In Praise of Zoom

and FaceTime, and Google Meet, and WhatsApp video, etc. 

Judy. I've heard a lot in the past few weeks about Zoom fatigue. I guess I understand where that's coming from--so many have to attend Zoom meetings for work, and, of course, many teachers and kids have to deal with it every day. Our daughter Leslie teaches guitar in high school via Zoom. How she does that I don't know, but it seems to work. Our 8-year old grandson Caed attends second grade in the same way, and it's tough on him. In fact, he spends most afternoons at our house rather than his so that he's not distracted by his dog, or Legos, or the refrigerator.

 For me, though, it's a lifesaver. Now that we're coming close to a year of social distancing, it's wearing on me not to see my friends or even family. The technology has become precious to me. Our son Stefan's little boys, Oliver and Callum, attend school, so, as older adults, we're not comfortable hugging them or staying at their house, and virtual visits keep our spirits and hopes up. 

I attend a Zoom Bible Study from Hawaii every Monday afternoon, and a live yoga class on Wednesday and Saturday evenings. The discussions with my Hawaiian (and Floridian and North Carolinian) friends is a joy, and Pat can correct my moves in the yoga class, unlike the YouTube classes.  A couple of weeks ago we had a high school reunion, our third this year, via Zoom, and folks from all over the country could attend.

In the last few weeks, though, friends from all over the world have been checking in. We've had cocktails with Chuck and Frieda in Georgia, and with Margo and Rod in Port Elizabeth, South Africa.  We caught up with Mikaela in Stockholm and discussed cooking during the pandemic with Ben in Prague. And we had a great visit with our nephew Chris and his wife Dilyana, as well as with their boys Nicky and Michael who live in Frankfurt. Sam, a delightful woman I befriended in Marrakesh, periodically video calls me on WhatsApp, and my niece Becky in Baltimore often calls when she sees I'm on Facebook.

After the election, a group of my former students invited me to join them in a Zoom call--first time we've all gotten together since the '90's--and we reveled in how much we have to discuss, and how much we enjoyed our talk. They constantly inspire me.

Two of my friends from high school have remained a part of my life, and, while I've spoken over the year with each individually, we got the idea to have a Zoom gathering, which we now do on alternate Fridays. It's a time I look forward to and relish.

In less than a week, Ted and I are scheduled to get our first of the two covid vaccine shots. We eagerly began planning travel again, only to find that, at least for now, many European countries are still closed to us, and those that aren't have closed cafes, restaurants, museums, and all the things we enjoy doing. I admit it, it was a bit of a blow. Of course, things can change by the time we get our second dose in March. We hope so. Meanwhile, at least we can visit with our friends.

Robins

 Judy.  It's the middle of January, cold by Georgia standards, but today the sky is a beautiful clear blue. Covid-19 is raging, although the vaccine is bringing hope. The country is in an uproar, and our hope is the Inauguration will bring a calming of emotions.

And our yard is full of robins.

At first we didn't know what to make of this. One morning we looked out the window and spotted dozens of robins in the yard and at the birdbath--something we'd never seen before. Cedric, our resident robin, was lost in the crowd. And what the heck were dozens doing here, mostly getting along and sharing the birdbath and bugs in the yard. It's not mating season. And they don't appear interested in leaving. They're usually spotted in ones or twos, at least in our experience. So Ted looked it up.

Turns out that in the winter flocks of robins sometimes gather together to roost at night. According to Wikipedia, they split up during the daytime, but not these guys. They're busy feeding and bathing and chirping. Sometimes a tussle breaks out, but mostly they seem to get along.

As harbingers of springtime, robins have always brought hope, but spring is two months away. In these crazy, frustrating times, though, our flock has brought hope and joy and and the belief that we, too, can get along with each other, get our vaccines, and do our own migrating.

Distilled Spirits

Ted. My sister, Cindy called me a couple of days ago. During our chat, she made the interesting remark that, in their long marriage, she had never felt closer to her husband. The pandemic had forced them to eliminate many of their activities, so she and Leo suddenly had the time to focus on what was most important.

In pondering that statement, I stumbled upon an analogy. Rotting fruit is the basis for wine, a beverage, which countless cultures have grown to love. In many parts of the world, that wine is boiled down to it’s essence; the “ghost” of the fruit in which it’s “spirit” remains. When one considers what has taken place around the world in 2020, many lives have been reduced to the bare essentials. How have each of us reacted to that? 

Winston Churchill famously observed that “A pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity; an optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty.” I typically skip any news headline containing the word “may.” What typically follows is a prognosticator’s worst-case scenario (which rarely occurs). Instead, I look for the small miracles that pop up around us every day. 

Friends, like Micki and Kay are successfully battling cancer. The election in the US has turned out to be pretty normal. Most folks we know who contracted the covid virus have survived unscathed. Many small businesses, like my sister’s are actually thriving. New technologies like Zoom have further shrunk our world. Curbside pickup has sprung up everywhere; a blessing for those of us who abhor shopping. 

OK, so we didn’t get to leave the US, but we were able to deepen our knowledge of our own country and it’s people (yeah, I’m talking about you Samuel Clemens!). Like my sister, I have grown closer, in many ways to friends and family. At its core, one’s life in this world is largely comprised of connections with individuals, like you. 

Our 8-year-old grandson, Caedmon was deeply disappointed two weeks ago when in-school classes were cancelled and he had to return to the loneliness of remote learning. What did that make possible? After a 10-day quarantine, we welcomed him, and our daughter and son-in-law back into our bubble. So last night, on Christmas Eve, we were able to enjoy a Polish tradition, the sharing of opłatki (Christmas wafers). 

