Five Years a Writer

This pandemic has dragged on long enough, don't you think?  As it continues on its seemingly (though hopefully not) inexorable trajectory, I am counting time in a variety of ways: How many months have I been working from home? When did I last have a relaxed face-to-face visit with a friend? How frequently did I apply hand sanitizer yesterday? When can I go happily browsing in my local bookstore again? And so on.  But the biggest way that I am marking time in month 15 of COVID-19 is by how frequently I am resorting to, shall we say, hair accessories.  Normally, I wash my (short and neat) hair, comb it into place, let it air dry and then forget about it.  These days, I am struggling to not constantly push it off my forehead, out of my eyes and off my shirt collar. Sheesh! Too long for comfort (or style) but not long enough to do anything interesting with — like a casual pony tail or chic chignon or something. (I’ve never had either a pony tail or a chignon, of course,...

Hey, Amanda, he said. Are you counting down the days yet? Only two and a half weeks to go!  No, no, said I. It's three and a half weeks, and there's still plenty on my to-do list to knock off before I leave.  Hmmm, he said. Look at the calendar.  And I did. And he was right.  Just like that, the time has disappeared out from under me and I find myself today with just 13 working days (17 calendar days) before leaving for retirement. How did that happen? Is this always how it goes?  I figure I've been working or studying in some combination since I was 5. By my calculation (accurate?), that's 55 years of a certain rhythm and pattern to my years and months. Suddenly that is going to change.  I feel a bit like I've been on a fast-paced moving-sidewalk (like the ones in large airports) and I'm approaching the end of the ride, readying myself for stepping OFF...onto stationary ground. And just like that, the rhythm will change.  I feel I am ready for th...