Crooked Pots...

“Even the crookedest pots always have a lid.” That's something my mom always told me and I'm fairly certain she heard that from her own mother. I find that to be true in life but I'm never really sure if I'm the crooked pot or the fitting lid.

When I was young, my family moved around a bit. We left the St. Louis area and landed in Baltimore which shaped my identity as a happy city girl. When the 70s race riots moved into the school hallways, we packed up the tribe and moved up to the Pennsylvania/Maryland state line. We long-haired hippie Alberts stood out like sore thumbs in our new world.

The landscape of our new world was beautiful, of course. We were surrounded by nature trails, horse farms, creeks and rivers and that was great. We were also in the midst of a backwards and old-fashioned community and there was no neighborhood to roam to make new friends.

When we tromped through the woods, across the big field, and down the dirt road to wait for the school bus, we didn't really know what to expect. My older siblings probably were less happy about our situation than I was, but I still knew enough to be a little worried. After riding through the hills, across the vast acres – often slowed by an Amish buggy - I was pleasantly surprised to see that these new schools were quite modern and the teachers were forward thinking and friendly. That was a plus for me.

Of course, the other students had lived in this area their whole lives. If they didn't already know each other, their parents probably did. Kids were nice enough to me but as we settled in, my older siblings colored outside the lines enough to make teachers and administrators see me as Another Albert Kid. Fine by me. I think it's great to march to the beat of one's own drum. I dove in and joined the band (flute), joined clubs, etc. I mostly hung with the dudes. They appreciated my dude sense of humor and were more fun to be with.

Then came fifth grade science. Students were seated alphabetically, so as an Albert, I was seated next to an Arthur. Amy was a good girl. Quiet, smart, followed the rules. I talked to her. She talked back. We giggled. We got yelled at. As it turned out, she was in a lot of my classes. Not always in the next seat, but close enough that we could pass notes and share jokes. I joined girl scouts and we were in the same troop! She introduced me to other girls who were also slightly left of center and my posse grew.

Amy became my anchor. She was my cheerleader when I was weird, she was my voice of reason when I needed that. We got through puberty together and figured out who we were and what mattered. We had sleepovers, loved the same books (The Borrowers!), had inside jokes that no one else understood. She truly was my best friend. Then, just as we were about to go into high school, I moved to Florida.

I was, of course, excited to move to the beach but wondered how I would be able to start high school without my best friend, but we promised to keep in touch. So we did. We wrote letters and drew cartoons. We talked on the phone sometimes. Life went on with new friends and different experiences but we never forgot.

Over the years, we rarely communicate, but we're there when it matters. I attended her wedding and she came to mine. When travel brings us close, we try to see one another. Most importantly, she resides in a cozy nook in my memories and my heart and resurfaces when I most need the boost.

About a week ago, I was talking with my Josie about her very best friend. They met in 5^th grade and have gone through all the rough middle school years together and now, in high school, have very different lives. They live 2 blocks apart and rarely see each other but are as close as they've ever been. When they reconnect, they pick right up as though not a second has passed. I told my daughter again about Amy. She is the lid to my crooked pot.

Right after having that conversation with my daughter, I got a text message from my old friend wanting to know if I'd be home today. This evening, there was a knock on the door, and there was a smiling delivery person holding a giant bag of steaming hot food. A gift from my far away longest friend. Because I live loudly, spilling my tales of woe and display my crooked pot to everyone and she sits quietly, waiting for the right time to come in and put a lid on it before it boils over.

Thank you, my friend. You've done it again and I'm grateful for the York County Public School System's wisdom in bringing us together.  Thank you for being my lid.

 

There is no question that the year 2020 has been the Weirdest Year Ever. Never, in the history of Ever, have quite so many “interesting” things happened to so many people in the span on one year. Quite frankly, I would like a return to boring.

However, there's one thing that this year has brought us that I'm happy to have experienced: The Great Unveiling. In this year's many dark times, a bright light was cast across the world that revealed true colors and exposed unpleasant creatures living among us. It's shocking to realize that the monster under the bed is closer than you think.

When news of the pandemic came early in the year, plenty of people – myself included – brushed it off, thinking it surely couldn't be as bad as the media was saying. As time went on, as scientists and doctors knew more, I took it seriously and followed the advised precautions. That wasn't just for me, that was for all of my fellow humans. Truly, if doing such small things – wearing a mask, avoiding crowds, following simple advice – could help the world get past this thing, isn't that my responsibility as a citizen of this world?

Not everyone agrees. There are many who believe that asking your fellow humans to help another is a violation of their rights. When these people are asked to take very simple steps, what I hear them saying is “I don't care about your mother or my uncle or anyone else's well-being. I don't care about anyone but myself and I want what I want and I want it now.” People are dying at astounding rates because some very selfish people don't like to be told what to do.

I get that people aren't trusting of the talking heads on TV, but when they refuse to hear experienced scientists, concerned doctors, and exhausted nurses, that's all I need to know to see that you don't care about other people. You don't care about children in schools, you don't care about the guy who cuts your hair, you don't care about anyone but yourself. I can't change that but I thank you for showing me who you are so I can move away from you.

My husband has been in hospitals and care facilities more often this year than he's been home. This has given me a clear picture of the havoc this virus has wreaked on everyone. Patients are alone. The elderly are alone, often scared, confused, and vulnerable. Their caretakers are also vulnerable. This is real. People are dying.

I've heard the argument from the folks who don't want to be bothered with precautions that “People die from all sorts of things, why should I change the way I live?” Yes. People die. They're not all dying of Covid. But they are all dying alone. My brother went to the hospital alone. He was there ALONE for days before he died. Alone. No goodbyes, no hands to hold, no last words. Just gone. Alone. He didn't die from Covid, but Covid is why he was alone.

Doctors and scientists have been telling us for months that if we just make small mindful sacrifices – wear masks, wash hands, avoid gathering – just for a little while, we can get ahead of this thing and get back to normal. Or a new normal. But our communities are filled with selfish and single-minded people who refuse to do the smallest things to help their fellow humans. As a result, more people are infected, more people are suffering, and more people are dying. Alone.

I have a friend who lives far away from her children. Her husband has had a lifetime of chronic illness. She herself had a heart attack a couple of years ago. This couple has been basically quarantined since the beginning of the year. They only go out to take walks, to do minor grocery shopping in the early hours of the day, and to see their doctors. They've been extremely careful. Then, a couple of weeks ago, her husband had an issue and had to go to the hospital. Because the hospital was already overwhelmed with Covid patients, he became infected. Which meant that when he returned home, my friend became infected. So they are home, alone, struggling to breathe, struggling to get through each day, because people in their area refused to stop going to parties, refused to follow simple protocols to keep one another safe.

So I'm a little pissed off. I'm angry that stubborn, entitled fools feel that their wants should be greater than society's needs. My children want to go to school. They're pissed off, too. Hospital staff are exhausted and probably pissed off. I no longer hold my tongue when I go to the grocery store and see people without masks. I may or may not have yelled at people I see gathered closely in crowds. It doesn't have to be this way.

I'm happy that scientists from all over the world have joined together to develop vaccines that can hopefully help us all find a new normal. That's what human beings are meant to do – work together for the greater good. I don't believe that things will return to what they were but we can find a new way. I don't know what that will be.

I know one thing for sure. One's actions in difficult times tell more about who they are than what they do when times are good. I know who I will welcome back with hugs. I know who can just keep on walking by. 2020's Great Unveiling has made that an easy choice.