HOW TO MAKE LEMONADE WHEN ALL YOU HAVE IS LEMONS

by Bill Slavin

Are you keeping a journal during the pandemic? Are you writing down your thoughts about your reaction to each week's news? Are you taking a moment to write one sentence of gratitude?

Years ago the advice to write one gratitude sentence daily grated on me. I thought it belonged with all the other cheery, shallow suggestions found in self-improvement books or magazines. Ideas that didn't really get to the heart of any hurt you may be feeling. Then I tried it. I spent a year writing down one item each day, something that I was grateful for. Each entry was brief, not something that I had mulled over for long. The ideas were simple things: seeing a bird come to our feeder, the first new green of Spring, a cool breeze at night after a very hot day. During the year, I didn't notice any change in attitude from writing the sentences. It wasn't until the year was complete and I read all 365 sentences together that the impact of that small exercise revealed itself to me. I realized that the sentences had helped center me and opened my eyes to what effect the world had on me.

by Bill Slavin

During SIP and the daily political uproar, I find it hard to be grateful each day. I don't think about it much because I am too busy being busy with art and writing projects each day, and trying to tamp down any anxiety over the coming election and the need to be sequestered. Yet one thing stands out in my mind: our son Theo.

At the beginning of the SIP, Bill and I had ventured out a couple of times to the grocery store. Theo got upset with us for walking into a place with its high possibility of exposure to the virus. He told us to stop and now arrives each Tuesday with our groceries for the week. He has persisted even though he lives in San Francisco and we are out in one of the far-reaching suburbs of the East Bay. He comes masked and ready to stay at least 6 feet away at all times.

Eager for more of his company, we ask him to stay for lunch. Bill barbecues hamburgers or hot dogs. We set out condiments with individual spreaders, potato chips and drinks. Theo has hand sanitizer in his pocket and uses it before he approaches the table. Bill brings the BBQ over to the table and he and I move away so that Theo can prep his food. Theo then moves to a chair spaced away from us while we prep our food too. Then we eat and talk for a couple of hours, masks on except when we eat or drink. We hear of his life at home trying to make some progress with his band that isn't able to perform live, we listen to his opinions about politics, racism, global warming, and people not wearing masks. He suggests that the next house we live in should have only one story. He talks about his weekend with Rose, his long-time girlfriend and our favorite person next to him. We share our lives too, how little we do outside our house and the activities that keep us busy in our shelter-in-place. Eventually he collects his plates and as we move away, he stacks his dishes on top of ours, turns and waves as he leaves for the long drive back home.

He has taught us unconditional love again. I am grateful for him every day.

by Bill Slavin