Announcement from Management

Subject line: as of today, all employees who are not vaccinated are to work from home

“How are you doing?”, Lisa asks her colleague, Jane, over Zoom. Jane puts on a brave face, which instantly unfolds into sadness. Unexpected tears brim over and run down her face and drip off her chin. Quiet. Breathe. “You are the first person who asked”, Jane says, still obviously upset. “Really”, Lisa puzzles, “I’m sorry. I can’t image how you’re feeling.” “As if I am walking around with a “Unvaccinated” stamp on my forehead.”

They look at each other across the screen. Lisa wishes she could give her colleague a hug. Jane continues, “I feel so ostracized. Even in our team. If only someone would ask why… I would at least have a chance to explain. It’s the silence from colleagues and friends that is hard to bear. It’s so heavy. I can’t breathe. I wish they would ask why…” 

Lisa listens and after a longer pause she suggests, “Let’s meet up and go for a walk later this week.” “That would be lovely. We could wear masks.”

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)

Ode to Professor Wang

Professor Wang walks down the corridor from his office to the lecture hall eyes straight ahead. He never looks at or acknowledges anyone he passes. He walks with stooped shoulders and with a slight limp.

It is rumoured that he suffered corporal punishment during his childhood in the Chinese Cultural Revolution. It is also rumoured that he was one of the discovers of modern technology. 

Outwardly, his is not an imposing figure. The moment though, when he steps into the lecture hall, all that changes. He stops at the front of the room and waits for silence. Once given, he repeats the sentence he spoke in his previous lecture. 

Then he continues talking, explaining, describing, and extrapolating without pause, without any visual aids or prompts... 90 precious minutes long, which fly by in seconds. He talks about quantum physics, laser theory, the future of medicine... who would ever have thought such science could be understandable, let alone interesting.

The lecture is over. He turns and stares straight ahead at the door, his escape, his exit,. He pauses momentarily, clears his throat, and nods his head. It is almost a bow... to what... to his students, to science, or the emptiness he leaves behind?

Photo by Linus Mimietz on Unsplash

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)

A short grey winter day

Sunday afternoon
Fingers quietly strumming
The sun sets early.

Photo by Caio Silva on Unsplash 

One of Pat's gifts

A friend recommended that we read the stunningly beautiful book, Braiding Sweetgrass together. When I opened up the first pages, I thought of my mother and how very much she would have enjoyed "discovering" this book.

Pat had a gift of finding and gifting books that changed my life. She introduced me to War and Peace when I was a brooding 15-year-old. If I go to my bookshelf and draw out randomly a handful of books from the middle of one shelf, here are the books she sent. Books that I still treasure so many years later:

• The Book of Ebenezer Le Page, by B. B. Edwards
• Playing with Water, James Hamilton-Paterson
• Migrations to Solitude, by Sue Halpern
• A Country Year, by Sue Hubbell
• Twelve Years (An American Boyhood in East Germany), by Joel Agee

What a gift my mother had to connect books to people. Over and over, even though we lived in distant countries from each other, she passed on her discoveries.

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)

Photo by Brian Yurasits on Unsplash

My outside world

 

My heart seeks beauty
November day of greyness
Coldness seeps inside.

Photo by Anne Nygård on Unsplash

Yearly mammio

The lightness I feel
After the doctor says all's well
Oh... now I can breathe.

Photo by Valeriia Bugaiova on Unsplash

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)