2021: Happy(ish) New Year
Photo by Karolina Grabowska from Pexels
Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, 2020.
As I wave good-bye to the nightmare that was 2020, I’m not exactly thrilled to welcome in 2021.
With United Kingdom’s new variant now in the United States, and vaccine deployment delayed to the general public until the second quarter, 2021 feels more like a sequel.
Not even a good one like Terminator 2, but a lame one like Jaws 2 (or 3-D and 4 for that matter). I have zero interest in watching “2021: Covid19 the Revenge”.
History has a funny way of repeating itself. The Roaring Twenties were a prosperous decade with an economic boom and mass amounts of spending. 2020 is the polar opposite with an economic decline and mass amounts of borrowing.
Photo by Jordan Benton from Pexels
While I’m not putting my flapper dress on just yet, I noticed other trends that were strikingly familiar:
A woman had major influence over the presidential office, and was considered to be the one in charge. That’s a big deal on its own, never mind the fact that women’s suffrage had just passed, affording women the right to vote. In 2020, Kamala Harris made history after getting elected as becoming the first female vice president.
The radio started being used commercially for news and entertainment broadcasts. It was considered to be one of the most popular communication tools. In 2020, the general public began using Zoom, an app to facilitate video meetings.
Prohibition went into effect and failed. While alcoholism skyrocketed in 2020, what did take place and fail was the lockdown. Despite warnings from health officials, over 50 million people travelled for Thanksgiving and over 84 million people travelled for Christmas.
The Spanish flu lasted two years, from 1918-1920. If the 2019 pandemic is on track to last two years, that suggests everything fully reopens by the fall or winter in 2021.
Assuming that’s true, then our version of the Roaring Twenties may be deferred until 2022. So, if that’s the case…
“What will 2021 be like?”
While pondering this important question, I realized it was lunchtime. A good time to take a break from the depressing pandemic trends. I opted to be a do-gooder and patronize a local restaurant.
I walked outside and noticed a big dark cloud in the sky. The restaurant was only six blocks away. But, after four days of Christmas gluttony, my guilt felt a walk was in my best interest.
Roughly three blocks later, it began to POUR. Not sprinkle. Not drizzle. Not even a light rainfall. The sky just opened up right on top of my head!
With my curly hair drenched and my socks soaked inside my wet boots, I picked up my lunch.
The café employee handed me a brown paper bag, right-side up. I thanked him and turned around to find the storm hadn’t let up. Not even a little. If anything, it doubled down.
I waited and waited, but the rain just kept coming. I debated between making a break in the torrential downpour versus calling a car and risking a potential Covid19 exposure.
While weighing out the positives and negatives of each choice, my train of thought was interrupted. Across the street was a disabled man in an electronic wheelchair.
He raced down the sidewalk. Joystick pressed to the chair. Easily doing 15 in a 5. I prayed he was equipped with four-wheel drive. Talk about petal to the medal. More like wheel to the steel.
His fearlessness was humbling so I put my phone away. If Mario Andretti could weather the storm, so could I.
I opened my jacket and tucked my lunch inside. Since it didn’t fit right side up, I turned it sideways. With my jacket zipped, I started trudging in the downfall. Less than a block in, I remembered that my lunch included soup.
Fortunately, I averted the hot sting of vegetable minestrone, but was forced to hold the bag up. Since I refused to take the sack out of my coat, holding it upright meant shifting my jacket up and out, exposing the bottom of my shirt to the elements. It was fine until I came to the edge of the next block.
A massive pool formed around the sidewalk. The puddle was so deep that the asphalt was no longer visible.
And, it was so wide, that I couldn’t even jump from the sidewalk to the street on the other side without splashing dirty street water all over me.
I felt like I was in the fifth grade playing Oregon Trail deliberating on crossing the Kansas River. Do I attempt to ford the river, caulk wagon and float across or wait to see if conditions improve?
Since a ferry wasn’t available, and the ocean was getting bigger by the second, I gripped my lunch-jacket with both hands and jumped.
I didn’t exactly clear it. The water was so dark that what I thought was the edge turned out to be more of the middle. Straight up, I dunked myself.
Might have been cute if I were a little girl or even sexy if I was a twenty-something. But, as a middle-aged woman, this isn’t exactly where I shine.
Photo by Victoria Borodinova from Pexels
Nasty rain water splashed up all around me. My stomach dampened and my hypochondriac ass suddenly felt very icky. Hopefully, it wasn’t dysentery setting in.
My new cotton leggings, that were once comfy loungers quickly morphed into the latest, grubby, trailer-trash fashion. They were absolutely soused and my legs froze like icicles.
I resumed speed walking, but the faster I went, the colder I became. I shivered as big drops kept splashing in my face and blurred my vision. On top of it, my mask began to suffocate me.
Any time I breathed in; the cotton material sucked right up my nose and blocked my airway. Six blocks felt like forever, but I finally made it home.
I stripped off my boots and socks at the door. As l slowly unzipped my jacket, I was surprised to find the brown paper bag dry and the soup intact. The sandwich got smooshed, but was still edible.
After I dried off and changed my clothes, I took a bite of my sandwich. It was surprisingly quiet. I paused and looked out the window.
The rain stopped and the sun began to peak through the clouds. It was beautiful. But, I wasn’t exactly in the space to enjoy it. For I was slightly bitter that the storm passed mere minutes AFTER I got inside.
And, that is what I think 2021 will be like—getting caught in a nasty storm that ferociously strikes, but eventually lets up enough for the sun to come out. Hopefully, I’ll be able to go outside and play.
Happy New Year, folks!
“The sun will come out—tomorrow. Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow, there’ll be sun.”
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