Life in the time of COVID
Warren Crane
Yes,
I stole that title from Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s “Love in the Time of Cholera.”
It’s a catchy title and I couldn’t help myself. Since I’m a cranky and
resentful old reluctant shut-in I’m willing to bend the rules in my attempt to
bend your ear to our shared plight of distance visits with the grand kids, no
hugging allowed, endless cooking and cleaning, occasional take out instead of
adventures in dining and a ride to the post office or curbside pickup from
Ralph’s instead of a “Flyaway” bus to the airport and distant land adventures.
The promises of a secure retirement earned through delayed gratification,
savings and hard work have morphed from the “Golden Years” to being trapped in
a “Tinpot” dictatorship.
I Voted, it was extremely gratifying. I’ve placed so much hope on this election
I’m sure to be disappointed once it’s over. The outrages of the past four years
have taken their toll. I will unapologetically tell anyone willing to listen
that if you are not appalled by the lack of integrity, ethics, morality and
chaos we have endured as a society over the past four years you need to seek
help.
I’ll also admit to an occasional fantasy of being a hermit. As a teenager I
shared a cup of coffee ground in a hand crank grinder with a honest to goodness
hermit while camping in the Piute Mountains. He had little to say, being a
hermit and all, but did show me the mine shaft directly behind his cabin where
he stored provisions for winter. I was thoroughly impressed; however nothing
like some real life isolation to disavow you of the life as an ascetic and long
instead for the hustle and bustle of a penthouse on Union Square in San
Francisco with some aged Hippie playing a drum solo on upturned plastic
buckets. Bring it!
Good days and bad days, I’ve had a few. (Yes, that’s another stolen line idea
from a Sinatra song, so shoot me.) I had my first anxiety attach at the four
month mark of this pandemic. It was short lived only requiring that I lie on the
couch, do some deep breathing and console myself I was not having a heart
attack. Now that we’ve exceeded the six month point we are being warned that
there is a connection between six months and the increased likelihood of
depression, feelings of hopelessness and despair. Ok, what next?
Now for some honesty, I’m writing in hopes of having a piece in this issue of
“Voices” because my 10 year old granddaughter Veronica has a work of her art
called “Phoenix” featured here.
And as further proof that like a Phoenix we will rise from the ashes the 11
year old from next door just brought us some banana bread.
Warren Crane ©
2021 Used
with the permission of the author.
Prose
