Left to my own devices

Before the pandemic, before the dark times, I'd get a cold about once or twice a year. It was pretty normal, hence the term "the common cold." Heck, maybe it was sometimes a case of the flu? Maybe...  though I get the flu shot on annual basis which, granted, isn't foolproof, but does seem to help either stave-off getting it, or at least make the symptoms less severe. Sound familiar? Anyway, I haven't really had a cold (or the flu) in at least two years, probably longer. No doubt a big reason for this is because I've been fortunate enough to work at a job where 1) most of my work can be done remotely, and 2) my employer has been very cautious, and had us working from home for all but three months since the pandemic got underway in earnest, back in March of 2020. Reduced contact with people has very likely lessened my exposure to viruses, whether it be COVID-19 or the ones that cause the cold or flu.

It's been almost thirteen months since I last saw a movie at a theater. What was once a weekly ritual has, over the course a year, become an almost distant memory. The Covid-19 pandemic has wreaked havoc on everyone's lives, to both a greater and lesser extent. I'm pretty fortunate to be able to wax nostalgic about the lack of movie-going and, to be fair, theaters have been opened for some time now. However, even as theaters re-opened, I didn't feel comfortable going back. I have some underlying health issues that could result in a potentially serious time of it, should I be infected with the coronavirus. But now, Ashley & I are fully-vaccinated. So are several of our friends. We're going to see a movie tonight, at a theater, for the first time in over a year. I'm a little overwhelmed at the thought.

There have been a few events during my life, some personal, some en masse, that have impacted my life profoundly. Their influence was profound, altering my perception of the world, and my life in it. I feel as though the current pandemic ought to be another one of those occasions but, honestly, I don't know what to think of it at the moment. There have been some short-term affects, but it is difficult to comprehend the long-term ramifications at this point.

Nearly three decades ago, I read a novel by P.D. James. She was (and still is, rest her soul) my favorite author, and her then-latest book was a departure from the series of crime novels starring her poet-detective Adam Dalgliesh. The Children of Men came out in 1992, and was set in a dystopian future-England of 2021. The last human was born some two decades previous, the reason for a lack of any further births unknown, and society has cratered as a result. I was riveted by the book, reading it late at night, at school, even waiting for a dental appointment. The novel was adapted into a much ballyhooed film in 2006. It dropped the " the " from the title, and made a few more changes, but the core idea was there. It's a captivating movie, with assured director Alfonso Cuaron at the helm, though it takes on a darker, gritty, and more violent nature than its source material. Or perhaps all of that was on the page, but my mind interpreted it differently than it was ...

"I love the past, 'cause I hate suspense." - Diane Young, by Vampire Weekend The interesting thing about being alive is that we know what's come before, but not what will be. Well, that isn't the only interesting thing, obviously, but it's an aspect of existence that fascinates me. Put another way, we know the past, but never the future. And, there will always be a future -- something epochal would have to occur for that to change. I've been ruminating on the aforementioned reality somewhat often during this pandemic. Additionally, I've considered the importance of the shared experiences we have, both en masse and amongst our smaller, more tightly-knit sub-groups (friends, family, that sort of thing). It is a significant factor to know our history, but there's nothing quite like going through a major event at the same time as those we know, those fellow humans who mean something special to us.

A few days ago, Adam Schlesinger died from complications of the coronavirus. I'm not exactly sure why his death, amongst all the others , startled me so much. I'd forgotten all about his band, Fountains of Wayne, until learning of his passing, and couldn't even whistle one of their tunes. Perhaps it was because Schlesinger was 52, which is close (enough) to my own age? Perhaps it was just a culmination of the mounting death toll? I'm not sure, but it seemed to drive home the reality that this virus can not only infect, but kill. It cares not of class, race, religion, nationality, or age.

"Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker  Wherever you're going, I'm going your way"                                ---- Moon River, Mancini/Mercer The scariest part of life is not knowing the future. I am convinced of this, and it's one of the reasons we tend to look back on things more fondly than is sometimes deserved. I'll remember the good aspects of a job, for instance, and then have to shake-off the rose-colored glasses for a moment and remind myself how miserable I was during that time. Of course, experiences aren't always straight-up good or bad -- there's things to appreciate amidst the parts we wish hadn't existed. But, not knowing what comes next can often preclude a sense of calm from certain situations. I've been thinking about the aforementioned line-of-thought during these precarious times of sheltering-in-place during the global COVID-19 pandemic. Life has altered to such a...