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The poet Gwendolyn Brooks once counseled us to “exhaust the little moment.” In these times, with larger cares weighing on everyone’s minds, making the most of a life in isolation seems no small feat. Yet people are finding and, thankfully, sharing small joys. Embracing that sentiment, 18 Times writers recently reflected on a bright spot during the pandemic. We invited readers to contribute their own stories, and more than 300 responded, from places as far away as Italy and Japan. Here are a few edited selections.
Full Speed Ahead
Niels Aaboe, Manhattan
Dory has no concept of social distancing. That’s why we go to Isham Park very early in the morning, when no one is around, with a Chuckit! launcher and two balls. And every time, she dances and jumps as she waits for the first toss. I throw it as far as I can and she takes off after the bright orange orb like a bullet from a gun. Chuckit! balls take crazy bounces, but Dory, a golden retriever, can field like Derek Jeter in his prime. She snares a short hop, makes the turn and comes running back at full speed. Without breaking stride, she spits out the ball and takes off after the other one, which I’ve thrown in the opposite direction.
We do this again and again, and she stops only when my arm finally gives out. Then she lies flat on her stomach, staring up at me while scything the grass with her tail. We walk home and count the hours until we can go back and do it again. Her joy brings me joy. Every single time.
In Her Hands
Pamela Rogers, Carlsbad, Calif.
There is something comforting at the most basic human level about baking bread to feed your loved ones. A few simple ingredients are mixed together in a bucket with bare hands. Then chemistry, the atmosphere in your home and tactile nurturing encourage the ball to double in size, rising to a pillowy mass that you can shape into something extraordinary. While in the oven, a heavenly aroma fills your space, and soon you can sit with your family to enjoy the miracle you have created.
During this pandemic, baking and leaving bread at the doorsteps of family and friends has brought me peace. How I handle and nurture my dough and my loved ones, how I shape my bread and my day — creating something beautiful out of a mess — is what matters while the world is at a standstill.
The Loveliest Sounds
Emer O’Connor-Keller, Minneapolis
At the end of long days, and after all the 5:30 family groups roaming the streets have retreated home, my 16-year-old daughter, Ellie, and I walk along Medicine Lake. As the light fades, she begins to talk. About everything. I am hearing the soundtrack of her experience. I am reminded of the nights when she was 4, after stories and lights out, when she opened up in the darkness with all that she thought and felt. I was thrilled then. I am in awe that it still works this way, and am ever so grateful.
The Best Company
Dianne Chrestopoulos, Huntsville, Texas
Adrianna, our daughter, came to stay with us, bringing her cat. It has been a blessing to get to spend so much time with her. I absolutely love it. Since we are retired, we basically do not have to go or be anywhere; my husband plays golf and works on things in and outside of the house. Adrianna and I have a routine that begins with dog walking at 7:15 a.m. Then we do some yoga, she begins her work online with her company, and I do my thing. Every two hours we stop and do 10 minutes of exercises. We make bread, dinner and desserts together, and all three of us laugh like little kids. I almost never want it to end.
More Than a Treat
Laurie Brenner, Santa Monica, Calif.
It has been very difficult for me, age 76, and my husband, Dwight, age 81, to accept that the things we have always done as active people are now impossible for us. Specifically, we can no longer grocery shop for ourselves without putting ourselves in significant danger. Reluctantly, I got in touch with a local volunteer agency that assigned an absolutely lovely woman to do our grocery shopping for us. On the list I initially gave her, I mentioned that the store makes incredible jumbo chocolate chip cookies that my husband adores. I was doubtful the store would be baking them under the circumstances. However, after dropping the groceries on our porch, she called over her shoulder, “There’s a cookie in there!” It made my husband’s day, and mine, and I expect hers too.
Fleeting Splendor
Hayley Rothman, Kanazawa, Japan
Like a lot of us lately, I’ve been struggling with how to deal with feelings of anxiety and fear, but seeing the sakura trees in full bloom along the route I walk to and from work has provided some well-needed comfort. The cherry blossoms in Japan are a well-known metaphor for the fleeting nature of beauty, but it was only after the outbreak that I found a way to truly appreciate them and their message. Maybe after all this is over, the post-corona society that emerges will start considering the everyday things we take for granted more like sakura flowers: beautiful, but not guaranteed to last forever.
