Something to Celebrate

I woke up this morning thinking 'just another day'. The Fourth of July, 2020—Independence Day—doesn't have much to recommend it. A deadly pandemic, police, protesters—the whole country has gone viral with a sickness that has no easy cure. Like plenty of other people, I've been sheltering alone since mid-March, experiencing frenetic highs and lows only a trip to the grocery store will flatten, since it's too hot now here in South Carolina to get outdoors for some fresh air and perspective.

My holiday plan is the same as always: to put together the ubiquitous summery menu—creamy cole slaw spiked with cider vinegar and shallots, fresh corn on the cob, and barbeque ribs fully cooked courtesy of my favorite supermarket, Harris Teeter, thank you very much. I ditched the customary dill potato salad. I lacked the inspiration to run to the store for potatoes, but give me credit for sublimating my blues and going through the motions of holiday food preps.

Cooking for a crowd, eating solo. I'm not complaining. I'm luckier than many. But living life in my head is wearing thin—the phone connections are, too. What is there to chat about when life as we know it has been arrested? Hadn't we hoped that by summer the warm weather and all our distancing and masking efforts would have beaten down the virus? I had. Not enough effort, I guess. Now, along with dozens of others, our great state is backsliding into a new wave of Covid cases.

With so much time on my hands, I've recently come up with lots of new ways to spend it. Volunteering, mainly, is what I'd like to do more of—for the Charleston Animal Society, maybe deliver farm boxes for GrowFood Carolina, work for the local Democratic headquarters. But then, remembering, dang, I'm part of the “vulnerable population,” and probably should just stay put. Yet I don't feel elderly or enfeebled—sometimes I even behave badly, or just plain forget, and go where I shouldn't. Not anymore.

Back to the present. Time for a self-inventory, and maybe some positive energy to buoy the day. Okay, when my gym shutdown I felt rudderless, until my daughter gave me a nudge and I added Holy Cow Yoga’s online practice to my workout routine. The mind-body connection is better than any gym, and seeing those faces pop up on my Zoom screen really gives me a new sense of community.

Check.

It may be too hot to hit the nature trail on foot, but I've resolved to hop on it with my trusty beach cruiser. It's lied fallow for a year and a half, but the new bicycle air pump I ordered will be coming any day now, lifting those flat tires, and my spirits too.

Then it dawned on me—this is the day I launched my blog three years ago. Deliberately, on the Fourth of July, to claim my independence—freedom to say what I want, when I want to, not at best, the expected, the assigned, or at worst, the banal. I've neglected Sweetgrass + Grits. Time to make amends. This is a start.

I do have something to celebrate, after all.

Happy July 4th!