Unprecedented Challenging Time of Crisis

You’d think, what with the pandemic, that I’d’ve had more time for blogging over the past several months. But no – somehow it seems as though I’ve had far, far less.

I hope no one’s been too worried about my wellbeing. I’m safe, and healthy, and employed, and able to work from home. Andrew and I have always had enough toilet paper (though it was close!), and we enjoy one another’s company. So I’ve been among the lucky ones here in the States. I hope all of you can say the same.

All that said, though, I’ll admit that I’ve felt significantly less than wonderful through all this. I do all right navigating stressful times in terms of keeping the necessary pieces in motion, but it does wear on me in ways I’m often unsure how to manage. It could be that expecting any different is completely unreasonable – these are, after all, wildly unprecedented, challenging, emotionally draining times. But I think it’s fair to say that I greatly dislike feeling anxious and overwhelmed and helpless all the time for months on end, and I’d really prefer to not feel this way. I think that’s fair.

So a lot of my time has been spent self-soothing. Andrew and I have been fortunate to live close enough to local trails to enjoy frequent hikes this spring, so I’ve been using my iNaturalist app to identify wildflowers. I’m partial to the tangled purple vetches that took over the hillsides in April and the woolly Indian paintbrush tucked along the shadier, rockier paths. Andrew loves the blue-eyed grass and the sprawling patches of white and violet lupines materializing from day to day. We’re both enjoying watching the blackberry brambles putting up their wide happy flowers, and spotting the first few green berry clusters starting to form as the first petals begin to die back.

We’ve also seen some fun wildlife – turkeys, deer, gopher snakes, alligator lizards, a North American racer snake my sister later told me is extremely hard to photograph since they’re so fast. The turkeys freaked me out one evening, gobbling at me from the trees above the trail. I didn’t realize turkeys roosted in trees. Now I know!

Andrew pointed out a couple weeks ago that whenever I told him I was “resting” after work, he’d discover me feverishly clicking through news coverage on YouTube, refreshing the latest fatality numbers, and spiraling down internet forums that only seemed to agitate me further.

“That doesn’t seem very restful,” he observed carefully, knowing how defensive I can get about these things.

And of course he was right. You shouldn’t need to rest from your resting. This is why Andrew’s so great. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather shelter in place with.

Around the same time, my friends – who started a tongue-in-cheek Doomsday WhatsApp group soon after all this began – started fussing at me to take better care of myself. “We know you’re worried about other people, Crystal,” they said. “But you need to remember to worry about yourself.” This is why my friends are so great.

I’ve watched a great deal of Hulu and tried my best to make art when I can. I’ve gotten into pen-and-ink again, for the first time since late high school, and I think I enjoy it more now than I did then. I’ve made cloth masks for Andrew and me, out of some of my favorite fabric prints, which I’d been saving for something special. There’s been quilting – I used some of the money I didn’t spend on gas to order some nice thread I needed for an ongoing project. Card-making. Origami.

There was a weird moment, with the masks, the first time I folded laundry after washing some of them. I didn’t know where they went, and I didn’t know how to fold them. Here I was, at almost 33 years old, with this completely new item of clothing to put away. These pretty little cloth creations, made out of my favorite fabrics (some with skulls and roses, others with gauzy pink batik designs, others in prints Andrew refers to as “grandma flowers”) – all pleated and tangled up in each other’s ties.

I puzzled over them for a minute, then folded them in half hamburger-style and rolled them up into little tubes to add to my socks-and-underwear drawer. They strike me as a sock-and-underwear item. This must be what they mean when they say the New Normal. Now there are masks in my laundry, and it’s normal. They go in my socks-and-underwear drawer. There’s a proper way of folding them. Apparently it’s normal now.

It’s definitely still weird to see them in my laundry as I unload the dryer.

I’m expecting to be wearing them for at least a year at this point. And I don’t mind, really. It’s another accessory, and one that lets other things be a bit more normal. When I see people out on the nature trails, I can stand six feet away from them while I excitedly tell them, through my purple-splashed mask, why the California bay laurels look so spooky or why I’m so excited about the turkey vultures hanging out in the oak branches. Having made the masks myself makes me feel more in control. In times like these, I desperately crave every little bit of control I can get.

For that reason, I’ve been grateful for my job. Working in the nonprofit sector, I’m tangentially addressing with the pandemic’s effects. I may be stuck at home, but my actions are helping, and they’re helping other people help as well. There’s comfort in that.

I guess that’s the wonder here, glittering through all the muck and drama, the protests and the finger-pointing, the loss and the futility. We wrestle through things. It’s messy. We have our big feelings and we express them in big ways. But we kind of eke out some kind of stubborn hopefulness from day to day. It might not even be hopefulness. More a deep-seated will to survive. We fumble around for reasons even when we’re not thinking about it.

We create things. We try. We make jokes about the toilet paper to help each other laugh in the face of the absurdity in the catastrophe. We figure it out, maybe, sort of. We figure out what to make of it. Or we try to, day by day.

Someday, the sense we’ve tried to make day by day will make a picture they’ll write about in history books, and it’ll be something complicated and ineffable that we can’t fully see now. But it’ll be ours, and those of us who have lived through it will each feel some kind of way about it. There’s something wonderful and strange and human in that.

But it’s definitely very weird to live through, I’ll tell you that.


Let me know in the comments how you’re doing. Have you found any wonder as we’ve navigated the pandemic together as a world? Have you created anything cool since this began?

