Two weeks ago everything was coming up roses for me and my new book. Though the existence of a new virus for which the world was ill-prepared had shown its ugly face in Seattle, I was getting on an airplane headed for the far side of the country, excited about every author’s dream—a book tour.
It began well. I spoke to nearly a 100 older folks who are enrolled in a unique adult learning program at Elon University in North Carolina. Many had already read Helping Yourself Grow Old, my book about Things I Said to Myself When I Was Almost 90. I shared, sold more books, signed books, soaked in a lot of love and went to bed happy. The next day the university announced: no meetings with more than 50 people. Wow! I had sailed through that door in the nick of time.
A few days later I met with a group of sweet, eager people who are reading my book together and discussing it, led by their chaplain in a retirement center. On the way in I was quizzed about where I had been and my present temperature. The group was a bit smaller than predicted because some were afraid to come. Though all of them had my book, they bought it for others. As I left they said, “We will be waiting for “Things I Said to Myself When I Was Almost 100.” The next day the administration of the retirement center announced a decision to receive no more visitors until further notice.
I went to a women’s basketball tournament and saw fine young athletes competing for a berth in the NCAA. The following day all tournaments were canceled. Then. . .
One thing led to another, like a row of dominoes
knocking over others as they fell.
The remaining invitations on my book tour were withdrawn, with regrets on all sides.
Then the news in my mailbox this morning: Governor Newsom of California asks elders like me to stay home. It is hard to stay home when I am not there and getting there is potentially hazardous.
I have lived through a lot of things in these 90 years, without ever imagining the addition of a global pandemic. But it seems familiar. Like Lebanon, 1975.
This is the way a civil war begins. Rumors, rebukes, accusations, random shots, rapid heartbeats, empty grocery shelves, canceled meetings, ruined parties, questions without good answers, obsession with the news, casualties, funerals, sorrow that grows, and little pieces of our lives floating off like debris in a flood.
How do we get them back?
The first thing I did this morning was write a list of things I can do while I can’t do what I meant to do.
I came here to promote my book, so I need to find other ways to do that. Reschedule events that were canceled, nail down dates. Help my publicist create a video. Write this blog, already overdue. Post a slogan on Facebook. Prepare for the podcast I have been invited to do for “Women Over 70.”
And there is, after all, more to my life. I can explore my daughter’s library, sampling writers I don’t know. I need to phone my friend who has lost a granddaughter. (Don’t we have threats enough without a new virus?)
Maybe you are way ahead of me, but I will make suggestions for anybody who wants them:
Stuck where you are, turn this into a cheap vacation.
Sleep late.
Start a puzzle.
Go hiking.
Wash your hands.
Eat hamburgers and ice cream.
Wash your hands.
Worship at home with your laptop on your knees, singing all the hymns, saying aloud your lines in the liturgy.
Keep a diary: news reports juxtaposed with things just routine or sweet or silly.
Write a poem. (Truthful is good enough.)
OK, just read poems.
Find some music.
Do things to make next month better, like organizing your desk or your closet. Finish your taxes. Congratulate yourself.
Since you have to know, check the news, once or twice a day.
Go ahead and cry if you feel like it.
And if we’re not where we want to be, maybe you and I should assume we are where we ought to be right now.
Definitely, read a good book: your club selection for the month…or something that will touch your soul and shed perspective on our crisis. I am thinking of Year of Wonders by Geraldine Brooks.
Also, for sure, if you are 60 and haven’t read it yet: Helping Yourself Grow Old. Such an easy read, a narrator like you, talking to herself and writing it down.
As you read this one, feel free to write in the margins: smiley faces, tear drops, notes about people to share with, ways to use such a book in your church or social group, and your own decisions about how you want to live.
And, whatever you do, wash your hands before and after. In other words, be responsible for yourself and the people around you.
A scary threat to the health of the world is not something we ever wanted to see, but it is here, already part of the fabric of our lives, requiring some response. When the pandemic has passed and we are all back at our familiar grindstones, we will need to feel good about what we made from this lousy piece of material.