In the past, “How are you?” was something that we’d ask almost automatically not expecting much more of an answer than “Fine, thanks.”
ELBEE I believe that’s called a rhetorical question.
Today with COVID-19, the wildfires and myriad other catastrophes, it’s a loaded question. Sometimes it’s met with an eye roll. Often we hear, “As well as can be expected.” Other times it opens the flood gates.
ELBEE We just sniff. It’s so much more direct.
There is more of a tendency to open up and start talking. We’re all reaching out for comfort. We’re actually listening to each other.
The other morning, before the smoke took over, I was in the mountains. They may be browned out but they’re still beautiful and restorative. I was heading up a steep narrow trail when I met a young man coming down. His hair was wrapped around the top of his head in an incredible braid. Normally, after a murmured, ” Hi, how are you. I love your hair,” we would have continued walking.
Instead, we got into a discussion about how the mountains were our sanctuary, how we were up there to recharge so that we could cope. The man was from the Philippines and was off work at the moment because of the virus. The more we chatted, the more I found that, as different as we were on the surface, we had many of the same concerns.
At home, Gus and Stanley, without saying a word, seem to be asking “How are you?” It’s become almost a full time job for them. They’ll watch me and the husband as if looking for a sign that we need some extra dog attention.
GUS & STANLEY We’re therapy dogs. That’s what we do.
They don’t wait for us to tell them how we’re feeling. They just sense when they’re needed. Their intuition is remarkable.
If I have a headache from the poor air quality, Stanley will
suddenly be glued to my side. If there’s something especially disturbing on the news, Gus will be right there tapping me with his paw to draw my attention to him. If the husband comes home from work worn out, they’ll sit quietly next to him.
Maybe it’s because of all of their Zoom visits with the hospital, Stanley in particular seems to feel it’s his responsibility to be involved in any computer visits that I do. As soon as he sees me face timing with the youngest daughter and the grandkids, there he is, his big head covering the screen. At least he makes us laugh.
Today as I sit on the bed with my laptop, trying to write something positive on a really dreary smoky day, the dogs are curled up with me. Their silent support is priceless.