Wide Open
Bonne Hotmann, Fort Collins, Colo.
My toddler, Easton, not quite 2, is mastering his balance bike. He is confident and fast. With nowhere to be and nothing important to do, he wakes every morning asking to go to the garage for his bike and helmet, and we allow him the hours to go up and down the driveway, down the sidewalk or on the dirt path. He looks for bumps and “chunk” to ride over and always wants to go down another hill. The hours on his bike in these last couple of weeks surpass that of the total hours on his bike over the last few months.
Our days were too full of work and friends and activities. Now his bike has become the equivalent of the friends he asked for repeatedly in the first few days and weeks at home. We welcome the bike riding, because, for us, it is a break from lifting and carrying and reading and playing and calming. Instead, we merely stand (or walk) in amazement. For us, this time has often felt like confinement, but for him, it feels like his first experience of freedom.
A New Outlook
Mary Jane Riley, Siena, Italy
Cutting my mother-in-law’s hair. She said it made her feel like a new person.
Staying in the Fight
Genevieve Flagello, Brooklyn
I’m a social worker at a hospital in New York City. I’m on a rotating schedule so I don’t go in every day. On days I do go in, I ride a friend’s borrowed bicycle to Manhattan to avoid subways. On the Williamsburg Bridge bike path are the words in graffiti, “Cheat Death NYC” and a heart. The combination of these bolstering words and the beautiful city skyline remind me that we’re New Yorkers. We can get through anything! Even this.
Game On
Staci Sturrock, Palm Beach Gardens, Fla.
When the county padlocked the public tennis courts, we hauled out a long-forgotten badminton set. When we accidentally broke the strings on those ancient rackets, we made up a game using our tennis rackets and a Wiffle ball. When that proved unmanageable, we ordered a game called Speedminton, and now here we are, a middle-aged couple running and yelling and sweating across a haphazard court we’ve marked in the street or in our yard, playing a sped-up game of badminton in a slowed-down world. Delaying the start of dinner or the dreaded trip to the store for “just one more game.” Kids again.
A Message That Sticks
Lisa Maycroft Kiner, Bloomington, Minn.
Since my early teens, my dad and I have bonded over peanut butter. Whenever a new jar came home from the store, I would quietly open it up and sculpt a heart in the unblemished deliciousness for my dad to find. As an adult, I have, at times, sneaked into the cupboard of my parents’ house to check for new peanut butter to leave a heart for my dad. Recently, as I found myself feeling lonely, I opened a new jar, drew a heart, and texted the photo to my dad. After his warm “thank you,” for that moment, I felt as if he were with me.
Buried Treasure
Debra Morris, Austin, Texas
Like so many others, I’ve found myself in the attic — cleaning, organizing, jettisoning whatever no longer serves or inspires. Among my daughter’s crayon and watercolor art projects, class photos, and the menu from the “Sweete Shoppe” she spent months imagining, I found a poem she had written for me. “She is radiant as the rising sun.” “Her face is fragrant like champaka” — a complete mystery, which I’m content for it to remain — “Her hair like incense.”
My daughter thought me beautiful then, as perhaps only a very young girl can. The memory made me happy, of course. But the line that seemed capable of saving me, erasing entire years when I felt I was flailing as a mother, was the wholly incongruous one: “She has capacities.” At least this once — and “once” can, at times, turn out to be more than enough — my daughter also knew me to be strong: “She is fearless / And free.” It is a precious thing to be reminded that we have “capacities.” We have all done this before. Some of us have mothered, all of us have tended to the needs of others; we’ve provided shelter, radiated warmth, loved and moved one another in mysterious ways — and we will do it again.
Gliding as One
Marcia Madeira, Yonkers, N.Y.
Almost every day, my husband and I practice the fox trot. He grew up doing the Latin dances — rumba, cha cha, danzón — but no fox trot in Mexico. With the help of YouTube and videos of friends, we started learning the variations. I put on my leather bottom heels, he puts on big band music or standards, and our living room becomes a ballroom. Above the ceiling molding that encircle the room, I dim up the Italian lights, which twinkle and transport us away. We were planning on dancing on two cruises that were canceled in March. We’ll be ready when the ships sail again. We love our daily dancing date, we’re getting good at it, and it’s bringing us closer together.
