Write.

My wife Heidi saw me moping around this morning. She was getting ready to leave for work -- long story, but this crisis has actually increased her hours in a specific area of her expertise (not directly in the medical field). And there I was, coffee cup in hand, flannel shirt untucked … really, life untucked at this point. Moping. Not something I’m prone to doing. But that’s what I was doing. I’m sure I wasn’t alone, 7:30 a.m., March 19, 2020, moping. “You hanging in there?” she said, on the way out the door. “Sorta. Barely. I guess,” I mumbled. She implored me as the door shut behind her: “Write.” One word. Simple. Write. She knows I find solace in writing, that when words flow on my laptop, I’m at ease and find some peace. Stringing together words and sentences with some level of coherence (this is subject to debate and I would not argue with anyone who would refute my writing style) might be one of the few skills I have. I excel – revel, even – in low-skill tasks. Tell me to go to the deli to get a half-gallon of milk, unload groceries from the car, type in bowling scores (back when I worked at the Poughkeepsie Journal), do the laundry, maybe even mow the lawn … on and on and on, I do all of these tasks enthusiastically, jump into them with great vigor, in fact. That’s because tasks that require even a low level of manual dexterity – replacing a headlamp in my car, hanging a backboard and basketball hoop to the tree by our driveway, unclogging a sink or toilet, figuring out why the lawnmower won’t start! – send me into a mini-panic. Why? Because I stink at them!

So, Heidi tells me to write. If only it were as easy as sitting down at the laptop and banging out words, similar to walking over to the deli and getting milk and cold cuts, or walking up and down my yard pushing the mower, or doing the laundry, or going to the pharmacy to pick up prescriptions. Those tasks can be done by rote, not a lot of thought involved; added perk = I can even listen to sports talk radio or podcasts while doing some of them! That works for me. Writing comes easier to me than the manual dexterity stuff. But it’s not automatic; words don’t flow on demand. As Warren Haynes has sung, the spirit has to move me. These words, such as they are, came to me while I showered; showering in the middle of the day, for no particular reason, is another oddity of this odd time. They also came to me as I walked Sammie (one of our dogs) up and down the street. Our dogs are getting spoiled by all this attention. Frequent walks. Other humans flopping on the couch with them during the day, usually the space they occupy in solitude while we are out living our lives.

Living our lives. What’s going on here? So many of us are asking this right about now. As I have said before, we lack a roadmap for this. I know I certainly do. This is still “Spring Break” for us, a period when I usual bask in the extra time at home. Get stuff done. Maybe attend a weekday Mass. Enjoy the solitude and less frantic pace of the season, knowing that the outdoor track season is a blur of practices and recruiting and bus trips – the month of April, in particular is one nonstop blob of activity. Uh. Was. What now? What new routines must we form? Along with it all, I feel like I’m homeschooling. An hour of homework here. An hour of “recess” there – get outside and do something, I implore my school-aged children. Today is drizzly and rainy and chilly. We’ll have to get creative with recess.

Write. OK. What else. Our governor, Andrew Cuomo, has been the closest person I can find who creates a roadmap for us. I listen to him and oddly I feel better. He’s not telling us any good news, but the way he tells it to us gives us a roadmap for a highway we’ve never been on. I don’t even remember if I voted for him, but I’m proud to say he’s my governor right now. We’re all in this together? Yes and no. We’re all trying to navigate our way through this. Healthcare workers are on the frontlines; they are our heroes. Pray for them. Service workers, small business owners, restaurant and bar owners and workers … they are on the frontlines of serious economic hardship, layoffs, disruption in income, staring them in the face right now. Pray for them as well. There you go. My wife tells me to write. I write. Closing in on 800 words. Not sure exactly what I’ve said. What I’ve accomplished with these words. But when my wife tells me to do something, anything, I jump to action. She knows me best. Today, she makes me write. She makes me right. Thank you.