Grasp it, clasp it, catch it. With your hands. Grasp it, see it, know it. With your mind.
For me, it has been six months. Six months of living in LA. Every day of the week. No driving-up from San Diego every other weekend. Half a year of working from home during the day and sleeping in the same bed each night. I have not yet fully grasped my luck.
COVID-19. I have not grasped that either. I must not grasp someone’s hand. That much I understood. Why the sales of Corona beer plummeted, I don’t understand. A lot of things have strange names. Naming a virus after a beer? Who had that idea? Or was it a hoax? It’s a bad name. Corona. Radiates abundance, power, and glory. Some would like to have these within their grasp. But being crowned with a virus? How frightening when one can’t breathe and can’t see why not. Invisible.
As in the folktale, the emperor is donning new clothes. His crown invisible, untouchable, he is grasping at straws, while his serfs are catching the virus, gasping for air. What’s going on in the land under him?
How do I get a grip, get a grasp on life? This life under a mask. Does it matter that there is a travel warning for Vienna? Does school take place in Wuhan? Russia is peddling the remedy? The US is on the list of countries from which one must not come?
I did not visit my mother in Finsterwalde this summer. So, I renovated the kitchen. Catch them while you can, I thought, especially, when you are in the house every day of the week. Lucky: In the kitchen, I am breathing regularly, when I have breakfast in the morning, before I sit down at my desk for a day’s work. Paid. As it always was. I have a full grasp of my little island; grasping this world will take me longer.