Adios, 2020

          2020 was, in so many ways, "a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad" year, to quote Judith Viorst. I hate to say I'm glad a year is over, especially as I'm now 70. But adios, good riddance, au revoir, don't come back, 2020!

          And yet...blessings abounded. There was a pre-covid part of the year. On 1/1/20, we were camped on the water at Port Townsend, WA. We'd spent wonderful holidays with Doug's children, daughter Katie and husband Javier in Seattle, and son Andrew and wife Devon in Bellingham. It was our first trip in the 2019 Promaster we'd bought and had converted in Fort Collins, CO.  It performed brilliantly in the ice and snow. 

          And yet...little did we know that December 2019 was the last time we'd see our Washington children in now over a year.

          In February, Doug took our good friend Lew to Death Valley in our '86 VW Vanagon, fulfilling a promise he'd made to Lew after his wife died suddenly the year before. 

February also brought beautiful sunsets,

views of the snow-capped Sierras, almond blossoms heralding spring arriving in our San Joaquin Valley.

         March held much promise: the beginning of a 5-month trip. I would visit my best friend from high school in North Carolina, with whom I'd reconnected in 2019 for the first time in 51 years! Then I'd fly to Florida for my annual time with Aunt Gret and cousin Ann. Doug would meander to Plattsburgh, NY, in the van, and I'd fly there. Then would commence a tour of Eastern Canada with friends Denis and Christiane, who live a couple of hours north of Québec City, and whom we'd met in the Yukon in 2017. They also have a new Promaster, theirs with a poptop so four can sleep.    

          The pandemic seemed a whisper that overnight became a roar. On 3/3/20, I wrote to Denis and Christiane that we'd bought our trip insurance. On 3/8, I wrote that we'd decided flying was not safe, and I would not go to North Carolina or Florida, but instead drive across the country with Doug. On 3/11, I wrote that we'd decided we'd have to cancel the trip. On 3/13, Denis wrote that anyone entering Québec Province would have to quarantine for two weeks. On 3/30, the day we'd arrive, Denis sent a picture of their yard. And so we consoled ourselves that though we thought we'd been prepared for the 

cold, perhaps a summer trip to the Maritimes might be better. I wrote to Denis that we thought we'd go to the Southwest instead, and we'd still go to Bellingham in June for Devon's MS graduation. 

          We soon realized we wouldn't be going anywhere soon. Maybe in the fall...

          And yet... Doug was able to kayak with friends often—it's a naturally socially distanced activity—on the nearby Kings River and Lake Kaweah until they were no longer 

navigable. My bum shoulder prevented me from joining, in my new, lighter, inflatable kayak. Friends considering one for themselves tried it out for me.

Doug was also able to get his recumbent bike out again, and he and friend Jerry took rides along the St John's River Parkway.

          And, we are grateful that my son Stephen and wife Jessie were able to visit in September, and that they and my son Andrew and wife Emily and they're children live close enough that we can take day trips to spend time with them outside and socially distanced. Our mild climate allows for outdoor visits most of the year. We were there to celebrate grandson Hudson's 5th birthday and watch him try out his new scooter from us and his other Valley grandparents,

to watch granddaughter Leah riding her new bike, likewise from us grandparents, shortly after she turned 7,

to watch Hudson's skateboard prowess, 

to watch Leah practice handstands (she reminds me of myself...)

to watch them play masked and barefoot in the park in November.

        In spring, we had lots of rain, which cleansed the air, allowed the rubber ducks to paddle in the garden, and most importantly, helped just a little to ease the drought we've been in for ten years.

We drove into the nearby foothills, where California poppies painted the hillsides gold,

    and other wildflowers lined the roads and filled the meadows: blue flax, purple lupine, yellow fiddleneck, white popcorn flower,

   

and redbud trees. And mamas watched over their calves.   

   

          I heard from my French sister—I lived with her family in France in 1971—finally, after a long time. She and "our" mother are safe in a village in the south of France.

We bought local oranges fresh off the trees, picked blueberries with friends at a nearby farm, 
     
cooked with and gave away lemons from our backyard tree, gorged on strawberries grown by a Hmong family in a field just down the street,
   
froze peaches grown by a local family and made cobbler, enjoyed vegetables from our garden cooked with spices a niece and her family gave me for my birthday, 
     

grew vegetables year round, and had artichokes enough to give away from a plant put in the ground just two months before!

          My son Stephen was going to take me to France in September for my 70th birthday! Well, of course, that didn't happen.

          And yet...he threw a surprise Zoom party for me—how else could I have celebrated with friends and family from literally all over the country? Cell phones, computers, ipads, 

FaceTime, Zoom—at least we can all hear and see each other no matter where in the world we are. Stephen and I chat, text, and facetime in French—we'll be even more prepared when that trip becomes possible!

          We converted our guest room to a home gym with a combination rowing machine/bike and Nordic Trac, and replaced the queen-size bed with a queen-size Murphy bed. We even got a second TV—unimaginable! Sadly, I can no longer ride a bike since, with 

my neck fusion, I lost my ability to easily balance, but I can ride a stationary bike:-) With the gym closed, I was also so grateful to have the use of friends' pool whenever I liked. 

