Mrs. Teabody Looks Back and Then Walks Forward

It's March. Again. The second Thursday. Again. I know as well as I know my name that you are just as eager as I am to greet this nascent spring which buckles in a whole year's worth of experiences, both good and bad, liberating and confining, idle and productive, fearful and hopeful -- and when you look at twelve months in those terms, isn't that true of EVERY year? Needless to say, this was such a year but let's add that it was definitely amped up on a buckshot melange of psychotropic drugs coated in a shell of cynicism.  One for the books. Most folks can recall that point in time when their minds first gave credence to the idea that something extraordinary was going on in the world and that point happened to me around 4:00 P.M. on Thursday evening, March 12, 2020-- exactly one year ago today. Mr. Teabody and I had planned to meet my sister at a downtown bank parking lot to drive to Shippensburg to watch our great - -in so many ways! -- nephew Noah perform in his high school production of "Into the Woods". Around 3:30 I had spoken to my sister to confirm our meeting time and place, and she was on her way. Almost as soon as we'd ended our call, the phone rang again. It was my brother saying that due to the growing fear of a rapid spread of the corona virus, Noah's play had been postponed. As my sister was already well on her way to meet us by then, we decided not to cancel our time with her. After all we were freshly scrubbed and dressed more nicely than usual. Waste that effort? No. In the parking lot we broke the news to her and decided to go for dinner at a nearby restaurant.  Over fish and chips we discussed the play and how disappointed the kids would be. Having directed quite a few plays in my own time, I knew that disappointment did not begin to cover what the entire cast and crew of the production were feeling.   We were heartsick for them all and disappointed for ourselves because Shippensburg hosts wonderful musicals and we knew this would be no exception. Here's a picture of Noah as the Cowardly Lion in an earlier production.

 What we could not possibly comprehend is just how different life was about to become. We would soon find out. 

All human experience is unique and yet it is much the same. As news from around the world started funneling across our consciousness, we soon had to accept the fact that we were experiencing a pandemic, a virus that would affect the entire world. With each succeeding day, scientists and pseudo-experts and people who "knew somebody who knew somebody" and the rest of us listened to or manufactured our versions of the news and just a couple days later the whole world locked down. What followed  immediately and continues through this very day is the most awkward of learning curves. The virus was as capricious, as unpredictable as were the circumstances of  the humans who chose how to deal with it.  Some had no choice. This was war and our soldiers were healthcare professionals, first responders - - -anyone who played a role in saving lives.  The most vulnerable were soon identified. Old people. Those with chronic health problems, co-morbidities, if you will. The Teabodys were old enough to be allowed to stay home, ostensibly out of harm's way. We washed, distanced and masked. And got plenty of criticism for it. Luckily, old people know how to entertain themselves and our activities made us disappear: reading, cleaning, watching television, gardening, exploring creative outlets, cooking, napping. It was like having an endless string of snowdays, some of which offered fine weather. The only thing we had to fear was dying, and after age 70, one has pretty much come to terms with that already. Believe me, we know how lucky we are.

Early on someone said Covid 19 enjoyed playing Russian roulette. Five out of six times, the chamber was empty, but when the real bullet left the chamber it could take you out. We have lost over half a million people in the past year.  For those disinclined to believe it, I say believe what you want to believe. No skin off my back for your truth. They are no less dead.  I have personally said goodbye to way too many friends.

We ALL coped. As we do. Somehow we humans get through things. At least three of my friends battled cancer through the pandemic. One lost her husband. One lost her mother AND her father. I cannot even write about their personal struggles without tears falling down my face. No one deserves that kind of heartache. Anyone who has been dealt those extra doses of sorrow through 2020 has my permission to eat ice cream at midnight, dance naked on the courthouse lawn, rant for as long as it takes or reward yourself any way you deem appropriate. I will stand on the sidelines and clap for you. I admire you so; I love you for your courage. We all do.

Me? I tied on my shoes and started walking forward. Exercise was an activity that was permitted--even encouraged. On March 12, 2020 I walked 3.9 miles. In the past year I have averaged 4.4 miles on my feet walking forward every single day. I did not walk to preserve my sanity, but the very act of moving forward is what has helped me preserve my sanity, such as it is - - that daily commitment to an activity that was pretty much predictable in effort, duration and side effects. Sixteen hundred miles, four pairs of shoes,  two bunions,  two corns, heels that could plane rough lumber and a stunning appreciation for Mother Nature. My 2020. I hope to God your pandemic year was as gentle with you as it was with me. After all, here we are one year later, bruised but not beaten. Tomorrow Mr. T and I are scheduled to get our second shot. We are both edgy and giddy, but, underneath it all we are just so ridiculously ecstatic that we have made it through. And if you have read this far, Mon Ami, so have you.