To everything (turn, turn, turn)
There is a season (turn, turn, turn)
And a time to every purpose, under heaven.
A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep …
Lyrics excerpt from “Turn, Turn, Turn” by folk music icon Pete Seeger
Weeding in the yard the other day, it occurred to me that more than likely the most useless thing I’ve ever bought was a 2020 planner.
I should have listened to my gut and stuck with the iPhone calendar. But no, I required old-school backup.
It’s no wonder they mocked me at work about bringing a datebook to meetings. “There’s JJ’s stone tablet,” they’d tease. Amusing.
Which brings me to my second epiphany while digging in the dirt.
After 60 years of living, I’m finally starting to understand the true meaning of life: “To everything there is a season.”
It’s not just the first line of Pete Seeger’s classic folk song. Or 2,000-year-old biblical words from the third Book of Ecclesiastes, where Seeger got most of the lyrics.
According to interviews, the rabble-rousing troubadour wrote the song in 15 minutes because he was angry at his publisher, who wanted a hit and not “another protest song.” To Seeger, it was exactly that: another protest song and a call for transition.
“Turn, Turn, Turn” became synonymous with an era of protest. You’ve got to appreciate the irony in that.
“To everything there is a season.”
It’s about everything. Everything you experience in life – your emotions and your actions, whether negative or positive. How the big stuff and the small things matter.
Having lived through (so far) a global pandemic, it appears the best laid plans are best delayed. Everything’s canceled. As it should be.
Compared with a year ago, our daily lives now are like the movie “Groundhog Day.” Lather, rinse, repeat.
That said, I’m trying to remain positive and focus on how things were Before Pandemic (BP).
On May 1, 2019 (BP), my partner Rebecca had her left knee replaced, followed by in-home physical therapy and then out-patient PT. She recuperated like a champ and was back running the streets in no time. Most of that involved shopping at TJ Maxx, Target and Kohl’s.
Looking back, last year’s merry month of May was filled with graduation parties, BBQs, lunches and dinners with friends. We saw “Waitress” at the Fisher Theatre in Detroit, and probably had drinks out afterward. We paid way too much for the steam-cleaning of our area rugs. There were massages, pedicures and … haircuts.
It was life as we knew it. Nothing out of the ordinary. Normalcy.
Rewind back to May 31, 2018, (BP), when I underwent open-heart surgery to repair a leaky mitral valve and help lower my resting heart rate from 135 to the preferable 72 beats per minute. Big stuff.
It worked, I’m healed and life is good. I still can’t believe it’s been two years.
Be grateful. Be kind. Wash your hands. Keep your distance.
Honestly, compared to what we’re dealing with now, heart valve surgery (BP) was small potatoes. Think about that when you open the fridge for the umpteenth time later. “Hmmm, potatoes …”
Two years ago, I never imagined that in my sixth decade we’d be under a state shelter-in-place order for months wearing protective face masks and social distancing to avoid a deadly novel coronavirus called COVID-19.
Or ordering groceries online and picking them up by appointment only without getting out of the car because we were afraid of going inside.
Or mourning the loss of 100,000 Americans in four months.
But here we are.
On this 31st day of May, we may not be living life as we knew it one or two years ago. Instead, we are creating a new one.
Until next time, here’s to everything that matters. And I mean everything.
