Masks that hide the lower portion of our faces make us uneasy because they deny a full picture of what our character and state of mind might be. If you can’t fully identify someone then you don’t know how to react to them. If you don’t know how to react, your fear mechanism ramps up.
The son said he imaged a surprise party, something that we both agreed was completely uncharacteristic of him. But the occasion was momentous–four years comprised of 19 hour days and working two jobs–a cum laude college degree from a rigorous university. But how to do this in this plague time seemed daunting.
Maybe it’s that we’ve learned how to accept life now. Maybe, in some manner, we’re figuring out how to patch together a shade of what was once our daily routines. Or maybe it’s this, from the philosopher Jeff Goldblum. Whatever has happened, small moments of grace have surfaced–some of wonder and others of blessed normalcy.
I had to get out of the house today and, lucky enough to have a car, drove twenty blocks to the edge of Brooklyn.
If the virus doesn’t get us, our hippocampus will. And with that I forced myself to get up and head to the kitchen. Maybe I could find an alluring recipe.
I rarely comment on her posts but this one was so admirable and meaningful to me that I told her she was my hero. She wrote back, “I’m jonesing for lemon meringue pie!”
To help us through this difficult time, let’s gather a shred of historical perspective by leafing through a couple of old cookbooks written during difficult times.
My friend and colleague, Dr Robert Oliva, has written a much needed guide on how to deal with our stress and anxiety.
As we enter our third week of confinement, I have to be honest and tell you we’re pretty sick of one another in this house. And so we had a virtual dinner party.
If this was the before time, I would have not stopped at the fifth rewrite of this morning’s post about the virtual dinner party we had on Saturday.