The title is only half true. Unless you count my old yoga pants with a hole in the leg as dressed up. We have endured this plague for a year now, or almost. Or a decade. I don't know any longer. I lost count. Our hearts long for another trip to Hawaii or somewhere. We were high on anticipation this time last year. But we, like so many others, are opting to stay home and play it safe. To stay alive to breathe another day and hope for a more normal world in the months to come. How can I even type those words with a straight face. Normal? "What's normal?" she asked with mild bewilderment and a confused look.
Covid-19 vaccine seems to be a long off, far-away fantasy. I dream of getting the call, the text, the email, the something to say it's my turn. It seems as unlikely as winning the Mega-Millions billion dollar jackpot, which didn't happen for me either last night. But it will happen. I WILL get the shot(s)! I feel it in my arthritic bones. I'm humming a few bars of "someday my prince will come" to keep my morale up in the third week of January.
So, in the long lonesome meantime, I'm marking time out here on the creek bank. The days and nights seem to roll into one another, an endless stream of routine. Rinse, lather, repeat. Am I making the best of it? I question myself. What should I be doing? What could I be doing to become a better, stronger, more interesting person? How could I be helping my fellow man, woman, creature more? What's my civic duty, my human responsibility? How can I nobly rise to the occasion to do some global good deed to write home about?
The answer seems elusive. Fickleness is my frenemy. Stops and starts, dead ends, enthusiasm that soon turns into apathy. Shiny ideas that turn brassy dull after a few hours or days. Comfortably introverted, socially isolated, out of step with convention and norms. My stripes have always run a different direction it seems (which I attribute to my high percentage of Neanderthal DNA.) I must have a niche in this uncivil covid epoch if only I can find it.
No place to go.....at least not back to Hawaii or Greece or Bora Bora today or in the foreseeable bleak dull grey waiting room I'm stuck in.
I can go to the kitchen and make that lemon pie Ricky gently suggested two days ago. Or to the flowerbeds and clean out the old dead leftovers of Thank God It's Over 2020 and rejoice for the promise of 2021 and the first flowers of spring. Or I can go inward, deep inside, to find the still small voice that guides me down wherever this path is leading. Surely I can find a way to enjoy the journey, if I'm willing to open my eyes and focus on the gifts that look like barriers along the right of way. Maybe I can blog my way out of directionless floundering to some semblance of forward motion. Maybe this blog is like the rope strung out as a life line, to find the way out of the labyrinth.
Today, my mantra is borrowed from the Grateful Dead: "Keep truckin', like the do-dah man". One step in front of the other. Eyes ahead, choosing hope and optimism for a better day, a brighter tomorrow. Looking for Easter eggs and smiles and moments of awe. I'm not getting on a plane today to go to some beautiful tropical paradise, but I am safe and sound. I am surrounded by the natural beauty of Texas on this winter day. My house is full of hairy dog love and the comforts of home sweet home. I can almost taste that lemon pie.
Virtual Hug,
Bonnie
