Letter to a favorite old professor, sent 3/29/2020.

I just read one of your favorite passages in The Mayor of Casterbridge, after Mrs. Henchard dies. I don’t know if you remember, but you inscribed it in the Hardy biography you gifted me: “And all her shining keys will be took from her, and her cupboards opened…” Its another example of a line I appreciate more as I grow older.

Thank you for the Dorchester photos. For once, I can actually reciprocate: on that class trip to England, Chelsea F____ and I made a deal that if I went to Charles Dickens’ house with her, she would take a train to Dorchester with me to see Hardy’s home. (I’m sure you had her in class at some point; she’s wearing pink in the foreground of the photo I’m attaching. The six of us were in an Indian restaurant around 1 AM because all of London’s pubs closed at midnight.) Max Gate was a private residence then and I assume is now, but I had emailed the owners and found that though it wasn’t officially open for tours that day, they were offering a talk for a group that we were welcome to attend. The second attachment is the fireplace inside. They had set up several chairs for attendees, and since we weren’t technically part of the group, we sat along the back wall in two other chairs. Mid-talk, the host explained that almost none of the furniture was original—except for the chairs Chelsea and I had chosen to be out of the way (third attachment). Attachment four is the gravestone for Hardy’s dog. I seem to recall that it once bit George Bernard Shaw.

I do not recall visiting Grey’s Bridge, but I definitely went to the Roman amphitheater where Henchard met his wife for the first time in eighteen years. It’s strange to be on flat ground with those high slopes surrounding, and standing there made that secret meeting in the novel feel all the more real (attachment five).

Looking through the photographs I felt wistful, not for my college years or for that particular trip, but travel in general. We drove up the east side of Keuka Lake today. Especially knowing that a stimulus check will be on the way from the guvmint, we wanted to patronize a local winery and an ice cream restaurant through curbside service, but mostly, we wanted to stir forth and see the lake. We plan to make a ritual of driving somewhere each weekend during this time of closures, even if we just drive around for 45 minutes, so we can feel like we’ve gone somewhere.

Our trips in recent times have not been exotic, but they’ve mattered to me. We got the girls to Boston twice in the past year. Much more locally, we had planned a family outing to Rochester in April to see Cats on tour. I was to perform a wedding ceremony for some friends in Colorado in July. Our tentative plan had been to fly to Chicago and spend a couple days there, then take a train into Denver. Thanks to coronavirus and the bride’s changed employment circumstances, that wedding and trip are indefinitely postponed. For the last few years, we’ve gone to New York City one or twice per year and stayed with friends in the north of Manhattan. I do not know when we’ll next feel secure visiting the city, or when we’ll meet their newborn.

This will pass and we will travel again, but I wonder if it will feel the same. I might feel even more grateful for the privilege of travel; I might feel unable to stop wondering what viruses float through the restaurant or plane or theatre. Will I be more eager to travel outside my county, or more reluctant? And when will that happen? My parents have traveled extensively since their retirements. They want to be there when the girls experience Yellowstone for the first time, so we were slated to go together next summer. That all feels distant now. I’ve never been to the Blue Ridge Mountains or Monticello. Daphne has asked to go to Washington, D.C. since she was four, and we had kicked around a trip this May. My brother and I planned a jaunt to Philadelphia for a concert. I’ve been to Chicago once, with the Student Managed Investment Fund in college, and instead of going to the Art Institute of Chicago across the street, I dutifully attended a seminar on careers in finance. I’ve been waiting years to rectify that error.

All of that is on hold, which I suppose is fine. Yet it’s still lost time. One of the last things my grandmother said to me was, “Travel while you’re young.” There are obviously much more serious tragedies in the world right now. But in some moments I still feel cheated, and I look wistfully through photographs of old trips.

I do think I’m more temperamentally suited to sheltering in place than a lot of others. My favorite hobbies involve movies, keyboards, and novels. Recently I shared my reading list with Sara, who joked, “Time enough at last, huh?” I laughed, apocalyptic nature of the allusion notwithstanding, but there’s also truth to it. I’ve often looked at our shelves and wondered how I would find the time to read all I want to read; it seems not unlikely that on my deathbed someday I’ll think, “But I never actually read The Satanic Verses!” It’s been fun, and comforting, to revisit Thomas Hardy’s world; I’m reading Fahrenheit 451 for the first time in 20 years because it’s been assigned to ninth graders during the school closure; and I feel like I pulled off quite a coup in getting Hilary Mantel’s recently-released end of the Thomas Cromwell trilogy from the library before the whole system closed (meaning our due date has been extended. Have you read Wolf Hall and Bringing Up the Bodies? They’re wonderful.)

So I’ll read a lot, and write a lot, and watch my share of movies. We’ll periodically drive past Keuka Lake. We’ll make the most of this bizarre time. And I’ll be very glad when it’s over.

Old men with boxes full of pretty princess hand sanitizer, greedy women clutching toilet paper like it's her very breath of life, people hoarding bananas like the monkeys have come to visit...

"Your total is fifty-three dollars and seventy cents?" the cashier asked with her last ounce of draining enthusiasm. "I know! I know! Don't rush me. Just shut up and let me concentrate! Don't you know it's the end of the world here?" the woman yelled, viciously stirring through her purse, "Just shut up and let me find my dang-on money, lady!" The cashier looked up behind the rude woman to see a long line of angry-looking customers clenching on tightly to their packs of toilet paper and bottles of hand sanitizer. "Huh," the woman huffed as she threw a fifty dollar bill onto the counter. "Excuse me, ma'am?" the cashier gaped in shock, "You gave me the wrong amount." "Keep the change, though you don't deserve it," the woman scoffed, walking away. "No, I mean, this isn't enough," the cashier called, "You still owe me three dollars and seventy cents!" "Don't you raise your voice at me! This generation never learned how to respect their elders?" the woman screamed, not even looking back. The cashier stood in total disbelief holding the fifty dollar bill.

