N To The O To The R To The MAL

 It is the goal of every person I have encountered over the past year: The yearning to return to normal. This sentiment is almost always couched in air quotes, or the phrase, "whatever that is." Nothing that we knew a year ago has gone without effect from COVID-19. I liken it to airplane travel after September 11. Take off your shoes. No bottles of anything. Ever. Say goodbye at the curb, and expect to wait an extra hour at that same curb when you come home because of the extra circuit your loved one will have to make while they circle the terminal. No belts, no watches, and your laptop is subject to examination by the TSA Geek Squad. 

When folks go on airplanes these days, and I'm told that there are those who still do, they still have to surrender their shoes and expect to be poked and prodded and inspected. Even though they are obviously taking their lives in their hands by sealing themselves in a metal cylinder with strangers for periods much longer than the average stop for takeout. Of course, we have been assured that the way air is circulated through aircraft is much better than your average Wing Stop. We are also privy to any and all altercations between passengers and inflight personnel who have to rage at one another over the wearing of masks. You won't be tossed out in mid-air, but you can expect a shameful reception at whatever gate you happen to have your dust-up. 

Just the side-eye that we give and receive for our relative attentions to public health is something that I can't imagine will go away anytime soon. Like those folks who use their fingers at the salad bar instead of the tongs. You remember salad bars, don't you? 

There was a time, many months ago, when I scoffed at the number of masks my wife had acquired. Always fashion-forward, she was not content to simply have a bandana or a strip of white cloth strapped to her nose and mouth. Accessorizing is her thing. Now I have half a dozen of my very own that I wear in rotation, never with the same style or flair that my wife exhibits, but always with an eye on safety.

Because this is where we find ourselves, after a year of washing our hands raw, internalizing just what six feet looks like, and assuring people that we meet that we are in fact smiling somewhere behind the PPE. There is a whole class or kindergarteners at our school who have never had to learn to stand in line. Handshakes and hugs have been all but forgotten. Talk of our social bubble will, I believe, continue on long past our vaccinations. 

So what is normal? If you were to ask my mother, and I do this regularly, she would tell you that normal is however you find yourselves living at the time you live. Scrap drives and ration coupons were once normal for her. She lived through a World War. She lived through the Cold War. She lived through the Battle of the Network Stars. 

I trust mom.