THE FIRST TIME I heard the oxymoron social distancing was just prior to my on-time departure from corporate society. I understood the term as distancing myself from what I was required to do around other people in nearby cubicles; I was headed for the freedom of creativity, my new mission. As I left the office complex, I thought to myself, "I finally get the chance to do what I WANT to do." I still chuckle at the fact that, even at this age, I fail to remember that life seldom-to-never gives us what we really want.
Less than three days after my retirement, a tiny virus labeled COVID19 invaded mankind. It was branded a pandemic and every country, city, hamlet, and household began to close their doors and refuse anyone unknown inside. And sometimes, especially if they had a cough or sneezed, friends and family were rejected unless they had a mask and face shield.
Being a Southern-born-and-raised boy, it is in my genes to socialize. How could anyone expect some of the most gregarious spinners-of-yarns on the planet to remain sequestered indefinitely? I first noticed how bad the situation was becoming when I couldn’t chat with my friend Shorty down at Ace Hardware about supplies I needed for my latest project. He stood ten feet away, wearing a mask that made his voice sound fuzzy, like that old robot voice on the “plane train” down at the Atlanta airport. Even more curious, he fidgeted while slowly backing away!
In a younger day, growing up just north of Atlanta, if somebody needed help, the neighbors banded together to fix the problem, no matter how busy everybody was. It’s just the way Southern people acted. We would break out the chain saws, water hoses, hammers and nails, whatever it took, and the next thing you know, some of the best food that ever went into a human mouth began to appear. Everything is better at a picnic. My grandmother called that reaction, "a laying on of hands."
We all thought we’d seen everything, didn’t we? But we’d never seen a worldwide pandemic that could be survived (evidently) by avoiding people, sheltering in place, washing our hands often as we sang, Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star (to properly time how long we were to wash), thus delaying its spread. Love thy neighbor, as always, but online only, not at church services! Oh, and don't go to the chiropractor's office. Information courtesy of our next-door neighbor, the CDC. Or was it really? Sigh. It’s been a loooooong 24 months and then some!
One day, instead of helping the new folks in the neighborhood move in, I had to pace around in my back yard or watch from the front porch. I was gratified they had professional movers to do the heavy lifting, though I think the whole thing would have been a lot more welcoming with neighbors involved, no masks, and dishes filled with homemade delights.
I remember it was a breezy day, and we live on a hill. AND we have a lot of old, tall trees up here. Suddenly, one of those big ones fell across the street and hung suspended on power lines from both sides, just inches above a parked car. Several of us neighbors heard the ruckus and ran to see if we could help. A few lines were down and we cautioned some nearby children, cyclers, and approaching traffic; the power was out.
But then we realized we were near each other without our masks. We didn’t care. We had our shots! Besides, we wanted to help and were concerned about each soul, so we stood and chatted a few minutes—glad to catch up. But, well, just as quickly we meandered back up our driveways. I thought to myself as I shuffled along, with head down and hands in my pockets, about how much it seems like we’re not living in the South now.
I take to driving when I can’t stand being in the house any longer. That’s more often as time goes on. I usually pick up a treat from the Starbucks drive through. As I'm writing this, it is a beautiful Spring and it does my heart good to see the stunning vistas of the season everywhere I turn. The traffic is still thinner than normal. I make a few runs to Kroger, Publix, and the Oak Grove Market to refuel the fridge now and then. It’s not the same.
People avoid each other—even eye contact. But, you know, we’re just doing what we think we need to do to protect each other. I’ve no doubt. I feel it in my Southern soul that someday, maybe soon, we’ll gather to finish the healing that began with those brave healthcare workers, (including my wife, a CRNA) who put their lives on the line for us. And I hope when that time comes, Southernness will rise again, and there will be a great laying on of hands!
©️ Copyright 2021 MyPericope.com; #Christian Meditations and Devotionals aaa~Gary Landerfelt
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