We were supposed to go on vacation on March 15. On March 13, due to travel restrictions put in place to slow down the spread of COVID-19, we cancelled everything. The plane tickets to California. The hotel reservation a block away from the beach. The car rental. The bungalow in the desert. All of it. It was a hard day. I tried not to cry. And then I did cry because I needed to let the grief go somewhere. We had forgone a vacation last winter because we were busy renovating our bathrooms and time and money were tight. We promised ourselves that we would make up for it this year: taking a much-needed break from busy work/volunteer schedules and countering the demoralizing effect of a long, cold winter. We were so ready for ten days spent in warm temperatures, walking along the ocean, driving through desert landscapes, and eating tacos. Instead, Dean went back to work and I started making phone calls and sending emails in an effort to recoup the money we had already spent on the trip.
I have a PhD in dramatic theology and teach theology and spirituality in various settings. Welcome to my musings on life, learning, and theology.