"Ma'am, I'm next in line thank you," a man said in an authoritative tone. "I'm sorry. It's just that now my drawer is going to be nearly four dollars short," the cashier pouted. "Heh, not my problem, lady," the man laughed, "Now ring me up, will ya?" Shaking her head, she placed the fifty dollars into her till and began scanning the man's items.

After ten more rude customers, the cashier began to feel woozy. "Manager assistance to register two," she called weakly over the intercom. "Come on now, you don't got no time to be talkin' on no phone," the next customer said, rolling her eyes and smacking her gum. "I'm sorry. I was calling the manager," the cashier breathed, "I don't feel well." "AWWW heckie nawww! Don't tell me you done got that corona," the lady screamed, "Okay, tell you what, don't touch none of my stuff, okay. Just put it in manual." "But, ma'am," the cashier started, attempting to use her nicest voice, "I need to see the barcode so that I can type in the number." "Uh uh. No, you don't. I used to work in retail. It's a button on the register," the lady said nonchalantly. "But I'm supposed to scan each item for inventory purposes, and to make sure I'm charging you the right price," the cashier retorted. "Pfft, girl, please. I know the prices of all this stuff. Don't you got a sales paper up here? You can just go off of that, can't you?" the lady said shaking her head. "Well, ma'am, I'm going to at least need you to remove the items from your cart," the cashier pleaded. "Naww," the lady said in disagreement, "You can see what I got from up there, cain't you?" "I actually can't," the cashier drawled. "Well then you blinder than a mug," the lady clicked and turned, pushing the cart directly through the doors without paying. The sensors went off, but the security guard waved her through with a smile. "Oh, come on! Seriously?" the cashier whispered to herself.

"Ma'am," a voice called from the line, "I'm trying to be nice, but I left my children home alone, my husband is at work, and I'm freaking tired of standing in this long line. Don't you have any help?" "I'm sorry, but everyone called off sick today," the cashier yelled back. "Wow," someone else added, "Can't you call a manager?" "I did, and they haven't got here yet," the cashier puffed. She tried to breathe, but her lungs wouldn't take any air. The dull lighting began to flash all around her. "Well, lady, aren't you going to start ringing?" the next customer shouted. The cashier reached for the bottle of hand sanitizer and tried to scan it on the belt, when, suddenly, she blacked out. Clutching her stomach, she fell back onto the tile floor. "Hello? Seriously?" the customer smirked, "Is this some kind of joke? She just fell out on me like that? Who's going to ring me up now?"

We cried ourselves a hurricane

Everyone in a room full of regrets

With all the things we could have done

Our tornadoes swept

The room suddenly filled to the brim

With floods that no one could tame

We all knew our tears caused it

All of us were to blame

And from the room

A tsunami came to drag you away

It drowned us all in the process

Oh how I remember that fateful day

The wreckage of the storm

Left pieces of you behind

After all you were only nine

When the storm hit with it’s final wave

It took you away from us

And we are drowning in our own storm

I loves you sis and I’m sorry

But we cried ourselves a hurricane

The day that the winds hit

And took your breath away

With no more willingness to live

You flew from our grip

Out of our reach

Until we meet again one day

There’s something bitter bleeding inside me and I can’t quite place the pain. I can feel it seeping through the cracks of my body, filling in the stretch marks that decorate my skin. Everything hurts and I can’t figure out where one pain starts and another ends. And what’s worse, is I don’t know what exactly is bleeding. It seems too cold to be blood but warm enough not to be water. Suppose it’s pain in a liquid form, and that’s what I’m experiencing? I hate these unknown feelings.

Unless, there’s a reason for unknown feelings?

There’s something kind blooming where my heart is and I can’t quite place it. Every time I see someone smile at me, the blooming just grows and I feel my body brighten. Only when things like this happen it seems as though the day grows shorter, whispering in my ears that ‘eternity’ and ‘joy’ is simply an illusion. How we’re not meant to be happy forever, cause that would make life too easy. Suppose the blooming is a flower inside my body, and that’s what I’m experiencing? I hate these unknown feelings.

Unless, there’s a reason for unknown feelings?

There’s nothing within me, I feel almost, empty and I can’t quite place the name. Its as if I’m not all right there at the moment, but instead justing standing in the middle of a memory. There’s apparently liters of things inside me, but that’s only scientifically. My brain seems lost as my body seems numb and my heart slightly slowing. Perhaps there’s a reason for my nonexistent presence even though I’m still lingering in the same place I’ve been in for the past few minutes. Suppose the emptiness is simply my self restarting, and that’s what I’m experiencing? I hate these unknown feelings.

Unless, there’s a reason for unknown feelings?

When i close my eyes, I enviosion a peaceful time. A time with no fighting. A time where we could be ourselves. A time of happiness & rejoice for that we can overcome all. I enviosion a time where everything wasn’t perfect but it was ok because not everything had to be. There was no such thing as perfect and that was ok. I enviosion this magical, happy, peaceful place that hopefully can become real one day. I enviosion this great place that I only see when I close my eyes.