There is nothing unknown about my surroundings or the people I am with. It is the same lake whose calm waters have held vigil in our neighborhood ever since it was first created. There is the ever familiar Indiana summer breeze, calm, yet capable of turning into a raging storm on a whim. The friendly birds busy heading home at the end of the day. And, the comforting company of friends who have now become the kind of precious family you will only know when you are an immigrant in a foreign land, desperate for a touch of home. But today it all seems tentative, more precious, almost delicate - like it can be taken away without a warning.
The isolation of the pandemic has inevitably stretched time out, making it go by slowly. So even though it has been just two months since we have met like this, it seems much longer. We have to break the ice of silence and make sure the same rules still apply. Is it okay to sit next to each other? Can we permit visitors to use the restrooms? Who can you hug? We have been cut loose from the every day familiar things that anchor our lives- doctor visits, office meetings, a trip to the post office, summer holidays on sandy beaches, picking up the dry cleaning- and have been set afloat in this new normal where none of the old rules apply.
So even as we sit and chat like in the old days, there is a pregnant question in the air- will this freedom last? Dare we plan for tomorrow? No one is quite sure what the answer is. All we know is that we have got today and we must make the most of it.
As we all say our goodbyes the hugs are a little longer, the planning somewhat hesitant, and the hope of meeting again a tad dim. I turn to look at the setting sun, drinking in the feast of colors reflecting on the lake's rippling waters. I want to take in as much of everything as I can, so if it is two more months before I see all this again, I will have the memory of this evening and of the long awaited reconnecting.
The isolation of the pandemic has inevitably stretched time out, making it go by slowly. So even though it has been just two months since we have met like this, it seems much longer. We have to break the ice of silence and make sure the same rules still apply. Is it okay to sit next to each other? Can we permit visitors to use the restrooms? Who can you hug? We have been cut loose from the every day familiar things that anchor our lives- doctor visits, office meetings, a trip to the post office, summer holidays on sandy beaches, picking up the dry cleaning- and have been set afloat in this new normal where none of the old rules apply.
So even as we sit and chat like in the old days, there is a pregnant question in the air- will this freedom last? Dare we plan for tomorrow? No one is quite sure what the answer is. All we know is that we have got today and we must make the most of it.
As we all say our goodbyes the hugs are a little longer, the planning somewhat hesitant, and the hope of meeting again a tad dim. I turn to look at the setting sun, drinking in the feast of colors reflecting on the lake's rippling waters. I want to take in as much of everything as I can, so if it is two more months before I see all this again, I will have the memory of this evening and of the long awaited reconnecting.
