LOOKING BACK, MOVING FORWARD

Farewell, once and for all, to the year that my gray hair began to turn white. And what of it? It's okay. 

Really, everything is okay. Binge-watching reruns of "Home Town" is okay, embracing Don't Get Dressed Day more often is okay, quitting books that annoy me half-way through is okay, passing time playing Scrabble on line is okay. 

Everything is okay, because we've all been tasked with restructuring and restricting our very lives as we continue to cope with a global pandemic, and we're just making it up as we go along. That's a big burden that has resulted in painful losses large and small. We know now we are never going back to "normal," and in so many ways, that has to be okay too. Many writers have elaborated on the many consciousness-raising events our country has experienced this year, and I can only hope we learn from looking back as we move forward. 

Moments of laughter, moments of fear and moments of gratitude all have been part of my experience of 2020. Like so many others, I've repeatedly fended off a looming, leaden mental heaviness. Sometimes I've fought off tears. Other times, I've given in to them. But this year also reinvigorated my belief that living in the present, no matter how troubling that present may be, is a direct path to acknowledging joy. even when the best thing about a whole day is a plate of sliced tomatoes. (See August.)  

Here are snapshots from some "present moments" in my year. Don't expect glorious travel photos, because I haven't been anywhere except to the edge of the continent from time to time, where I watch waves endlessly roll in with no care whatsoever for what I perceive as my urgent concerns. I can always count on the Pacific Ocean for an important attitude adjustment!

JANUARY 2020

Meet Molly Ivins, my Texas mammillaria cactus. (Ivins was prickly too.) The plant produces small red fruits that resemble chili peppers, but not very many or very often. She bloomed in January, for the first time in four years. (Spoiler alert: She bloomed again this month.) 

FEBRUARY 2020

At a lecture at the Jewish Community Center, I met Richard Powers, author of "The Overstory," and we discovered that we both are in awe of ginkgo trees. 

MARCH 2020

Blissfully unaware of What Was To Come, early in March my Full Moon Cocktail group ventured downtown to the Old Ship Saloon, where I had my first taste of Pisco Punch, created in San Francisco in the 1870s. (See my April 14 blog post for details.) Two weeks later, San Francisco was the first major city to shut down to slow the spread of the coronavirus. 

APRIL 2020

By April, I was excelling at sheltering in place, tucked under my glorious handmade throw. (Not handmade by me — I make only paragraphs.) The novelty of staying in wore off soon after, but as a senior (and therefore at risk) I've stuck to the rules, with one big exception. (Read on.)  

MAY 2020

After two and a half-years of lingering at the bottom, suddenly my name shot up to the top of a waiting list for a unit at an apartment building for people 62 and older. Many people ahead of me on the list declined to even consider moving. Was I still interested? YES! I took this photo from the balcony of the top-floor apartment I was offered, and began a two-month process of filling out paperwork to get it.  

JUNE 2020

Every summer, I buy and freeze multiple pints of Chandler strawberries, those small ruby jewels packed with flavor. That ensures me a six-month supply for my smoothies.

JULY 2020

Who moves during a global pandemic? Me, as carefully and thoughtfully as possible. The building has 120 units, and someday, when the lounge reopens and we can have each other over for coffee or wine,  I'll have a bevy of new friends. Residents I've met in the elevators, the lobby and the laundry room all have been warm and welcoming.

AUGUST 2020  

Heirloom tomatoes, delivered by a food service that works with local farmers, made me happy all summer. And I am a Huge Snob about tomatoes -- I routinely reject orange polyester slices that are mere wannabes. 

SEPTEMBER 2020 

What can you be grateful for when this toxic, ash-laden air is present during fire season? I wept for those who lost everything, but was grateful that the wildfires were not at the edge of my driveway, devouring the city where I live.

OCTOBER 2020

The unstable political situation led me to volunteer with Vote Forward, writing letters to inactive registered voters in six different states, urging them to make their voices heard. We volunteers paid for stamps and envelopes, and the work also cost time, something I had plenty of. The reward was the satisfaction of Doing Something Useful.

NOVEMBER 2020

Joy on the balcony looks like this -- my orange and red geraniums, still in full flower in November. I'm not a gardening person, as I fret too much about watering, feeding and draining, but this worked out well! Don't ask me how much time I spend sitting outside talking with the geraniums, Molly Ivins (see January) and a lovely jade plant that was a gift. 

DECEMBER 2020

A minimalist year seemed to call for a minimalist Christmas, and this was part of my few decorations. Red and green, even when you're blue, add a festive note, even when absolutely no one will be popping in to see how nice everything looks. Still, I was here to appreciate it.  

JANUARY 2021

Behold a leafy sea dragon, a resident at the California Academy of Sciences in Golden Gate Park. I took this photo in December 2019, on a visit there with my beloved grandson. Since March, for safety's sake, I've been in his presence exactly four times, though he lives close by. That hurts.

My great hope for 2021 is to once again spend time at the Academy — and the zoo, and Little League games and at his house and mine and anywhere else we may choose to go. My resolution for the new year is this: I vow to never again take for granted a moment spent with my family and friends. 

Now bring on that vaccine!