Brave New World

Huxley wrote the dystopian novel amidst massive unemployment and abandonment of the gold currency in England, way back in 1931. He was convinced that in order for people to be happy, there had to be order. True. We are all feeling it.
We are at once being asked to order our lives in ways we never imagined that the whole world in real life would ever have to do together, and at the same time; we are all suffering from the upheaval from being confined to our homes; or in the trenches of care for others. There is no order to the stumbling to understand where it will lead us.
as human beings, we cling to our phones and computers for news. Of each other. We cling to our need to connect. To love. That is a beautiful thing. There will be no perfect way to get through this, and no need to worry about getting it right. The only way through is through.
I will tell you all the good things, because I imagine you have enough of everything else.

I realized how much I love butternut potage before it is pureed. It made me cry. (everything makes me cry right now–happy, sad, you name it.). Because it was so delicious. Because it took me so long to find it and that I found it. Because no one was there to eat it with me.

Ferdinand hasn’t been much for talking lately. His number one choice for school has closed, so there is no telling when he will find out if he got in or didn’t. He can’t see his friends, or potentially go back to school for the rest of his senior year. He is out of work, and just generally frustrated. He never misses coming over to see me though. I considered it a necessary for him. He is 17. I am not his primary residence, but he touches nothing, walking across the street from his house to my house. He doesn’t touch a doorknob, and he needs me as much as I need him.
I asked him what was new last night.
“nothing,” he said.
“you see anything good on the internet?”
“did you talk to anybody today?”
After a few moments of silence I said, “Ferd”, “I can’t see anyone, and I have 10 more days of it. Please tell me something.”
I don’t usually call on Ferdinand to be an adult. I don’t usually cry in front of him.
He looked up at me and his face changed. It was filled with compassion.
He told me a story about a guy and his wife on his last subway ride before it was restricted from anything but essential travel. He told me about his last visit with his best friend, who lives a subway ride away. He told me that he loved me.
He stayed with me for at least a half an hour. He joked about the cooking videos he was going to make for me, and then he waved.
“I will see you tomorrow, mom.”

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