Easter weekend coming up, marking, of course, a critically important holy day of the Christian tradition, and also marking the change of season. It’s Spring, the rebirth, end of the cold weather for the time being. Times change; seasons change.
Got the second vaccination shot Friday. It was, as the first, no big deal. Friends who’d gone in earlier told us their own stories as to how the second shot had more of an impact on them, sore arm, upset stomach, that sort of thing. It did us as well, leaving us feeling a little, just a little, tired, and maybe a touch of nausea.
What was interesting was the hospital encouraged us to sign up at the CDC website now that we’d been vaccinated. We did, being dutiful citizens and all that. As a result we get a daily request from the CDC asking how we’re feeling. A two-minute survey and the data’s submitted. Like good herd members we add our data to the pile.
And no, we’re not the “don’t want the gubmint to know about me” types. We just filed taxes. The IRS knows more about us than we know ourselves, so whatever if the CDC knows how we react to a Pfizer product.
That’s not even the big news.
I’m typing this on a Monday and we are by the phone waiting to hear about our new grandchild being born. Exciting. Of course we’d normally be at the hospital for such an event, but for the same reason the CDC is tracking us we’re not allowed inside the hospital as visitors. That’s only for the expectant and spouse. So we wait by the phone.
It will be a girl, our first granddaughter and second grandchild.
It’s interesting to type “our first granddaughter and second grandchild” in a newspaper column. I first began typing columns while in college and back then son – the aforementioned spouse – would sometimes come into the mayhem of the college newspaper office with me. There was a tree out front and he would go climb it while Dad worked out whatever important-for-a-week affair needed college newspaper attention.
Now he’s off on whatever floor of the hospital while his wife has a daughter, his own son having been born a few years ago.
Just a few years, but that’s how it goes. First grandchild, the excitement then (back when we were allowed inside hospitals as visitors), some things happened, got up from a nap after a COVID shot and now a second grandchild.
And honestly, it feels like 20 minutes ago when I inhabited the tree-climbing body of a young boy myself. Some things happened, then some more things, somewhere in there I got an email address, and now I’m waiting for word about a granddaughter.
It’s tempting to go on here. After all this is a newspaper, a repository of stories, and a story about time going by, written up by a grandpa who edits the thing … but at the same time it’s an ordinary story, nothing new. Somewhere in the Milky Way galaxy some planets revolve around a particular star, and the third planet out from the star rotates and turns, inexorably, unfailingly, and it is a fantastic process which has gone on for so long it is ordinary: Time goes on.
I’m not complaining. Oh sure, some new aches, harsher reactions to medicines than I was a kid, but I get to see my own son grow into a man, a father, and get to develop the new appreciation for religious practice, for faith, as befits someone who’s experienced time.
Our granddaughter is being born, the start of her own path as the planet rotates around the star, our savior rose from the grave, an act bequeathing a new path, somewhere in my body, somehow, chemicals are breaking down (a computer in the basement of national healthcare agency tracks this) and soon I’ll be able to go inside buildings again.
Life, faith, is teeming, active. Seasons change.
[At deadline: Born 10:08 a.m. and all are healthy.]