They say denial ain’t just a river, but 2020 has been flooded with it. From COVID debunkers to a president who won’t concede the election, 2020 is the crazy man at the podium who refuses to admit his hair dye is running down his temple.
When I was a kid, I loved Pippi Longstocking. I remember her being a bit eccentric and unconventional, but what I loved most about her was that she had red hair like me. I had no idea that these books were thirty years old when I was reading them, or that they were written by a Swedish woman, Astrid Lindgren, who was ever bit as unorthodox for her time as the character she created.
Is the pandemic a blip on the radar? Or will it have long-term lasting effects on the way we live? At a time when we can’t seem to agree on anything, it’s no surprise that we’re divided on predictions of how it will all pan out.
I haven’t been around here for a while. I’ve been busy doing this and that, and sometimes not much at all. But when a writer gets a gift, they have to take it. Today, I received one in the form of a writing prompt.
Did you know it has been 20 years since the decade of the brain? The Decade of the Brain, from 1990 – 1999, was an initiative by the National Institute of Mental Health of the National Institutes of Health “to enhance public awareness of the benefits to be derived from brain research.”
I started reading The Opposite of Certainty, a memoir by Janine Urbaniak Reid, because it’s another story about someone with a brain tumor. This time it was the author’s young son. I’m an astrocytoma survivor and I think I’ve read every book there is on brain tumors trying to find myself in the story. Even as I tried, I never quite found the same story, until now.
A few months ago I wrote about how I was struggling as many were with quarantine brain and the only antidote was activities that put me in a state of flow. Even though life has returned a bit to normal and I am going out a little more, including to a few stores and a few restaurants, I’m still finding that activities hands-on activities are enjoyable. One new one recently has been making mosaics.
As a writer, words are important to me. I usually write quickly, but still choose my words carefully. When I type, my cursor usually doesn’t just go one way. It goes forward and backward as I write and rewrite, making sure to choose the words I really want to say. When I choose the wrong word, I pick another one.
In the wake of the uprisings following George Floyd’s death, words matter more than ever. A group of artists are showing that now in an area hit by destruction.
Just as the pandemic was beginning in February, my husband and I traveled to Laos and Cambodia. It seems like a lifetime ago now when there was so much uncertainty. As we talked to local drivers and tour guides, they talked about this potential threat. As a driver took us to the airport through the teeming streets of Siem Reap, Cambodia, to the outskirts where it seemed the hotels just stopped, he spoke about what it could do to his livelihood if tourism was affected.
A few weeks ago I saw an article on the elephants in Thailand returning to their homes from tourist camps. Without tourists, the locals are suffering and do not have the money to pay for the land, the food, and the salaries of those who work there.
Speech class was part of my high school curriculum. Our teacher made her grading system clear. I don’t remember how speeches were graded, though probably some mix of content and performance. What sticks in my mind after all these years, were the consequences for not preparing your speech. If you missed a speech, you received 20 zeroes.