I just got back from a soup exchange, and I’m very excited about choosing my soup for tomorrow’s lunch. About 12 of us gathered in a friend’s front yard, each of us bearing portions of homemade soup to share. The idea is to bring 10 eight-ounce containers of soup and leave with 10 new ones. Actually, three of us (including me), should have tripled our recipes instead of doubling them because we came with eight and left with eight. I scraped every last bit out of the pot to fill up the eighth container. I was kicking myself because mine came out delicious, and now I won’t get any. It’s a pureed carrot soup with a chermoula drizzle. Well, at least I know which soup I’m making next.
I see some of these women on a regular basis and weathered the pandemic with them, but it was really nice to see the others and catch up. They were very curious about how school is going, and as I talked with one woman, I described how coming out of this pandemic with the students feels like peeling back layer after layer of sleep. At the beginning of the year, I was so excited to be back in the classroom and overjoyed to see them interacting with one another that it took me a while to realize how much the pandemic set them back, to fully register the fragility with which they have come to us.
I notice a slight fragility in myself and other adults, as well. I feel a greater hesitancy to socialize with people beyond my usual bubble. I feel more tired than I used to after flitting from one conversation to the next. After about an hour, we all packed up our soups, thanked our host, and drove or walked home. The tone was upbeat but definitely more subdued than in years past.
I started blogging again for a number of reasons, but one important one is that it will help me to see the bigger picture of the effect of the pandemic on me and those around me over time. I feel I can’t quite see the forest for the trees yet.
My Corner of the Village 