Thinking about cow clogs
Thinking about cow clogs
It’s hard to figure out what the story of the pandemic might be, but maybe that’s because instead of one big story, there are many small ones.
I read an editorial last week about how Covid breaks all the rules of human narrative. It’s difficult to figure out what the story is to tell about Covid. After the Spanish flu pandemic in the early 20th century, there were no narratives. People didn’t write about the pandemic. There’s a literature of WWI, but very little about the flu that killed so many more people.
It’s hard to figure out what the story of the pandemic might be, but maybe that’s because instead of one big story, there are many small ones—like this.
In April of 2020, when everything was shut down and classes were essentially over, I bought a pair of gardening clogs on Amazon. They have cows on them because those were the cheapest and what do I really care what my gardening clogs look like?
My husband and his friend had started work on what would become the party pavilion. We were spending more time outside because that was the only safe way to socialize with people. For years, we’d let our backyard go to hell until going outside was so shame-inducing, we didn’t bother.
But also, there were shoe issues. Before the cow clogs, I did my gardening in an old pair of running shoes. Serviceable, but hard to get on and off. And we are an indoor/outdoor shoe sort of household. Like Mr. Rogers, we change into “comfy clothes” when we come home, including slippers or other indoor shoes. Having to lean over, hop on one foot, pull on the running shoes and tie them up every time I came in and out—it was a lot. A small thing that was a barrier to my outdoor life. So I bought the cow clogs. My life changed.
I’m only exaggerating a little bit there. My life really did change. In the spring and summer, I slip my cow clogs on and off at least a dozen times a day. Until it gets too hot, we’ll eat most of our meals outside and when it gets too hot, we’ll just eat breakfast out there. We take garden walks first thing in the morning. I can tell you the exact square of downtown building that’s reflected in the window of the rectory from where I sit. I know when the chimney swifts have come back after their winter migration. Because we spend more time outside, my world got bigger.
Of course, it wasn’t the cow clogs alone. One of the great gifts of that horrible spring was to give us the time and incentive and space to transform our backyard into a livable space. Building the party pavilion basically added an extra room to our house, but that extra room has its own pair of shoes. Those shoes are cow clogs.
Sitting on my lounge chair this weekend, napping and reading with my cow clogs beside me, I thought about how much difference relatively small things can make. The easiest way to get myself to eat more salad is to make a dressing I really like and have it in the fridge. It doesn’t take that much time to make the dressing, but if I don’t have it, I won’t touch a leafy green. Since I bought a water bottle with a filter inside, it’s so much easier to make myself drink enough water.
Small things matter. They can change your life. Sometimes, they can change the world.
The pandemic was a big story and because of our scrolling lives, we lived a lot of it at a remove, through headlines and IG posts. But we also lived it in a thousand small stories beyond those screens. Some of those stories were joyful. Many of them were sad. They may have made our lives better or worse.
Maybe those small stories aren’t as exciting as big battles fought and won, but they’re just as important. Even a pair of cow clogs can make a big difference.
What are your small stories of the pandemic or small changes that have made a big difference?
Thanks as always for reading and commenting and sharing! Look for news coming soon about memoir and personal essay classes in Madison! And I’ll be recruiting folks to help spread the word about the paperback of She/He/They/Me coming out in June! Stay tuned!