Tales of the ‘Rona, Special Episode Follow Up - Moving in Mystery

New York State

A desolate road

Mid ‘70’s

It’s around midnight and my family - which consists of my parents and my sister - are on our way to the “cottage”.

The cottage is a little house my Dad bought that sits on the shores of Lake Ontario across the water from Canada.

I feel like I’m older than dirt now, so let’s just say I’ve been going there for a long, long time.

Since I was 11.

If you’re familiar with the area it’s only because you grew up there or near there.

It truly is in the middle of nowhere.

But it’s our nowhere, and it has been the site of a million beautiful, life altering, character defining memories for me as long as my memory will allow.

It was a long ride from where we lived in North Jersey, but when we finally crossed the peninsula that linked us to the Point, it got darker and more desolate by the mile.

Eventually Dad would wake us up with, “We’re almost there!” and then somewhere on that stretch of road he’d laugh and say, “Watch this...”

Then...pitch black.

Total darkness.

Into the void, can’t see the hand in front of your face, locked in a closet kind of darkness.

Dad would cut the car lights while cruising down this almost gravel road in the blackest of black nights at around 50 miles an hour.

“Paul, don’t!”, Mom would squeal.

Dad’s dark night lasted only seconds, but long enough to be a frightening, exhilarating, heart pounding, adrenaline-generating, and straight up scary as hell experience.

Even as a young kid it made me question my Dad’s parenting skills, but I liked it.

I really liked it.

I liked it enough that I would scare my kids years later, cutting my lights on that same road, eliciting the same response from my wife, tossing my generationally learned parenting skills to the wind.

In my young mind, for those few seconds, we were thrill seekers, living on the edge, dancing in the dark, moving in mystery.

Moving in mystery.

Frankfort Square

May

The Year of Our Coronavirus 

Falling ill earlier this year messed with me - physically, emotionally, spiritually, psychologically.

It was just a fair amount to deal with, especially since I’m the kind of person who has truly and firmly believed in my own invincibility for, well, my entire life.

From start to where I am now, there’s been a lot of moving in mystery - what’s next, how long, when will I types of questions.

I thought that a positive result for Covid-19 would clear the mystery air a bit, provide an answer to the what was that all about question, give this big chink in my imaginary armor a Name.

The symptoms were there in spades - chills, fever, cough, oxygenation bottoming out, extreme difficulty in breathing, loss of taste, nightmares, stroke and heart issues - enough that the Name seemed inevitable.

Just needed verification.

Proof.

A positive result.

Researchers are beginning to view the months of December and January as sort of a Holy Grail of testing.

So many questions, so few answers.

Questions like when did this thing really first show up here?

How long do antibodies last in our system for this thing?

Are the current batches of tests reliable enough yet?

What about people who were sick and died without being tested?

Have people who were mildly infected just forgotten about it and moved on?

You know, questions like that.

You know, mystery.

I’m a firm believer in science, facts, and let’s get to the bottom of this type thinking.

I also believe that mystery co-exists with science.

It isn’t either/or.

Like roommates that don’t always get along, but they’re committed to the relationship.

For now, even with all the questions, I can accept the science, the negative test result in spite of the evidence that suggests otherwise.

For now, even with the scientific results, I can accept the mystery- the cut car lights - and keep moving anyway.

My patron saint of Jersey - Springsteen - wrote a song that’s equal parts poetry, prayer, and hope.

It’s called “Better Days”.

It resonates.

“I'm tired of waitin' for tomorrow to come 

Or that train to come roarin' 'round the bend 

I got a new suit of clothes a pretty red rose 

And a woman I can call my friend...

Every fool's got a reason for feelin' sorry for himself 

And turning his heart to stone 

Tonight this fool's halfway to heaven and just a mile outta hell 

And I feel like I'm comin' home 

These are better days baby 

These are better days it's true 

These are better days 

Better days are shining through...”