to high-broil. 

On the Iowa English teachers' Facebook page tonight, my colleagues across the state are saying "I love my job BUT...."
------------------------------

Part of the challenge of returning to school tomorrow is knowing that Iowa's COVID numbers are still horrible. Tonight I opened the coronavirus.iowa.gov  link for the first time in days. We are improving from our most brutal numbers. Slightly more than half the counties are now under the 15 percent level indicating rampant spread. One county (Calhoun) is actually under 5 percent (4.3) tonight. This is the right trend, but the numbers are still grim. 

Cass County is at 16.5 percent positivity. 

Our school district just lost a beloved bus driver on the last day of 2020 "after a short battle with COVID-19 Pneumonia" according to his obituary. 
------------------------------

Tomorrow will be an in-service day for teachers to tie up loose ends from first semester and prepare for the second. My calendar shows a meeting in the conference room at 1 p.m. Nine people are on the invite list. I calculate the size of the room and realize I'll have to request a Zoom-in option. 

This thing isn't over. 
-----------------------------

I cannot end this post on such a blue note. I had a GOOD day! I finished all my grading. I ran two miles outdoors. I played the piano and the accordion, finished a book, and most importantly, I beat my husband 2-1 in a three-game Ping-Pong challenge. 

Around the edges I caught the news: dozens of our elected (!!??) senators and representatives are planning to question/deny/abort our country's process of voting in an attempt to win favor from a president who denies reality. I am heartsick. 

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Let me find a happy picture.

Game #1 21-15 (Dan)
Game #2 21-16 (Allison)
Game #3 26-24 (Allison)

Day #290 Writing Through COVID-19: Make It a Habit

What's the chance of turning a New Year's resolution into a habit? A sloppy Google search finds 66 days to be the frequent target.

Today as I walked through Fareway, I saw an unmasked man shopping alongside his masked wife and child. I gave him wide berth. 

It was then I realized the mask on my own face is now (290 days in) a fully established habit. I didn't remember putting it on when I entered the store. I couldn't feel it. 

Nor did I think twice before slowing and side-stepping to give shoppers around me expanded distance. 
---------------------

When I went to my mother-in-law's to practice accordion tonight, I'd detoured past the sink for hot and sudsy hand-washing before positioning my music stand. This is also now a blind habit.
---------------------

I sprayed down the 19 desks in my classroom between my seven classes each day during the first semester. My students knew the routine. They pulled paper towels off my make-shift towel dispenser as I spritzed disinfectant. It was a fully established habit for all of us. (That's 11,970 desk spritzes and desk wipes for those of you who are counting. It's also 11k+ paper towels.)
---------------------

Creating habits eases decision-making. I know that with mindless patterns (habits) to rely on throughout the day, I don't have to stop and use up my limited decision-making energy.  I can make coffee, take my SSRI, brush my teeth, and read for 20 minutes all before I have to even THINK about making a choice. Ahhh.

Again tonight, I snuggled into my chair and opened my blog without thinking. 
----------------------

Then I stared at my screen. I'm blogging about this pandemic, which is at frightening virulent heights. But everything about today felt ordinary. Same-old-same-old: habitual. 

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison 

My Colorado daughter's Danish doormat

Day #289 Writing Through COVID-19: "I Remember Now"

My brother asked me to organize another family Zoom call with our parents. When we tried this on Thanksgiving, it was a little flat. My siblings and I talked among ourselves, but my parents weren't included. 

So this time I was ready. As soon as the conversation slipped into the failure of vaccine distribution, I grabbed the reins in a blaring non sequitur: "Let's all share a holiday memory from childhood!"

Adrienne recalled the Christmas I was three and snuck down to open my stocking in the middle of the night. She remembered my chocolate-smeared face when our mom brought me back to bed, well-scolded. I, too, remember that Christmas. It's probably one of my earliest memories. I got a tiny plastic camel with movable legs. A string on its nose was attached to a small weight. When positioned on a table with the weight dropped over the edge, the camel tottered forward. I'm pretty sure this was a breakfast-cereal prize. 

Today I wondered aloud if I still remember that worthless toy because I was clutching it in my chocolaty fist when my mother caught me in the midnight ransacking of my Christmas stocking.
---------------------

My brother shared a memory of sleeping in a hand-hewn snow cave with our dad to earn a Scout badge. My sister remembered the New Year's Eve progressive dinners hosted by the families in our parents' Bridge group. We laughed as we remembered throwing marbles down the tinned laundry-shoot in the Crafts' house. That reminded us of banging pots and pans at the stroke of midnight. 

At one point in our memory tsunami, my sister asked my mom, "Do you remember that?" 

I held my breath. I learned last summer that it is best to provide my mom lots of context: she will eventually chime in. But when asked a direct question, she panics, frozen by memory gaps and her resentment at being "quizzed." 

Luckily, she responded quickly: "I remember now!" 

We all laughed.
-----------------------

My siblings and I still did most of the talking today, but our parents were fully engaged. They laughed and added sprinkles of memory. 

It was the highlight of my first day of 2021.
------------------------

My parents are scheduled to receive their first COVID vaccine on Jan. 12.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

Happy 2021!