The lost year

Me and Lily at the 2019 Tulip Festival

Yesterday I rummaged through my photos looking for something to write about this morning, for my usual Sunday morning post. I loved looking at the tulips during our last visit to the Tulip Festival. Where are the ones from last year, I wondered. And then I remembered there was no festival last year, because of the pandemic. You know, the one that is still raging through the country?

Then I began to wonder whether there will be another lost year, another year when we will not be able to visit with each other, when there will not be a beautiful and delightful riot of colors and flower designs in the Skagit Valley. That is just one thing that I missed last year, but being able to hang out and have coffee with my friend Lily (among others) is another favorite activity I've really missed. Although we've gotten together maybe half a dozen times during the past year, it's nothing compared to our usual visits. I miss her so much.

And here we are, beginning the last week of the Trump presidency, with our nation's capitol looking like a war zone, with more than 20,000 National Guard troops garrisoned inside its halls. I never would have believed we could be here, in this strange limbo, unable to travel far from home because of an out-of-control virus, and being unable to count on our country being able to inaugurate the new president without such awful precautions. What happened to my country? I am in mourning for what was and what might never be again.

Will there be any sort of return to normal once the vaccine is distributed to most of us? Of course, this is not only happening in America, but all over the world. I watch the news and look for slivers of light in the darkness. The UK is in strict lockdown right now, as is our neighbor to the north, Canada. The border is still closed and will be for the foreseeable future. In fact, I'm wondering if we will ever be back to a semblance of normal times, or is this what the world will look like this time next year? I'm hoping not, I'm truly hoping that we will be hanging out in our local coffee shop, and going out to dinner with friends, and even going to movies together. 

As I moan over how much has changed, I also must stop and take stock of what has not changed, what has actually become better than before. For one, our national carbon emissions, and those across the world, have fallen to levels not seen for decades. That's a good thing, and I hope we can find a way to keep them down. I know I sure don't drive as much as I did before, and much of the world's economic activity has slowed because of the pandemic. If the new president is able to enact much of his agenda, we might have a much better country than before. But that will be a big lift, with everything that has happened and with extremists still threatening more mayhem and destruction. I am hopeful, but also fearful of the immediate future. 

It's been almost a year since we entered lockdown here in Washington state, and nobody would have believed that the virus would still be rampaging out of control like it is today. It's not only here, but most countries are in worse economic shape than at the beginning of the pandemic. The lost year, indeed. I am old and have seen much change during my years, but this is unique and a situation I would not have believed could exist here today. When I write next week, we will hopefully have begun a new era, the Biden era, and that his efforts to get all Americans vaccinated and the virus under control will have begun. I am hopeful, but also anxious about it all. You probably are, too, no matter where in the country, or in the world, you live.

We have a few more months to go before it will be decided whether there will be another year without a Tulip Festival or not. It's mid-January, and after a mild fall and winter so far, we are beginning to see signs of the light returning and spring flowers emerging from the ground. Whatever else happens, the seasons keep their inevitable turning from one to the next, a good reminder that change is inevitable and to be rejoiced in. Soon we will reach Groundhog Day, February 2, the marker between the winter solstice and the spring equinox here in the Northern Hemisphere. Then there will be more light in the sky, and the natural world will respond with lots of new growth, and a new and hopeful time will expand from the darkness we are experiencing today. It's the way the world has always been, and will remain long after we are gone. One thing I know for sure: nothing stays the same forever, and if it looks like we are in terrible trouble in the world today, it will evolve and change.

When I think about how much my life has changed in the past year, I realize that I have adapted in some ways quite well. Although I no longer can hike with my Senior Trailblazers every Thursday, I am able to hike with my friend Melanie and one or two others, keeping our distance outdoors, staying masked when we encounter other people, and spending time with others who are willing to take the necessary precautions with the pandemic. There is a new coronavirus variant that started in the UK and has come here, nobody knows how much, but I saw a news report yesterday that it will probably become the dominant strain in the US by March. It's more contagious than the original version, but apparently no more deadly and can be transmitted with smaller amounts of the virus and in a shorter period of time. Fortunately, the vaccines they are rolling out seem to be just as capable of keeping us from getting infected from the new virus. I can hardly wait for my own vaccine dose to become available.

Vaccines and antibiotics have made many infectious diseases a thing of the past; we've come to expect that public health and modern science can conquer all microbes. But nature is a formidable adversary. —Tom Frieden

I feel optimistic that the coming year will bring many happy moments for us all, and that the worst of the pandemic is behind us. I'm hopeful that I will once again be able to tiptoe among the tulips with my dear friend Lily, and that the world will once again be free of this virus. And I am hopeful that I will once again be able to travel to visit my sister in Florida, and that the political situation in my country will heal and be even better and more stable than before. If it's possible to make a difference through an attitude of gratitude, well then, I'm determined to make a difference that way. With the vaccine against this virus in my arm, and with my mask firmly on my face, I'm going to march forward into the future with love and hope filling my heart.

And with that, dear friends, I will leave you once again with hope for better days ahead, and with certainty that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Until we meet again, I wish you all good things. My dear partner still sleeps next to me, even though I'm later than normal today, I'm feeling happy to start the rest of my Sunday. Be well.