Still a Go
Tara Halt, Arlington, Va.
My grad school friends and I are proud space nerds. On April 11, we planned a virtual movie night to watch “Apollo 13” together in honor of the 50th anniversary of the launch. It makes my heart full to have found kindred spirits, who, instead of texting “Are you ready?” asked, “Are we go for launch?” Even though we had all seen “Apollo 13” many times, there was something comforting about watching a movie together and knowing that 50 years ago three astronauts felt just as uncertain about their future as we do now. They survived their journey by trusting each other and mission control. The world will make it through this too by trusting each other and science.
New Lessons All Around
Rachel Miller, Georgetown, Mass.
Last week, I ran my first virtual small-group kindergarten class. We read a book, practiced our letters and sounds, and did some math; all this to the tune of a dying, chirping fire detector, the clanging of dishes being put away, a dog barking and radio silence from the child whose audio wasn’t working. One student would disappear and return carrying her cat, then lie down on the couch, while another wriggled and squirmed, clearly uncomfortable in his too-big chair.
It was every bit as awkward and wonderful as I’d imagined. Not only did I see my kids, but I saw my kids in one of the most authentic ways possible: at home, in their space, with their families (and pets). Don’t get me wrong. Virtual teaching and learning is less than ideal. But I’m beginning to get a glimpse into the lives of my students outside of school in a way that has never been possible. Also, they saw my dog walk by in the background, and it dawned on them that teachers have houses and families, too.
In public schools across the United States, we rush and race to get through content to prepare students for a standardized test. All of it feels (dare I say, is) inauthentic and procedural, but on that Thursday, as I sat in my kitchen with three of my kindergartners, in all of its awkwardness and discomfort, all I felt was gratitude. I saw their smiling faces and knew that they were OK.
Easter Surprise
Patty Ware, Juneau, Alaska
I took a walk on Easter Sunday, mindful of the oddness of the day. No Easter Mass, church doors closed, streets deserted. The dinner I planned would be for just my husband and me and an elderly neighbor. As I rounded the corner, I spotted him. I shrieked. The Easter bunny! I’m not ashamed to admit I did this from nearly two streets away. When he saw me rushing closer, he began to dance, then to do jumping jacks, then wave. It stayed with me through the day and beyond. I still have the photos on my phone, to remind me when I again sink into darkness.
A View of the Past
Lucia Cheng, Los Angeles
After relocating from the college campus I’ve learned to call home, I’m back in the town I grew up in. It feels a lot like going back to square zero, getting a taste of what could’ve been, and biting my tongue instead. But being back in the place of my childhood has also reminded me of what I value, the hopes and dreams I wanted to see happen. A return to sincere wishes. Outside my window, the lights of L.A. blink on every night, the same lights I stared at countless times in moments of pubescent crises. And they still blink at me now, behind each light a person, a community still holding together, a beacon almost. I’m reminded that I’m not alone.
Brotherly Love
Melissa Rice, Powhatan, Va.
My boys have always had a love-hate relationship, but as my oldest went off to high school, their relationship drifted further apart. As my youngest laid in bed crying about missing his friends in the beginning of all of this, he looked at me with these doe eyes and said, “The one good thing about this is that Gavin is hanging out with me more.”
Conner was so sweet and vulnerable at that moment, and so right. They were spending so much time together outside building forts, setting up targets for BB guns, riding bikes, playing video games and watching TV. And it hasn’t been just the fun stuff. I have caught my oldest son helping his little brother with his online Spanish class and have heard conversations filled with advice and problem solving, and it just melts my heart. There are going to be so many negative long-term effects from Covid-19, but this bond will not be one of them.
Weathering It Together
Karim Doumar, Brooklyn
As the Brooklyn sky darkened with thunder this afternoon, I propped open my front door with a fire extinguisher and just looked out as my street was pelted with sideways rain. Across the street, the second- and fourth-floor residents were peering out their windows, also watching the dramatic storm whip up our street. The neighbor on the fourth floor saw me and waved. I waved back. The neighbor on the second floor saw me waving and twisted his neck to look at the neighbor on the fourth floor. He waved. I waved again. We’d never interacted before, but for a brief moment, we shared the storm with each other.
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