If you like what you’ve read and want more, please follow or sign up via email—the link is in the right-hand sidebar! You can also find me on my Facebook page and Instagram!

Happy witnessing!

The Problem of Socks

(Not a sponsored post. Just a post about a product I’ve never used, but am fascinated by.)

I first discovered the Sock Slider while waiting for a prescription at my local pharmacy.

Since it was spring (and thus nowhere near Halloween), I’d already exhausted the “seasonal” aisle. Spending too much time in the “candy and chocolate” section seemed a dangerous occupation. And so I turned listlessly down “As Seen on TV,” checking the time and wondering whether my name had been lost in the intercom static minutes before.

Looking away from my phone in this most torpid of moments, my gaze fell upon a middle shelf, and my consciousness awakened forever to the pinnacle of modern technology: the Sock Slider.

 

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Socks hanging off the back of a wooden chair. Photo by Jisu Han on Unsplash

Continue reading “The Problem of Socks”

Memento Mori V – Or, The Deer and the Turkey Vultures

CW: Animal death, decomposition, blood, death

The deer had been struck by a car a few hours before, as the sun warmed the early-dawn horizon. At least, I could only assume this was the case. I hadn’t seen the impact—wasn’t present for any last struggles or last breaths. All I had was the evidence as I came upon it: the fresh deer carcass, glossy-coated and gracefully arranged even in death, surrounded by seven or eight dark, stooped turkey vultures going about their grim business like so many Reapers.

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Close-up of a turkey vulture’s head and shoulders. Photo by Steve Harvey on Unsplash

Continue reading “Memento Mori V – Or, The Deer and the Turkey Vultures”

Five Tips for Living a Wonder-filled Life

If you’ve been following Crystal Witnesses Wonders, you know I usually use quirky personal anecdotes as the basis for my posts. But what if you’d like to experience more wonder in your own life? What if you’d like to spend more time in awe, more time amazed, more time delighted at the world around you?

Let’s take an experimental detour this week. If it’s a dreadful disappointment, we’ll return immediately to our regular programming and never speak of this again. If you’d like more content like this, please say so in the comments below. I’ll definitely have more to say about each of these five tips.

But right now, let’s dip our toes into some how-to goodness. Keep reading for advice on the Adventure AttitudeStarting Small, Making Mindfulness, Cultivating Curiosity, and Gathering Gratitude.

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Man staring at a starry night sky. Photo by Cody Board on Unsplash

Continue reading “Five Tips for Living a Wonder-filled Life”

All the Profound Clarity of the Gods

Communication did not become a problem until I moved towards the register. The woman behind the counter remained stationary, hands on either side of my donut box, giving me an urgent, confused look and gesturing with an open hand to the donut display before her.

I mimicked the gesture, my hand indicating the register. “Okay kha,” I said, nodding. “Finished.”

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Multiple assorted donuts. Photo by Rod Long on Unsplash

Continue reading “All the Profound Clarity of the Gods”

Exquisite Awareness – Or, Red Elephant Chocolate

In early October of 2015, I stood with Andrew in a Wisconsin chocolaterie, sipping a hot chocolate sample with my eyes closed. Luscious cream warmed my lips and tongue. Sweetness ached in my cheeks, and as the liquid slipped down my throat, the chocolate’s gentle tart depth sprawled sumptuously across my tastebuds.

All at once, I began to cry. Continue reading “Exquisite Awareness – Or, Red Elephant Chocolate”

The “I Heart Beaver” Beaver in Beaver

My car holds just enough gasoline to get me from Las Vegas, Nevada to Beaver, Utah.

I first learned this when driving from my sister’s place in Vegas to Madison, Wisconsin in 2015. I was almost done with the journey’s I-15 leg, and, as one does, I pulled into the gas station that presented itself at the moment when my gas tank was empty and my bladder full.

And came face-to-face with this:

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Six-foot beaver statue standing upright and wearing a sign saying, “I Heart Beaver.”

Continue reading “The “I Heart Beaver” Beaver in Beaver”

Memento Vitae I – or, The Pansies and the Rainbows

Lawana, Andrew’s paternal grandmother, passed away on Palm Sunday. Her passing was not unexpected, but the timing was sudden. Andrew and I arrived in time for her viewing on Good Friday. We laid her to rest on Holy Saturday.

Easter Sunday was a whirl of activity at Andrew’s parents’ place. All the siblings, their significant others, and their children had come to see the family matriarch off. Lawana had brought us together for an unexpected family holiday, and we leaned into the opportunity, exactly as she would’ve wanted. Continue reading “Memento Vitae I – or, The Pansies and the Rainbows”

The Clouds Must Be Bewildered – Or, The Great American Eclipse

On August 21st, 2017, Andrew and I sat beside a ruined French fortress in the middle of Illinois farmland, waiting for the sun to disappear.

We’d found Fort de Chartres by accident. A couple days prior to the Great American Eclipse, we had driven from Madison to St. Louis to spend the weekend with family. This put us barely outside the path of totality. I was content to view the historic eclipse from St. Louis; I have a self-defeating habit of accepting things as they are, even when minor one-time expenditures of effort stand to significantly multiply my enjoyment. Sometimes serene acceptance is a virtue, but I haven’t yet found the wisdom to know the difference.

Thankfully Andrew was having none of it. “We drove all the way down here to see the eclipse,” he said. “We’re seeing the eclipse.” Continue reading “The Clouds Must Be Bewildered – Or, The Great American Eclipse”