I'm doing what I can to not morph into a couch potato during the pandemic. My addiction is food, and I could (and sometimes do) spend all day on my chair; the Denver Post, books and magazines strewn on the ottoman. To counteract the bon-bon temptation, I have a routine that I adhere to on a daily basis.
Each day I write morning pages or do the crossword puzzles in the paper. I am beyond grateful to Buddy who plops the Post on my porch each morning. I know his name and address because every year around this time he slips a thank you note into the paper and in return I mail him a holiday card with a check enclosed. I firmly believe everyone should be dependent on tips at least once in their working lives. The perspective gained will increase your generosity and compassion to those who rely on our kindness. Nothing bugs me more than being out to lunch - remember those days? - and my companion griping about the service when they've never balanced a cocktail tray or burnt their fingers on a smoking hot plate. All with a smile and a yes ma'am.
I thought I would miss the library more than I do. The stacks of books I've hoarded over the past few years have been dusted off. I'm becoming an armchair expert in mindfulness, pop psychology and Judaism. There is a good chance I could go a couple of more years before running out of reading material. For the past five years I did depend upon the public library to be my document printer. For a mere ten cents per page I didn't have to make room for a machine, buy ink and unstick paper jams. But COVID changed all that and HP came to the rescue with a unit that only cost a Ben Franklin, with cartridges being delivered as needed to my doorstep. Just another reason to stay inside.
The gym... what can I say about my 14-year love affair with the YMCA? When I was in the throes of my divorce, I had a choice; drink copiously or start working out. I chose the latter and proceeded to lose my ass and then I shed 50 pounds! Instead of bar hopping on a Friday night, I found myself swimming laps in the chilly pool of the Colorado Springs Downtown Y. When I started three laps seemed an eternity - but the reward of a leisurely steam amplified my efforts. I miss my thrice weekly dips. I've even written a poem about how I equate a natatorium to church: (no need to be impressed - I write about the mundane and the miraculous all the time)
Neptune’s Nepenthe
Sunday morning
Church of Poseidon
Strive for that mile
Feels good to dive right in
God in the aqua
Surrounding my soul
Eases my body
Help me be whole
Underwater worship
Lane divider as pew
My kind of religion
Aquatic venue
Breathe, hold, release
Do it again
Head in the water
Feet in my fins
Neptune’s nepenthe
Three times per week
I can listen in water
I can hear my God speak
Another component of my daily routine is land exercise. I enjoy yoga, dancing Nia, mat Pilates and walks around the neighborhood. Luckily, I only live ten minutes from Little Dry Creek trail which hooks up to the Highline Canal, a 71-mile trail that begins at Waterton Canyon and terminates near Denver International Airport. No need to get in my car and burn gas in order to burn calories. Getting out in nature, albeit an urban oasis, is good for my soul. I envy my friends who go into the foothills and hike in a Denver Mountain Park or JeffCo Open Space. Either they are braver than moi when it comes to public bathrooms and port-o-potties or they do way more Kegels than I willing to commit to in these post-menopausal years. I have a one-hour time limit to be out of the house these days. The only limitation to outdoor adventures is my bladder.
I suppose what I am saying is that adaptability may be the key to survival during the mismanaged mess the country (and world, to be fair) finds itself in. For years I've told my offspring that flexible people rarely get bent out of shape. Maybe that's an inside yoga joke, or maybe it is true. I try to go with the flow most days - swimming against the current is too hard and I simply don't have the energy for confrontation anymore.
I could lament about all the activities that are off limits - museums, galleries, concerts, in-person Al-Anon meetings - or I can radically accept that this is life in the present moment. The here and now. One helpful, at home, by myself activity that I have consistently engaged with the last several months is meditation. Each day I sit for fifteen minutes or so and am guided by a gentle, watery voice through these stormy days and tumultuous seas. It is calming. It has lowered my blood pressure. It gives me something to do for one-quarter of an hour. A few years back I stumbled into Mayu Meditation Sanctuary and despite not living nearby I invested in a membership because it resonated with me. This 'calm in the city' facility has since closed, another victim of the times. The meditative footbaths were my favorite part and I suppose I can attempt to duplicate that at home. But some things are best left as a warm memory, so for now I will pass on the reenactment. I also purchased a 31-day meditation and writing prompt program that I listen to and then pen a poem or some sentences.
The renewal notices still come in the mail. Denver Botanic Gardens and The Denver Museum of Nature and History to name just two, Last fall, before the pandemic, I had already decided to let some memberships lapse and concentrate my efforts and donations on literary efforts. So, I steadfastly maintain my status with Poetry Society of Colorado, Poetry West, Lighthouse Writers Workshop and most recently Grub Street. Now I look at these other pleas for continued support and vacillate between not knowing if I will ever enjoy their offerings again and the possible demise of important cultural institutions. Should I, or shouldn't I? I am sure many of us have these same thoughts. In some ways my charitable giving has increased, especially to Jewish based local organizations. This is an important area of my life that deserves focus and thoughtful consideration.
Many years ago, my then husband gave me a fridge magnet that read "Of all the things I've lost, I miss my mind the most". It made its way into the trash as soon as his head was turned. I took it as his passive-aggressive way to let me know he thought I was 'crazy'. And maybe I was. A working mom of three with an obviously dispassionate mate. If I had that magnet now it might be displayed on the refrigerator alongside photos of grands, wry comics and random recipes. But is it true? During COVID is my mind what I really miss? I've taken many positive steps to keep my sanity during these uncertain, stressful days. I Zoom into Al-Anon two times per week. I reach out to friends through phone calls and note cards. I've already mentioned meditating. I also video chat with a therapist every ten days or so.
Let me reframe that quote. "Of all the things I've lost, (due to COVID) I miss people!". Especially those of you who take the time to read my blogs and poetry. Thank you for letting me pour my heart out - it means everything to me. I still have my rose-colored glasses and I hold on to the hope that there are better days ahead. So, until I can have lunch or a walk with you, or until I can hop on a plane and visit... Until I can exhale and you can inhale and I can inhale and you can exhale - together, unmasked and safely - know this: Thanks for being a part of my life. L'Chaim!
(Now I just need to get off the couch and stay away from bon-bons!)
Time to Write,
Jane
