And when it does, I know who will be hosting the very first post-corona party and we hope you RSVP YES.Share on Pinterest Infections can cause a cobblestone appearance at the back of the throat. We now live for the dream of “when all this is over” and hold onto hope like an old teddy bear that has been with us since birth. I wish I had the answer to that question, I really do. What the hell is this all about? I imagine this thought runs through his mind several times a day. The lack of touching, the not entering of the house, the plethora of Purell being dished out, and the masks are all very disconcerting to him. Although Dad tried to hug and kiss everyone that visited, we managed to stop him in the nick of time, every time. Family dropped by (outside, 6 feet apart of course) with meals (two pot roasts!), cake, presents, wine, and cards. Yesterday was Dad’s 88th birthday a “pair of eights” as our friend and neighbor Tom Fitzgibbons calls this significant milestone. If you think this octogenarian couple is part of the “vulnerable among us”, they will disagree and I just might have to take their side. Last night, I recorded when Mary met Don. Well, I’ll tell you, the video recordings I am getting on a near daily basis of these two are so, so good. What are we good for? Mom has said that more than once. To her, being 85 and unable to do the things you love most seems like a cruel joke without a punch line in sight. The buzz of a house filled with family, friends, food, wine, and laughter is missed right now. These two love get-togethers, possibly more than most. Through it all, the thing that has carried them along has been their attachment to the pure joy of human connection. From hiding under school desks to prep for nuclear disaster to the current pandemic, they have encountered quite a few “bubbles”. They have lived through the not so Great Depression, several wars, ups, downs, ins, outs, and back again. Two people I know and love dearly are well-acquainted with fear-my Mom and Dad. When you’re able to look at the bubbles and say “huh, look at that” and continue on with what you were doing before the bubbles floated by, you’ve made progress. Try as you may to pop those bubbles, they’ll find a way to pop right back up and that’s where coexistence and acceptance become clutch. Denying fear would require you to deny your humanity and, unless you’re a robot, you can’t do that. Fear exists for a reason-to keep you alive. I used to think that I needed to pop those fear bubbles in order to overcome them. An intense fear of mass shootings, for example, was one such bubble. The funny thing is, when I first went into therapy I described my OCD as a bunch of bubbles-these varied negative thoughts that would suck me in and not let me out. Now, we all have a giant case of contamination OCD making people across the globe worry about things like bubbles and shopping carts. Two months ago, we were all relatively “normal”. Tiny covid bubbles, in the air ….That’s how the song goes, right? I never thought something so innocuous would suddenly be so.nocuous. That mom had wanted me to know that those bubbles did not come with a drop of coronavirus laden spittle. They were all wearing masks and, eventually, one of them pulled his hand up into his sweatshirt and guided the cart to the side where it was safe. They clearly had no desire to touch the not-yet-sanitized cart and were grappling with their civic duty of preventing said cart from crashing into someone’s car. About an hour later I watched a family of three try to stop a rogue cart in the Target parking lot with just their feet. Everybody needs bubbles the Mom proclaimed. Oh, Ok! I said to her and snapped a picture of the magical little spheres glistening in the sun. At first I had no idea why she told me this. We’re not blowing them!! A masked Mom yelled this to me as she and her daughter allowed the wind at Humarock Beach to carry their bubbles up into the cloudless sky.
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