Like everyone in the world, our lives have been reduced by this terrible pandemic. What remains, though is a richer, fuller appreciation of what is really important. May we all remember this as we venture forth into a new world in 2021.

Merry Christmas!

Judy sharing opłatki with Caedmon

Serendipity

Judy.  For the past few weeks, we've been extra careful about seeing friends and family. We're ordering groceries and Christmas gifts online (local, as much as possible), and only see family for brief times, outside, and masked. We typically only go out if it's to the doctor or to Ted's physical therapy. Dear friends who want to meet understand that we're hesitant since the Covid numbers are spiking again.

Today we ventured to Lawrenceville, about an hour away, for regular doctor checkups. Ted was in and out quickly, but for some reason I had to wait a half hour after he was finished before I was done. And I was ticked.

Now, when you go to Lawrenceville, you do not miss the Grand Polish Cafe and Bakery. The bread is fresh and delicious, and the pastries, mouth-watering. PLUS, it's THE place to find good kielbasa, pirogies, and other Polish marvels. So, while I sulked, Ted pulled into the parking lot at the Bakery and left me in Raymond while he went in to load up our pantry.

I was busy knitting  and finishing my coffee when a blue truck pulled up next to us and a masked guy stared right at me. Great. All I needed was some nut case fussing at me for not having a mask on in my own car. The guy rolled down his window and yells, "Come here often?" and pulls off his mask--and there is one of our dearest friends and favorite Polish Americans, Bob.

Bob was our son's Boy Scout leader for years. Stefan, by the way, is an Eagle, one of many Bob has mentored over the years. He's tough as nails, but I've watched him cry with pride as he saw his Scouts' accomplishments. There is no doubt in my mind that Stef is the man he is today in large part because Bob is part of the village that raised him. Bob saw past the earring, the oversized Scout uniform (that sagged quite nicely, thank you), and the long hair to the hard-working, caring boy Stef was, and has stood up for him several times when derisive comments were made. 

He's been a friend for years (I taught his oldest son, too). We argue politics, but can see past that to who we are. We used to get together, but with our nomadic lifestyle and his and his beautiful wife Margaret's move to a suburb far outside Atlanta, we've contented ourselves with occasional emails and texts.

So when I spotted his big grin, it was all I could do not to jump out of the truck and give him a hug. Seems he, too, had a doctor's appointment and couldn't leave town without Polish goods.

Together, unmasked, for the 5 seconds it took Ted to take the photo!

When Ted came out, we all decided to get a coffee--outside in thirty-degree weather to get caught up. Margaret works in a hospital, so the two of them also quarantine, and spent Thanksgiving outside with a few family members. 

We talked about how much we miss travel, and mentioned meeting up somewhere when the pandemic settles. All too soon, the cold and time caught up with us and we said goodbye.

Now, I don't want to get all mystical on y'all, but if the doctor hadn't been behind, we'd have been to the bakery and gone before Bob even got there. We'd have missed out on one of our favorite people. I hear stories about folks who miss an accident because of a delay, or the people who weren't at the Twin Towers on 9/11 because they missed their train. I don't want to say this is anything like that. But I'm definitely going to take a second breath when I get hung up somewhere next time. Who knows what surprise might be waiting?

Fall in Athens

Judy.  So here we are back in Athens. It's been almost three weeks, and we've pretty much settled in. In fact, for the last couple of weeks, we've gone into a type of quarantine in preparation for what we hope will be an outdoor tailgate Thanksgiving with our families.

I don't have to tell you that numbers of sick folks are going up all over the world.  Here in Georgia, so far they've remained pretty low, but we'd like to keep it that way til this promised vaccine is available.  Caed (grandson number two) is thankfully back at in-person school, and is thrilled to be near friends again. Because of his parents' schedules, Ted picks him up from school every afternoon--but this time it looks different. 

Both wear their masks, and Caed hops in the back seat of Raymond the truck. No physical contact is made, and as soon as they arrive at home, Caed runs upstairs to shower and do his homework in his room, while Ted waits downstairs for Leslie to come back from her school. It's not what we had envisioned, but at our age, we just can't take chances on catching the virus. 

So, when Thanksgiving arrives this week, along with Stefan, Sarah, and their boys, we'll keep our distance, desperately wanting to hug everyone, but trying to be here for Christmas. And New Year's. And birthdays. 

Still, we can see them, and that's worth everything.

Thank goodness for Zoom and FaceTime and other ways of getting together. We've had several Zoom cocktail parties with dear friends, and continue to meet our Bible study groups via Zoom. My Bible study group is planning a Zoom Christmas tea, and sent out gifts and cards to all of us in preparation. These meetings lift our spirits more than we can say.

Another source of delight are the birds that gather around the two birdbaths in the yard. There's a robin who's been here since last spring, and who doesn't even fly

away when we enter the yard. He looks like a little butler, carefully watching the behavior of the finches, doves, and jays that gather. I've named him Cedric.

The fall has been mild, and a large camilla bush in our yard is loaded with deep pink and white blossoms. The Japanese maple has turned a brilliant red, and the hydrangea blossoms dried on the bush, making it look lush even now.  

We still walk the neighborhood and hike nearby when we can. Like in Montana, we seldom see anyone on these walks, and those we do keep as far from us as we do from them.

There's so much to be thankful for, in spite of this stupid quarantine. We have a warm, comfortable home, groceries we can pick up curbside, a beautiful yard, friends we meet online, and family, safe at a distance. 

It may not be heaven, but I can see it from here.