Choices and the Coronavirus
My son was married on Saturday…
Our son got married on Saturday. Before we left our home in St. Paul, we chose what to pack for Duluth, where the ceremony took place. My husband dug out some gray Dockers from the back of the closet. Excavating further, he found a navy-blue blazer, still with the tags on. I picked out the tie.
Like most men his age, he has several in his closet, going back decades. Holding them brought back memories. Of laying three or four on the glass counter, feeling the weight of the silk, sliding them against my hand like a caress. Almost all were designed after works by famous artists: Frank Lloyd Wright, William Morris, Gustav Klimt. The latter, with its coins of color amid a shower of gold, was the best match. No stains, moth holes, or wrinkles. Perfect.
I didn’t have to decide. Black sleeveless dress with the white bodice and cummerbund stitching, matching jacket, shoes, and clutch purse. I’d worn the outfit to my niece’s wedding a year ago. Boring and safe. As my salon was still shuttered, I couldn’t even get a new hairstyle to jazz things up. But what about a mask?
In addition to a few paper surgical masks and a dust mask from Menard’s, I have three made of cloth. When the Minnesota Loons soccer mask arrived from the team store, it was Youth sized. Since neither of us has been a been a Youth for quite some time, I figured we could hand it off to some neighbor kid. But as I have a fairly narrow head, I decided to try it on. It fits like a tight Band-aid across my nose and mouth. Will do in a pinch, so to speak. The black and white bandanna: meh. An understated black floral would have to do.
My son and his fiancée booked the date, June 13, 2020, a year ago. They planned something called an “elopement package” at a bed-and-breakfast in Duluth. Two nights in a luxurious private carriage house room. A small cake. Champagne. Besides the bride, groom and officiant, the foyer of the restored mansion was large enough to accommodate only six guests. Why spend tens of thousands on a one-day event, when you could tie the knot, more intimately but no less romantically, for a fraction of the cost? I’d never heard of such a thing. What a smart choice.
Who could have predicted that a global pandemic would take a wrecking ball to their plans?
The bed-and-breakfast was shuttered indefinitely. The honeymoon in Norway was out of the question. Planes weren’t flying anywhere, especially out of the country. You were lucky to catch a ride on a bus or a subway car or any other type of public transit. Hotels, restaurants, schools, stores, libraries, factories, clinics, salons, offices, stadiums, theaters, churches: the list of closures, and the suffering behind it, was endless. All TV, radio, Internet, broadcast remotely. Who knew that we would be inspecting the bookshelves behind talking heads tilted at unflattering angles? Conducting meetings through a mysterious entity called Zoom? Or standing six feet away from strangers and friends, our voices muffled by masks?
And those of us who were merely inconvenienced, unable to score hand sanitizer or combat our boredom by making sourdough bread or doing jigsaw puzzles, were the extremely lucky ones. I haven’t lost my job. I haven’t caught the virus. I haven’t had to mourn the loss of a loved one who did. Or waited in my car with thousands of others, for an inadequate handout of food and supplies.
In May the B&B re-opened. At least something in this world could proceed normally. Except for the absurdity of placing their IDs on a cart to be wheeled into the government office for gloved inspection. Except for the notary stepping outside the building to issue the marriage license. Except for standing six feet away, tugging down their masks to demonstrate that their radiant faces matched their photos. When this is all over, they will have some good stories to tell.
The coronavirus has limited and constrained so many lives in so many ways. Amid so much uncertainty, I feel guilty that I’m able to make choices about the smallest of things. A tie. A mask. Is this empowerment, or pure privilege? For my son and his bride, the stars aligned. They were able to fulfill their dream, to solemnize the most momentous decision they will ever make.
The sky was cloudless. In Duluth, good weather alone is something to celebrate. As the ceremony moved outdoors to the gazebo, a few more immediate relatives – eleven, instead of six – were able to attend. The bride was beautiful. The lilacs were in bloom.
Life is good.
