Here's to a year

In lieu of running around town between auditions and shoots, I've found myself clacking away at my laptop this year.  I've never really thought of myself as a writer, but this time to reflect (...this gargantuan amount of time to reflect) has led me to reconsider.  

Exactly 366 days ago, my hubby rolled in from work with a monitor tucked under each arm, shaking his head, and set up shop in our deconstructed guest room.  I was put on hold for a nice 4-day double-scale commercial shoot that would be “next week, I guess.”  Well, we all know what happened since.  I’m reluctant to share, but convinced that community and reflection are more important than my fears.  So…
 
Here’s to a year.
 
A year of heartbreak, illness, miracles, global everything, civil unrest, virtual meetings, quarantine, and work-from-home.
 
Here’s to home, speaking of.  If you’re lucky enough to have one, home has become many new things this year.   Your office, your play space, your gym, your movie theatre…
 
Here’s to your ears.  They’ve held up your mask, your eyeglasses, your sunglasses, and your ear buds, sometimes all at once.
 
Here’s to Zoom.  (Were they the only ones ready for the pandemic?).  Thanks for the extended free time on Thanksgiving, so we could all eat our pumpkin pie together at the same time. 
 
Here’s to your fuzzy slippers.  You know I know how much time we’ve all spent in them. 
 
Here’s to your coffee pot.  Without the office carafe, your home brew has probably become a respite among the workday.  I know mine has. 
 
Here’s to that stack of books and Amazon boxes holding up your laptop.
 
Here’s to your virtual party—your wedding, your baby shower, your birthday, your retirement.  Your family loves you enough to celebrate with you regardless of the setting.  That’s pretty awesome. 
 
Here’s to that hobby you picked up again.  Your garden re-learned its song, your dusty old saxophone re-ignited its fire, heck – even Tom Hanks whipped out an old typewriter and got it going.
 
Here’s to the kids.  The preschoolers that don’t understand yet wear their masks like little soldiers.  The second graders who have adopted sedentary lives instead of playing outside.  The teens whose crowning high school years are shattered, one cancellation at a time.  Love them even when it’s hard, please. 
 
Here’s to the grandparents.  They ache to hold their grandbabies while silently swallowing their desire to break the rules.  They know we’re worried about them.
 
Here’s to all the new moms.  You attended every prenatal appointment alone, labored for 15 hours in a K-N95, and welcomed zero visitors to greet the joy of your life. 
 
Here’s to the teachers.  Unless you’re a teacher, please don’t criticize.
 
Here’s to the snow days.  Please God, can we keep the snow days? 
 
Here’s to the moms who work full-time, who now also stay at home full-time.  For the record, that’s two “full-times.” 
 
Here’s to the first responders and health care workers.   Will we ever know the burdens they carry?
 
Here’s to the bread you baked… and finally perfected. 
 
Here’s to Christmas in the driveway, with hot cocoa bombs in travel mugs.
 
Here’s to the weather reporters.  No matter what life brings, they’re always just so enthusiastic, aren’t they? 
 
Here’s to the delivery folks and mail carriers.  Thanks for dropping off my giant box of Costco-sized canned goods, as well as the entire contents of my baby’s nursery.
 
Here’s to the restaurant owners.  Once it’s safe, I’m finding a corporate sponsor, eating out every night, and disregarding my caloric intake for an entire year. 
 
Here’s to the people who created the vaccine.  How did you do it?  And so fast? 
 
Here’s to you: my friend, my neighbor, my mom, my least favorite colleague, my usual guy-at-the-deli, my regular train conductor on the 4:05.  I miss you more than you know.