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Over the years, I have often used the cab of my pickup truck as a meditation space. When I exit a place like Flathead Lake, I don't drive off right away. I take the time to be utterly thankful for yet another baptism in the lake's clear cold waters. When I arrive at a place like Missoula, I sit in the driver's seat for a bit and think about the friends I have, and those that have been lost. I touch each of the fetishes on the dashboard, the life-size rubber lobster, a tribute to my mother Marge (1923-2005) who loved seafood... a small nambe silver horned toad that belonged to Chris (1948-2014), the woman I lived with for over 20 years. It is like gathering a number of different emotions around the campfire and acknowledging and honoring the silence left behind.

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Apr 14, 2022Liked by Chris La Tray

I no longer drive long distances, and I am close to what I need in my city. Since my husband died at the very beginning of the plague in Feb. 2020, I understand solitude in ways I never considered before. What I miss most is remembering shared life experiences and having no one to talk about them. Almost as if I am the last speaker of a fading language. I am amused when I hear people talk about movies or events that were so very important in my past approaching 50-year anniversaries (I'm almost 80). I don't really know the popular celebrities, or singers, or words and idioms. Then I stream "classic" movies and I realize many of those actors are dead, but there they are on a screen, looking just like I remember when I was 30, and I truly have to do mental gymnastics to realize that I'm NOT 30! This aspect of aging can sometimes be more painful than arthritic joints. But I watch the sun set in my backyard with my little dog, and honor that I am alive, and these amazing plants make food from sunlight, and birds still fly and dogs still smell, and how extraordinary all this is.

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We were obviously in a similar situation to you, and even with being able to get outside it was hard on many people. I have a high tolerance (and craving) for being alone, but saw many people close to me start to unravel through lack of wider human contact outside of family. I love going to forest service cabins by myself for a few days, but how much different would it feel if I couldn't go outside?

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Apr 14, 2022Liked by Chris La Tray

Oh wow Chris. “I wish it were easier to choose my memories; remember the echoing warmth of close relationships gone cold rather than feel the sorrow in the chilling.” Wow. Brilliant.

A teenager I knew once wrote:

When all my world was young and green,

we walked along the path serene

by water tumbling beneath a bridge

upon a darkened wooded ridge.

Air hung heavy, thick and warm,

a settled sky denied a storm.

Stars shone through the blackened night,

We strove to reach the hilltop height.

And then the world turned crimson flames

and what I felt was scorching pain.

The dreaded time had come to part.

A whole was halved and split apart.

With regard to Covid, I do not believe that it is behind us. I made an appointment to receive a second booster, scheduled for next week.

I am grateful that I had good company and a decent space in which to weather the first lockdown. During the first months beginning in March 2020, I only stepped out to procure groceries and when necessary, to pick up pharmaceuticals at the Walgreens drive-thru.

I cannot imagine what it would have been like to be a city dweller, peering through a window at a vista comprised of nothing but a brick wall.

I’m so glad that you returned home from Boulder safely. I once drove over the Green Mountains in Southern Vermont in a snowstorm. A tow truck that slid into a ditch was not an encouraging site. But, my little Subaru, Magnolia, made it. These days she prefers to remain parked during inclement weather and so does her operator.

And, wow, that green motel kitchen! The first apartment that my partner GW and I inhabited together was painted that exact color when we went to look at it. I told the landlord that I could not live with it. I guess that there is a fine line between calming and boring. I was grateful that the man agreed to repaint. I chose a gold/orange tinted shade. The walls and the hardwood floor glowed when the sun poured through the windows. The green wouldn’t have worked at all had confinement ever been necessary at that address. I would have been looking at our five lovely windows trying to decide which one to jump out of.

So again, thank you for your powerful and exquisite words,

Sincerely,

Melissa

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Apr 14, 2022Liked by Chris La Tray

" I wish it were easier to choose my memories; remember the echoing warmth of close relationships gone cold rather than feel the sorrow in the chilling." Me too. I wish I could write like this, too. This one is staying with me.

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Apr 14, 2022·edited Apr 14, 2022Liked by Chris La Tray

at the beginning of the pandemic in full lockdown, i had some very interesting conversations with a friend of mine in prison. i felt like he had so much to teach me about living in "close quarters" and not being able to go anywhere. If you listen to Episode 14 "The Horrific Gift of Covid" of WITH/IN a podcast series from inside Colorado prisons, you can hear part of one of those conversations between Matt and me: https://www.thisiswithin.com/episodes-1

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Apr 14, 2022Liked by Chris La Tray

Thanks for posting these reflections, Chris. I'm only now starting to process some of the effects of COVID and my thoughts have gone to how I, and so many others, have been impacted by isolation. I'm finding my tolerance for many of life's unexpected (or differently-expected) events is frayed, even while feeling immense gratitude for the hardship I've been spared. And gratitude for you, and other writers, who are helping us make sense of these times. Strength to you on this journey.

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Apr 14, 2022Liked by Chris La Tray

Here's hoping the influx of empathy nourished you today.

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As always, this was a good read hearing your thoughts. I lived in a large apartment during "lock down" which wasn't enforced. It was before we knew how it spread. I lost my job and my uncle died of Covid on the same day... My wedding anniversary. It was a tough time. But like you said, we endure, we move on. That's why we need writers and poets and artists of all kinds. To leave those flowers on the road, so we remember.

because damn I'm lucky I can forget. Suicide was in my mind a lot. And I'm privileged. I got another job and we bought a house. For me it was because j that apartment lockdown with my wife nearly killed me. I went hiking in a local preserve for hours daily, I wrote for patreon, that kept me going. Without the solitude of the trees I wouldn't be here.I'm scheduling my second booster. It's not over, and is it better? We saw how many thoae in power are willing to sacrifice to keep the status quo. Even "the good guys" who aren't living to hurt people unlike them. The shades of gray in this one are all tombstone granite.

I'm thankful for trees and birds and poets lately. My phone corrected poets to popeyes... I'm thankful for that too.if Boulder had a popeyes, get the spicy Bonafide box with red beans and rice, it ain't foodie fodder but it'll keep you a while.

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Apr 16, 2022Liked by Chris La Tray

Sometimes it’s tough to keep your head above water. Last month my good friend’s husband passed and unexpectedly also my ex.

Today my young grandsons wanted to have a funeral for a toy train engine that “died”. So we did. (My ex was their grandpa).

I’m tired of death and need to hike.

BTW, that room looked claustrophobic.

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Apr 15, 2022Liked by Chris La Tray

Your good words brought me directly into that little motel room—and back out onto the Montana highways—and next to that park in Ronan (where I used to sit in my vehicle and eat lunch)…. Thanks to you and the starlings and the robins and the crow and the seagull.

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I really like the mood of this post.

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