          Being an introvert, the first few months of the pandemic I had plenty to do: finally finishing the quilt for our bed, crocheting a dinosaur blanket for Hudson,

     

crocheting a quilt with unicorn backing for Leah, sewing puppets for Leah and Hudson,

          

sewing bumpers for grandpup Calvin's bed, sewing facemasks for family, friends, and delivery folks. I even mended our clothes, a despised chore always buried at the bottom of any project pile. 
          

I binge-watched far too much, usually while sewing, crocheting, or ironing. We are grateful for a good Internet connection and the ability to pay for that as well as for streaming services. 
          And since we were homebound, why not have surgery?!? Two for me, one for Doug. (So much for swearing off the surgery-a-year routine I've had since 2013.) We are so fortunate to live when science, medicine, and engineering make repair and replacement of body parts possible. We are so fortunate to have amazing insurance, thanks to Doug's flying helicopters for the Navy in Vietnam and in the reserves. And, we are so fortunate that covid had not yet overwhelmed our hospital in June, so that I was able to have rectal prolapse repair, which required a two-night stay (fortunately not the predicted week or more) and was life changing for me. 

Doug had a total knee replacement in August, a one-night surgery center stay, followed a month later by my shoulder repair, for which they cut, repaired, and kicked me out. I commented after each, "Imagine telling our grandparents what we had done." I am so 

            

grateful, too, for my physical therapist, Rocky. He and his aides have shepherded me through it all, since my cervical spine fusion in 2013. 

          Friends, friends, friends. We try to uphold and support each other, to engage in discussions, to share our sadnesses and griefs, anger and confusion. We are blessed that no one we know has contracted covid. We got together with friends outside and socially distanced on our back patio and theirs. We are fortunate to have a local coffee kiosk with lovely outdoor seating. Being more the extrovert, Doug has made more use of it than I, but even I am glad for the occasional outing. We also bought a propane firepit. Wonderful to converse around or just stare into and keep warm. 

        Our yard blooms year round—calla lilies, pineapple sage, hibiscus,

    

crepe myrtle, Mexican sage, lavender,

    

lantana, killer cranberry sage,

daffodils, tulip trees, miniature daffodils—

      

and the birds entertain us, year round.

           There were a lot of summer and fall days when it wasn't just covid keeping us from seeing folks. California, as did other states, had a terrible wildfire season. Smoke blocked the sun and denigrated air quality. 

          And yet...being retired and living at the foot of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, we were able to make a mid-week escape in the van to Courtright Reservoir, at 8,000+ feet, where the air was cool and clear. I had never been,

and Doug had not been in decades. It was glorious. Sadly, Courtright would soon be closed as well due to wildfires.

          All our children and grandchildren, too, were able to get out and explore—lava beds, stand-up paddle boarding,
         

investigating bugs, the beach,

           

lakes, hikes,

          

exploring the mountains.

     Amazon, Zappos, REI, Target, Express Scripts, Abe-El Produce, Instacart, and everyone else we can order from online for home or easy-and-safe pick-up: we are so thankful for them, and to thank them just a little, we keep a supply of masks and snacks on the front porch.

          When we visited (outside, of course) Thanksgiving weekend, my older son, Andrew, commented that Leah had been asking to take piano lessons. A piano came with their new home. I said perhaps I could teach her via Zoom, but they already do so much Zoom for school. Then I said, "Well, you could teach her, until getting a teacher for her is possible," to which Andrew responded, "I'd have to learn to read treble clef again." I'd taught piano to booth the boys, starting at about age 5, the age when I, too, began. They subsequently took up strings, cello for Andrew, violin for Stephen, and became quite accomplished. With their string ensemble. They traveled to festivals around California, in Washington, DC, and in Vienna, Austria. I sent Andrew the adult beginner piano books that my dad had used, beginning in his 60s. Then I ordered the children's beginning books I and the boys had learned with—the art has been updated. Early one morning, I received this picture from Emily: before work and school piano lesson.

At Christmas we hung the angel flag, a gift from Aunt Gret years ago,

and from my work room I enjoyed our neighbor's joyful display evening and morning.

On Christmas Day, we drove to nearby Kings Canyon National Park and walked to the General Grant Tree, the Nation's Christmas Tree, a 1,500+-year-old Giant Sequoia, the second largest tree in the world. Talking to our neighbor, one of so many recent college

graduates whose life and career have been put on hold by the virus, Doug learned he'd never been to the park. He gave him $20 to cover the entrance fee and suggested he take his mom. The next day they texted us a picture of the General Grant Tree.

     Vaccines. I so recall the long needles for the first Polio vaccines, then going to the school cafeteria for the sugar cube vaccine. My father's youngest sister suffered from Polio, as does a good friend of ours. How fortunate we are. After getting shingles in 2018, though I'd had the original vaccine, I got the new vaccine as soon as I was able. I never want to have shingles again! Fortunately, Andrew and Emily, both in health care, have received the first coronavirus vaccine. 
     Yes, there is much for us to be grateful for, despite what 2020 brought. And yet...we miss our children and grandchildren so much we ache. As I said, it's been over a year now since we've seen Doug's children. A school year ended with no in-person classes for his son and wife, for our grandchildren. Another is long underway, still with no in-person classes. We want to hold our sons and daughters, our bonus sons and daughters, our grandchildren. How do we tell them this, too, shall pass? How do we reassure them? How do we reassure ourselves?