Just One Revolution

What a strange time. I have said that ­— we have all said that — for months and months now. In the Before Time — pre-Covid — we were already dealing with a lot of unprecedented stuff. The national government situation has certainly been new. The weird taking-sides stress was already present, with most of us not at all sure with whom we could talk casually about our feelings and our beliefs in things. The atmosphere has been all about taking a stance and sticking with it, and then feeling such disappointment when friends’ stances are painfully contrary to our own. We have had to ask ourselves a lot of questions, how we feel about things, what we believe to be true or false, what we value, what we will stand up for and what we will meet with a closed mouth. Opinions and theories and beliefs have been vocalized, and we have been forced to see one another in a new, sometimes unpleasant light. At this point our conversations are careful, at least among us who hope to avoid tension and conflict, or who are aware that our perspective may very well be quite different than that of the person next to us.

That’s where we were in March when we were told that a virus was growing and we had to be aware and careful. Those stances that were defining our world view stayed in place mostly, and even the protection we were directed to take became part of our stance. To wear a mask or not was immediately transformed into yet another political volleyball, unfortunately. Up and over the net it goes, on and on even now. Historians will look back at this time and be so very perplexed. Our behavior in general is not going to make much sense, I don’t think. Psychologists will fathom it better than most, knowing that what is manifesting as line-drawing and stiff-armed resistance was first born as frustration, disappointment, and fear. We are muddled in the now of it, trying to get through. We are swimming in the murkiest pond, searching for sense and direction in watery, opaque silt, running out of air, clawing at whatever we can see. Somehow we have to get to the bank and crawl out. But we’re not there yet.

And now, Thanksgiving. It’s the comfy holiday, I always think, because it’s pretty easy. We just cook. And gather. Eat. Wash dishes. Be together. That’s it. No gift-buying, no programs to perform or strategic plans to lay out for all family members to manage. At least for me, Thanksgiving is a gentle holiday, initiated with the buying of the traditional food and with the queries to our three 20-something sons… what are your plans? When will you be home? If you land in Pittsburgh, he can pick you up on his way home…. If you go through Morgantown, you can meet so and so…. All the travel logistics and strategies, laid out every year like a treasure map, with the big red X right on our house on the day. That day when we wake up all together under one roof, staying in our PJs, switching on the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. The cooking commences, with John cutting up a colorful pile of red and green bell peppers and onion to saute together for his signature sausage stuffing. The bird is prepared and shoved into the oven, and the fragrances wrap around us. I make pumpkin pies while the boys hang in the living room, catching up, ribbing each other mercilessly, comfy and at home. The easy holiday commences with calm.

While I could say here that I didn’t realize how wonderful it was, I won’t. Because I did realize. I reveled in those sparse days of ours, when we all were together again. After 20-plus years of very close proximity living, sharing one full bathroom and our bedrooms just a few steps apart, we do all gravitate toward that togetherness, even if we pick at each other and fight old fights. We all spent so much time in a symbiotic situation that we fall back into it with ease and comfort. Would we want to be together all the time again? No. Of course not. The boys are men now. They have their own places to be and to grow. They go their ways tethered in love to us, but only in thought now, in affection. I often imagine the golden bands that connect the five of us, floating out across the country, buffeted by so many breezes and storms, but always holding. Always. So the time when those golden bands do shrink and pull us all into the same house again, maybe twice a year now… I revel in it. I stop and breathe it. I go to another room and just listen to the voices, the exchanges, the camaraderie of brothers. I see on their faces brief expressions that they’ve made since babyhood. I recall moments from way back, holding them against me, their tiny fingers clutching my shirt or a tendril of hair. I remember the warmth of their little heads under my chin, where they would lie so still and full of peace. I remember when they were 8 and 9, and getting awkward into their teens. We barreled on through such busy days, with soccer and band and homework and our travels. High school was a rapid vortex, starting with a speed-up in 9th grade and then flying on and on to graduation so fast. Then off to college, living on their own, making decisions, weathering rough patches. And now, each paired with a lovely young woman, sharing time and life together, being adults, launched from a home of imperfection but of love. One a teacher, another a scientist, and another a writer. Each with so many more layers, of course, but overall, just good men. Kind men. Funny and gentle, all. Drawn home right now, but forced to resist it.

This damn virus. All is derailed. There’s fear and worry, and such tedium. We are living through a time we will all remember, and every single human on the planet is in some way affected. We have been stopped in our tracks like a train lurching to a rough stop. As the Christmas holidays approach, I have annually said something about how we need to simplify. And then we don’t. The stress of the traditions and expectations and the longing to provide a great surprise or a great concert or the gift that lands better than any…. so much striving. And there are concerts and shows and charity drives. The Christmas specials and movies, too, and so many interpretations of a Christmas Carol. Dickens would be shocked. We want to reach out, go to parties, eat so much food, and have cookie bakes. It’s a whirlwind, start to finish, and every year so many of us find ourselves in the heart of it when we were really going to try not to get that far in this time.

But this year, it’s a new world. And somehow we have to comprehend and accept that, and do the right things to keep everyone well. Isn’t it funny how we humans put so much importance on specific days? This Thursday is just another 24-hour revolution of our planet. It will be similar to the one before and the one after. But we humans… we say it is more. We say that day is chosen. It is special and calls for family to be together, to share food and tradition, to make a huge effort to be part of the ceremony and rite of it all. But it’s just a day. So is Christmas day. Humans chose the day to celebrate the birth of Jesus. It, too, is just another trip around on the axis. The significance of the third Thursday in November and of Dec. 25 is a man-made choice. So perhaps we can look at them with some resignation that this year, they will not be all that. This year, we will choose other days, post-vaccine, to come together in love and in gratitude. Imagine when we all feel safe again! Imagine when we can stand in an airport ready to greet someone again, when we can blend our voices in song again, when we can hang out together, share drinks and food, and laugh right there, our mouths open, our hands touching others’ arms, hugging, or having an intimate talk nose to nose again. I don’t think we will do any of it for a long time without remembering what it was like to be unable to do any of it. When we can be armed with a vaccine and creep back out into the world, how rich it will feel to be free and safe. When the danger has passed, I say we claim another day of the year to celebrate. Who cares when it is? Let’s make our own Thanksgiving and Christmas wrapped into one. Let’s bake and cook and play games. Let’s get each other all caught up on how we weathered this weird, dark storm. Let’s remember our year of difficulty and use it as inspiration, ever after.

Stay well, everyone. Stay safe. Stay sane. Happy Thanksgiving.