Late In The Morning

It’s really late, it took me this long to decide to try to write my state of mind. We have a holiday fast approaching this week, and society is marooned by this awful Covid 19 virus. We have all made adjustments, trying to understand and convince ourselves that this is temporary. I wonder how my mom and dad might have felt when they both reached 82 and someone turned to them and said, this is only temporary, you have to keep telling yourself that. They both passed within their 82nd year, and temporary to them might have seemed a little ludicrous.

I’m 61 and sort of starting a new life, looking at something that affects us all that is thought to be temporary. Events and lives and needs are getting pushed ahead for months every few evaluative weeks, when once again we all realize we are not safe to go back to a world and lifestyle that we did take for granted. Gone is the typical in many lives as we adjust, as we make good on a promise that we will ride the crest of this wave for as long as it takes.

This is a time when we really do take a moment to recognize what it is we are grateful for. Across the nation throughout the world people have lost their loved ones and in America, there will be an empty chair in many homes, with everyone that remains trying to celebrate that life along with their own, appreciating each other and giving thanks for who we are, what we have become.

This one is different. We are guided by medical staff to stay isolated, to allow yourself to make decisions to keep you and your family safe. I’m a public school teacher, and I chose to stay home this year for a variety of reasons, number one being my health. I am quite healthy but in contrast I have had several surgeries within the last decade that might leave someone wondering about my safety around large numbers of students in my high school. I now sit behind my desk at home, dog laying by my side, and teach those children I would much rather see in the classroom.

Though that’s what I feel there is also the benefit some students are expressing over their ability to focus more at home than in the classroom. There is remarkable truth to that when we think about the amount of distraction young adults could potentially and do experience in a classroom filled to the brim with young adults, teenagers readying themselves to soon step into the world of adulthood.

Tonight these are just my thoughts as I listen to Jackson Browne and his hopeful lyrics and crooning voice in the background. So, maybe I do try to wax poetry in the twilight of my night, but it is what I feel and believe right now. I believe we are all in this together, and that philosophy will never get old even after we get this virus under control.

Our lives all depend upon being able to celebrate life together as one.


© Thom Amundsen 11/2020

The Sudden Nature of Touch

I am in my quiet,

the fortress of my own

 

isolation.

 

I’m doing everything right,

six feet apart,

wash your hands,

clean your countertops,

do the laundry,

wear gloves at the gas station,

(wait I didn’t, a week ago, what if … )

 

So many, wonders, what if,

thank God I have my dog,

the only issue though is when he reaches to

 

 

touch me,

 

 

it usually ends in an abrasive

scratch,

I’ll rather have you close than

catching me in full gallant leap.

 

I can think of other times in my life when that

unconscious leap occurred

into the arms of one we love,

 

of those we love,

 

of the beauty and grace of a hug

of knowing we were consciously

being held.

 

I no longer imagine my friend

who was in her own faze

 

of the healing nature of a hug

 

asking for a constant hug

to such a degree,

would I take a turn

a distant hallway,

find a stairwell,

a corner to escape this moment

 

of discovery.

 

I would like that moment back,

or maybe let’s wait a week from now,

I promise,

I will shower,

wash my hands,

wipe down my countertops,

keep a six foot distance,

until no longer

do I need to repress

 

my own desire,

 

a need to be held,

 

a wish to hold

 

a screaming irony to avoiding those hugs

throughout the entirety

of my own

chosen

 

isolated life.

 

COVID 19 rant


© Thom Amundsen 3/2020