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D. None of the above

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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

About 16 years ago, I stood on the warning track and held my then one-year old son high in my arms above the blue, outfield fence in right center field of the old Yankee Stadium. We asked him to extend his glove as if he had leapt in the air to catch a home run.

Now, as he prepares to graduate from high school, my wife and I are pondering the end of an era filled with the numerous triumphs and challenges of youth sports.

In the last few weeks, while we have awaited the time outs, batting glove adjustments, pauses to look for signs from the catcher, and warm up tosses by each pitcher, we have been replaying our own montage from his years on a baseball field.

A few years after his Yankee Stadium debut, our son donned a baggy uniform that hung from his slight four-year old frame, standing with his left arm out, hoping to catch a ball I tossed with a slight arc toward him.

As the years advanced, his skill set and intensity for the game grew more rapidly than the developmental rules of the sport.

Station-to-station baseball was an abomination for him. When he was six, he caught a ball at shortstop, tagged the runner jogging from second and stepped on third for, what he considered, an unassisted triple play. He tossed the ball to the mound and jogged off the field, only to hear that everyone hadn’t batted so he had to stay on the field. I can still see the disappointed look on his face as all the runners moved to the next base.

Every moment wasn’t athletic heaven. He struggled to find the strike zone when he was pitching, swung and missed at pitches he knew he could hit and suffered through the inconsistent coaching and advice of everyone from his father to the parents of his teammates to semi-professionals eager to give back to the community.

Despite playing a game of failure, he continued to venture to fields close and far for another opportunity to compete, get some exercise and join teammates who have become long-time friends.

He learned how to pick up his friends after their moment in the spotlight didn’t end the way they wanted.

He took us to places way off a tour guide’s map of the eastern United States, as we drove from single traffic-light towns, with their one gas station and one diner, all the way up to Cooperstown.

We paced along frigid sidelines, hoping darkness or snow would grant us a reprieve from frozen bleachers and numb toes. We drove on roads in which the car thermometer read 113 degrees.

When he was old enough, he stood on a 90-foot diamond, looking from third to first as if he needed binoculars to see his teammate and a strong wind to help his throw reach the target.

As he got taller and stronger, the distance became more manageable. 

As parents, we made our share of errors on the sidelines and in the stands. While we told him it was the effort that mattered, not the result, he could see the joy in our faces after a win and the slumped shoulders after a tough loss.

While he’ll undoubtedly play other games down the road, that road won’t be as close as the ones we’ve traveled together. 

In a recent game, our son raced back and caught a ball against the wall, in a place on the field similar to the one where he extended his tiny glove at Yankee Stadium. We have shared such a long and inspired journey between those two mirrored moments.

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Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

After a year filled with various kinds of losses in 2020, many residents are coping with emotional burdens, including a calendar filled with anniversaries of painful memories.

Called the anniversary effect, people who have been grieving losses are approaching and, in some cases have passed, the one year anniversary of the death of a family member, the last time they saw a family member in person, or the day they dropped a friend who couldn’t breathe off at a hospital.

“It’s good to acknowledge an anniversary is coming up,” said Mandi Zucker, a licensed social worker with a certificate in grief recovery and in thanatology, which is the study of death and dying. Those who feel comfortable offering their support might want to ask someone who is grieving what they are doing, if they have any plans and how they might spend the day.

Zucker, who is the founder of Inner-Harbor, a center that helps young adults who are grieving, cautioned that reaching out to someone only as an anniversary approaches might backfire.

If the anniversary is the only time someone reaches out, “that might feel disingenuous,” Zucker cautioned. People who are grieving might wonder “where you’ve been for the past year, if you are reaching out as if the other 364 days have not been difficult.”

People eager to provide support to the many residents who are dealing with the symptoms and after effects of grief should first make sure they are comfortable enough with their own lives to respond to their family and friends.

“Don’t ask if you’re not ready to hear it,” Zucker suggested. “If you’re going through something yourself and you’re in a hurry and don’t have the time, don’t ask.”

Support often takes the form of listening, rather than interrupting or talking. Zucker suggests people encourage those who are grieving to speak, without interrupting them, sharing their own anecdotes or judging them.

While it might not sound like long, two minutes is considerably longer than most people can offer their thoughts and feelings, as others typically interrupt well before then.

“There is nothing we can say that’ll fix” grief, Zucker said. “Our goal to be supportive is to let them say more. When you’re talking with them, think about why you are talking.”

