I’m beginning to feel that we’re half past something, feeling bursts of hope a full year after the Covid19 pandemic began in the US that hit us so terribly in New York. I am also worrying that some of the interiority that we’ve gained may be lost as we begin to quicken our steps in anticipation of living as we used to.
We’re on an edge between things, with a need to look in both directions—before and after—to what we’ve seen and learned.
Looking forward and back, I feel a need to reconnect with some of the beautiful people I interviewed in my Soy/Somos series (I am/We are), conversations with Hispanics in the US that first traveled on Huffington Post’s news highway and on this blog. Some of you may remember Louie the carpet installer, dimples when he smiled, born in El Salvador, or Carolina who yearned for her dad’s Cuba, or Nico, the tender, virtuoso harp player from Colombia. I was thrilled then to get to know in a small, intimate way, individuals I would not otherwise have met. I know some of you also felt that thrill because you wrote to me and told me.
Last week I had a long Zoom conversation with Teresa and Orlando, flutist and songwriter—both educators—who live now in Mendocino, California. Below is link to the original Soy/Somos post. The pandemic has affected their lives in a profound way—I will tell you about this in a future blog. My heart always gravitates to the riches of the diverse world we live in. I have other projects up my sleeve that I think you will find worthy.
Let’s not forget some of the good things that we’ve nurtured during the pandemic.
For me it’s been attention to poetry; an easier commitment to an early morning routine of writing—or sitting in the chair and waiting for the muse; connection to people I love in interesting ways via a handful of electronic devices. On Zoom, WhatsApp, and Facetime seeing and listening in a different way, noticing the shape of my son’s head, the attitude of his head, movement of the children or wives as they approach or walk away from the camera, their placement in the room, who’s in who’s out. I could be sitting on a sillón or a chair at their dinner table, seeing grandchildren move in and disappear to attend to their things, dogs in and out of view, as if I was visiting and not demanding unconditional attention.
The world inside this pandemic is both richer in my head and lacking too.
I miss the natural world in a big way. We don’t walk as often because of the Northeast cold here, and the creatures are mostly in hiding from us. I miss a mountain vista or the rhythmic slap of the ocean, but just this morning I noticed spider threads in the screen of my office window and yesterday while walking with my neighbor Ellie—hat, eyeglasses, mask, scarf all negotiating space on my face—I saw the cleanest bluest sky, hanging up there waiting for me.
What has been lost. Has anything been gained? I’d love to know your thoughts.
¿Qué se ha perdido? ¿Se ha ganado algo?
Original Soy/Somos interview with the lovebirds Teresa and Orlando:
Flute Guitar, and Voice – Music Close to the Heart
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