These past few months have been challenging. That said, I speak those words as a fortunate individual. I’d never been much of a fan of the Governor of New York but he provided stable leadership through the pandemic with his use of facts. Did he make mistakes? Sure. But I feel confident in following his guidelines as it relates to the health crisis. It also helps that I don’t live in the hardest hit area of NYS.
I still carry angst over contracting this illness. It isn’t a hardship for me to stay home. I venture out to do some grocery shopping and to run the odd errand. I avail myself of takeout in order to support local eateries. But since I’m at a higher risk, and also interact with an elderly parent, I remain vigilant. I’m well aware this is no time to be complacent.
That doesn’t mean I don’t miss social interaction. Texting and phone conversations aren’t able to substitute for human contact. Now that the weather is nicer some of my neighbors and I sit outdoors at safe distances from one another and chat. That’s been a big boon for me. I was also able to have my hair cut the other day. And the big news yesterday is that the Governor gave approval for pools to open. I’ve been missing our neighborhood pool tremendously. Being in the water has always been a salvation for me.
And I miss sports. I’ve adjusted; luckily I have many other interests. But I miss the crack of the bat and the roar of the crowd. Mostly I miss the ritual. My evenings were often taken up with the pre-game show and the game. I may not have always watched intently but it was always in the background.
Baseball, once our national pastime, has dimmed in popularity. I’ve always liked it because it appeals to the Romantic in me…and it harkens back to simpler times. While doing genealogical research, I learned more about my one relative who was a baseball player but never got beyond the minor leagues. He played for an assortment of teams throughout the 1890s and the decade after the turn of the century. One of his last stints was as a player/manager of the Albany Senators in that first decade of the 20th century. No one could know then that his niece would marry an Albanian and relocate from New Haven. It amazes me how far and wide players traveled each year just to play baseball. There were a tremendous number of leagues and teams. So many men were able to live out their childhood fantasies and feel the joy of being outdoors playing a game they loved.
Maybe my view is idealistic but it’s fun to think about. It distracts me from another pandemic consequence…wild and crazy dreams. Mine are plagued by a specific person. Last night the dream involved playing tennis. Now that, in and of itself, isn’t odd because so much of my earlier life was steeped in tennis. I remember in the dream I only had my old wooden racket (Wilson-Jack Kramer model) to use and one good tennis ball. The other tennis balls were either flat or ruptured. And the person on the other side of the net, that haunting individual, hit the ball everywhere but not to me. There was other stuff going on but it becomes tedious. At any rate, it was not a successful tennis outing. Plus those dreams lead me down the “I was once a proficient athlete, but let myself go” road. I’m tired of that journey.
And now I must stop procrastinating and finish a chapter of my book. One more after that and the writing will be done. It seems I will never get it completed. It’s too important not to get it done so I will keep inching my way forward.