Remedies

I’m helping my seven-year-old friend to write a story. She invents the setting, characters, and adventures and narrates these to me, and I type it out for her. This one is about a place she calls Candy Cat Beach, where the sand is pink and the sky is purple. A menagerie of colorful creatures with wings and unicorn horns live peaceably together at Candy Cat Beach, and whatever problems they encounter are ultimately solved with magic.

But the real magic, of course, is my little friend’s imagination and enthusiasm, and I feel so fortunate to have a role in her life. Our current project is being conducted via zoom, but her exuberance splashes from the screen and sparkles like the gems on the crown of the Queen of the Golden Dolphins, and for a little while, I’m thinking about turquoise-winged animals in a purple sky above a silver sea. And believe me, that’s a refreshing change. Working with a child is a privilege and a joy, a remedy for the hurts and hindrances of the day.

Walks help too, as I have always known. Yesterday I walked with my friend Françoise through a landscape of white fog and dirt roads, and it was healing. We did a lot of venting in the course of our eight-mile loop, but also a lot of encouraging and reflection.

I’m seeking ways to be of service — for example, I’ve started writing letters to unregistered and low-propensity voters encouraging them to participate in our democracy by voting in November’s crucial election. Does this really make a difference? I honestly don’t know. Maybe it’s mostly a form of therapy for myself, but I need to feel I am “doing” something. (The organization is called Vote Forward, if anyone out there is interested.)

On a more personal level, I’ve been trying to check in with friends and family members, calling and texting, sending books and handwritten notes now and then. Everyone is feeling it–the isolation, the strangeness, the sadness—it’s a season for kindness and diligence, and I’ve noticed that whatever light I shine illuminates my own path too.

Another fine remedy is take-away pizza eaten outside with a like-minded couple who sit at least six feet apart from you, especially if they are your next door neighbors, and you walk an oak-lined trail along the creek to get to their house. And as you eat your meal you watch the sinking sun turn the hills bright gold, and after dinner, they walk you home, and night turns the sky deep periwinkle blue, and just above the southeastern horizon, Jupiter gleams, and the world is full of mystery and wonder.