“Each had his past shut in him like the leaves of a book known to him by heart; and his friends could only read the title.” —From Jacob’s Room Virginia Woolf
In many ways, the days of this past pandemic year seem to have been involved with slowly waiting. But now looking back, they seem to have flown by. Experiences, sorrows, joys, have been both very public and very private. All of us---excluding essential workers--- living our days mostly in isolation from others. The memories of those days, my days most specifically, spent creating artists books, reading, writing, working in the garden, agonizing over the election, spending precious moments with family, meeting up virtually with friends, are like leaves of a book, read in a particular way and known to me only. Those days are gone and now part of the past. I look forward to upcoming days--- specifically a cross country road trip holiday without dinners to cook, errands to run, or appointments to keep. It will, as Virginia Woolf once said, "be a divine miracle"
