Day 260, December 1, 2020

A Little Cup of Coffee 

Today's soundtrack: Art Farmer live in 1964 with Jim Hall on guitar

This morning I wrote, there are only so many flavors of happiness, so we need to savor them as one savors a cup of coffee. 

And then, in part because I read an interview with a friend of mine who has her first book out, I remembered the time we set out in the middle of the night to find something to eat. We drove in her Buick through the remote and very dark countryside of Vermont seeking some kind of diner or fast-food, but every prospect we found was closed. Turning around in a dark McDonald's we clipped a curb and it was only a mile or two later that the damage was revealed in the saggy slump of a flat tire. 

There, on the side of an empty road, in the light of the moon, we pulled off to the side and I reached into the spare tire well in the bottom of the trunk and found that it had filled with rain water. It was a chilly August night, so I had to steel myself to plunge my arm in and reach for the jack, wrench, and release the spare tire. Somehow we managed, because there was nothing else to do but manage, and with the flat tire changed, we found a gas station open all night long and bought an assortment of microwave hot pockets and single serving soups. And there, in the too bright light of the florescent gas station, we feasted at a counter with napkins and plastic utensils.

It is a small memory, but one that was filled with joy. And without the disappointment of driving through the night to a series of closed restaurants, and the utter desolation of a flat tire on a remote country road, and the absurdity of trunk full of water, the gas station feast would have been a terrible footnote, something I would not have dared to partake in. But, because of those things, the hot pocket was just what I needed in that moment. We may have even contemplated the hotdogs behind the plexiglass, but I don't think either of us tried one.

We wrote letters for a time after. But after a while we lost touch. I miss the intimacy and fortitude of letter writing. There is something so much more immediate and personal than what we can accomplish in all our other multitudes of ways of communicating that we have today. It is, of course, marvelous and invaluable to be able to Zoom with family, text, and call on a cell phone... but, to remember a time when we didn't have those things... when you had to savor the moments like a small cup of coffee.

Two weeks ago, I had my last day at Greenfield Community College, where I've worked for the last 19 years. It is a marvelous, truly special place, and I will miss all the wonderful people I've worked with there. I am certain they will continue to do amazing things for the students of the region. 

Today, was my first day at a new job at the University of Massachusetts, Amherst. It is a strange thing to start a new job remotely. I've tried to prepare for the moment by creating a new office space in my son's bedroom (he's at graduate school), but despite my best intentions, the desk I ordered was slow to ship, so I am back at the kitchen table again for now, albeit with a different laptop and a nice new monitor. 

I suppose I feel like some of our students, embarking out into this new experience in an entirely unforeseen way. I wonder how the pandemic will shape our relationships, the memories we create, if anyone will remember the time we were sitting in a Zoom meeting at the kitchen table and... something happened. 

But, we are resilient beings. And like our students, I'll find a way to move forward and create a space to inhabit, maybe once I get through all the raft of online trainings. There are exciting prospects ahead for the work I'll be doing for the University, and even imagining what a post-pandemic transition will look like is exciting in a way. Imagine, how will we all learn to come together again? What will that look like? What cautious first steps will we take? And, when will we return to a full embrace of life? That will truly be exciting for us all.

For now we all need to be safe and careful. In the last two weeks, a family member and dear friend have tested positive and struggled through, or are still struggling with the effects of this terrible virus. It seems that we are closer to the end of this than we are to the beginning, so we all need the fortitude to make it through these next few months so we can see what comes next. 

My heart goes out to you all who are sick, recovering, or experiencing loss. 

Treasure everyone,

Leo

After the rain of the past few days, the water is high.