They defy our digging.
They acquire biological resistance
To annihilation by pesticides.
They rebound after amputation by steel mower blades.
They thrive in burning deserts
And pop up in mountain snowfields.

How is it possible for the pandemic to have a silver lining? In 2020 all of us stayed home hunting for the best streaming series, searching for a tasty new recipe, walking our dogs endlessly around the neighborhood, ordering boxes and boxes and more boxes of stuff from Amazon, and reading our days away.

She holds the syringe above my right arm.Pink liquid glistens in the vial.“Ready?” Her quiet voice is calm.Her fingers grip a bit of my skin and muscle.“Yes,” I barely whisper, a lump in my throat,Also wanting to scream, cry, do a cartwheel. “Yes!” “Yes!”

Soon-- not having to live in fear!

What did you read in 2020? Reading was one of the ways I escaped my unpredictable world. I was looking for distraction, a way to shake off thoughts of COVID-19, the news, and the hope to find some joy. For me, the most meaningful book for 2020 was: What Keeps Me Standing Letters from Black Grandmothers on Peace, Hope, and Inspiration by Dennis Kimbro.

Taylor, our grandson, is a high school junior with a passion for ski racing--training for the Vail Ski Team every day, 8:00 AM- 12:00. Then school from noon until five. Even before ski racing ends, baseball practice begins—middle infield, with shortstop his fave. Soccer goalie in the fall—if COVID-19 allows. All the while keeping up stellar grades and National Honor Society responsibilities.

She is the light of our life, a beacon of hope, especially this year. During this holiday season she is a gift to us. The next photos show our granddaughter, Addison, performing as the Sugar Plum Fairy in The Nutcracker Ballet in 2019. This year, 2020, brought sadness for family and friends when the production could not happen because of the virus—but our memories sustain us. She is an extraordinary talent….

She backed into my driveway,

Vaulted out of the car,

And sprinted to my porch.

Eyes open wide in black framed glasses,

Lizard green tank top, arms printed with purple tattoos.

Smokey air shrouds my mountains splendor.

Grays and Torreys peaks veiled, but hikers persevere.

Covid lurks behind hikers’ masks.

Will there be a plan? A vaccine? A million deaths?

I want to flee, to bolt, to travel back in time, or forward?

The weight of making my own decisions hung heavy. Nerves rang: Can I really do this? The course catalogue was overwhelming. I was a hummingbird darting from flower to flower. Which one has the best nectar? I settled into Biology, Physics, World History, Botany, Comparative Anatomy, Advanced Freshman English, and German.

Broiling sun with muggy airFilled our limbs with torporAnd drenched our foreheads with sweat.We held thumbs over the end of the garden hoseAnd sprayed cold water over us until we squealed,But were hot again in minutes.

During the years that followed graduate school I had the opportunity for varied employment: a science and language arts teacher, various part-time writing posts, a full time position with the US Fish and Wildlife Service, and for more than 30 years, coauthor of a biology book for a major publisher. Racial disparity and injustice for minorities and women still existed in the occupations mentioned above.

I am a woman with white privilege. I have the privilege of living my life not conscious of my skin color. I grew up in the 50’s in a small country town in western Massachusetts where there were few people of color. I knew that certain words were demeaning…

In the cafeteria where seniors ate lunch together, Michael, a promising concert violinist with many winning competitions already under his belt, said to the young man beside him, “Don’t you think we should be planning what we should do for the Senior Prank?”

Where is the virus hiding?On my grocery bags? My carrots? My cereal box?Will its tiny hooks take hold in my hair?Under my fingernails? Will I breathe it in?

A raven preens its feathers,Its roost, a cottonwood with tiny new leaves.A fox hunts--arcing nose-dive for a mouse.

We try to watch, a hopeful distraction from pain,Relentless, stabbing, filling our bodies, our souls.By night the pain fills his every cell, my every pore.

Stop whatever you are doing and get the book titled The Goldfinch. Get it at the library. Get it at the bookstore. Order it online. Listen to it on Audible, or for free on Axis 360. Listen on any device you own. This is the best book you will ever read.

Want a new delicious sweet and tangy side dish for your Christmas dinner table? Try the Finnish recipe for lanttulaatikko, mashed rutabaga casserole. In Finland it is one of the traditional dishes served, along with other casseroles, turkey, and ham, for Christmas dinner. When my grandparents came from Finland, they brought this recipe with them.

The bandit springs from nowhere

Scurrying over thin deck railings with lush furry tail holding balance.

Its sleek brown pelt taut over rippling muscles

As it leaps from limb to limb to find a tasty morsel.

Anxiety is a werewolf you become.

It hides, angry, sullen, alone.

Until your teeth become its fangs ready to attack, your hair its fur, on end.

Anxiety—yourself no more, personality gone, brain lost.

In Part One of this series I mentioned that over my years of travel, seat-mates, friends, family, acquaintances, and others had speculated that my traveling life was so glamorous, so exciting, and such a wonderful adventure. Sometimes trips were pleasant, but sometimes they were terrible. In 2005 some airline flights did not have security screening….