Had a
special treat last night. A neighbor family came to serenade me for Mother’s
Day. Prudence Zavala told me it is a custom in the Mexican community. Standing at
a good distance in the driveway (now a basketball court), the dad strummed a
guitarron, a large base instrument of Hispanic origin; one daughter had a vilhuela,a Spanish stringed instrument shaped like a guitar but tuned like a lute--Prudence called it a rhythmic guitar, and the other daughter was on a violin. Mom took pictures,
while two younger children danced and jigged in the background, giving their
own spontaneous performance. It was absolutely delightful. Jordan and I watched
from the doorway of my cottage, and I was so flattered they wanted to do it.
After
a long weekend with no attention to my novel, I was back to work this morning.
For me, it was a long workday—you can tell nine to five is not on my horizon.
But I proofed my spring newsletter (if you want to read it, email me at j.alter@tcu.edu), checked the world’s goings
on in the news, on Facebook, my email, including two listservs to which I
belong. All that takes a long time, so it was eleven before I started on the
novel, but I got my thousand words (my minimum goal) and ended at a good spot
to both end a chapter and take the action in a new direction.
About
three I was ready for a nap. Just crawled into bed when the yard guys arrived,
which sends Sophie into a hysterical fit of barking. I have learned that no
amount of chastising, shouting, or pleading will quiet her, so I just waited it
out for a long fifteen or twenty minutes. And then they were gone. I fell into a
surprisingly deep and long sleep. Dreamt old friends were moving back to North
Texas. So overjoyed I was sorry to wake up.
Like
most Americans, I am horrified by ongoing news about the corona virus. Not just
the spread, not even the rising death numbers, though unlike our squatting
president I don’t consider that a victory. I am worried—okay terrified—by the
fact that the virus apparently keeps changing. Doctors are finding new
symptoms, new organs that It attacks, new ways that it destroys the body. And
now, it’s hitting kids—after we though they were safe.
This
morning, Jordan reported that Jacob had an upset stomach. The rational part of
me knew that he does that from time to time—his digestion seems to be a weak
point. We all have them—anxiety has long been mine. But the irrational part of
me immediately leapt to the fact that gastrointestinal problems are one
symptom. Not a part of the early classic pattern of symptoms, but now
recognized. Of course, later in the morning, Jordan reported that he was fine
and considering what he ate this weekend when his cousin was here, it’s no
wonder his stomach was upset.
I vacillate
between hope and despair. With the ever-changing nature of the virus, the ease of
contagion, and the lack of cooperation by a large segment of our population, plus
the denial of our leader, I sometimes think it will kill us all. But then the
hopeful part of me reminds that scientists all over the world are working to
decipher the nature of this monster disease and to find treatments and
vaccines. Surely, they’ll solve it soon, though it’s fairly awful that the US
is not cooperating with other countries and has ordered a halt to research in this country. Research, like testing, must make us look bad, and above all, we must open up the economy..
How
about you? Are you full of hope, despair, or somewhere in between?