Commenting on someone’s experience, by acknowledging that their description sounds sad, scary or painful, gives them an opening to continue to share.

When someone says, “It’s been rough with COVID,” almost everyone can offer their own experiences with the virus, the losses of freedom, and opportunity that they’ve felt, she said. Even though a supporter might want to share their experience to relate, the person who is grieving is likely better off having an opening to continue to share and experience their feelings, Zucker suggested.

Sometimes, just allowing the person to tell you to go away gives people control over a life that seems out of control.

“You can give them space, [but] you can also send an email or text saying that you are still thinking about them,” Zucker said. “You don’t have to imply that they must respond.”

Zucker is a fan of handwritten notes, which provide a material connection when someone doesn’t feel like talking, but can see a physical reminder of their connection to others.

If people notice that someone who is grieving isn’t getting dressed or showering, they can comment on it, letting them “know you see them.”

Zucker has a contrary view to the comment people often receive about being strong. For her, people show strength by being vulnerable, not by masking their feelings.

People who might be experiencing grief might also need to diversify their sources of support and strength. That could include meditating or going for walks.

 

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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

When I was in college, I learned an important lesson in class that had nothing to do with the subject I was studying. Many years ago, I attended an early morning anthropology lecture.

Pacing at the front and bottom of a semicircular stage, the professor shared details about the hungry ghost festival. In various parts of Asia and India, people practice a ritual in which they relieve the suffering of their deceased relatives by providing food. During this time, the professor said, people prepare meals and leave empty seats for ghosts, who ritualistically consume the food.

Seated next to a friend from our dorm, I was busily taking notes, not only because I wanted to do well on a future test, but because I also found the description fascinating.

That’s when the professor became distracted. Someone from the audio visual department was quietly packing up equipment at the back of the room.

“Excuse me,” the professor yelled to the man. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry,” the man said.

“Well, you should be,” the professor barked back.

The man continued to try to pack up the materials quietly. The noise, which I barely heard from a seat that was much closer to the back of the room, was still too much for my professor.

“You’re sorry, but you’re still disrupting my class!” he shouted.

“I’m packing up the material. I work for the university. One of the other classes needs it now,” the man replied. “I’ll keep it down.”

“No, this is ridiculous,” the professor said through gritted teeth. “I won’t tolerate this. You will leave.”

The man stood still, unsure of what to do. In that moment, I felt like I had a choice: I could either say something to support the man in the back of the room or walk out of the class. By doing and saying nothing, which is what I did, I felt like I was accepting the professor’s behavior.

When the man spent one more minute doing his work, the professor demanded to know where he worked so he could show up and bother him while he was trying to concentrate.

All these years later, I still think of that small moment. These types of incidents require a readiness to think, speak or act, especially to something that disturbs or distresses us. It’s akin to what coaches say all the time in sports: know what you’re going to do with the ball before it comes to you. If you have to think too much about your next move, it’s going to be too late.

A recent anti-Asian incident in New York City, in which security guards watched as a man knocked down and kicked a 65-year-old woman on her way to church, reminded me of the need to be prepared to do the right thing, even when someone wrongs someone else.

We are more likely to act when we are prepared to help, even if the moment creates discomfort for us.

Nowadays, we all have an opportunity to support each other, particularly amid anti-American attacks on members of the Asian American community. These cowardly verbal and physical assaults will become less prevalent if perpetrators know we’re all prepared to stand up for our friends and neighbors who have become the target for random anger during the pandemic. Asian Americans are not an enemy of the rest of us any more than our heart is the enemy of our body. We should stand with, and for, each other.

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Photo from Pixabay

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

No matter how much uncertainty and anxiety clouds our lives, the passion that inspires us can  penetrate the haze.

My retired neighbors, whom I see regularly on our walks, have shared their lives with us over the last year, offering news updates about their two grown children as well as their pursuit of vaccinations. Amid all the other news, they shared a development in their backyard that has completely captivated their attention.

Andrea and Bob said they were doing their usual gardening, trimming their bushes and reseeding their lawn, when they noticed something new next to their grill. Two mallards had decided to nest in a nearby bush.

The presence of this nest has captivated them to such a degree that it’s clear that the first place they look when they return from their walks is in the direction of the nest. They are eager to see whether their visitors, whom they assure us will take about the same 28 days to hatch that it takes between each of the two Moderna vaccinations for COVID, have pushed their way out of their eggs.

Each day, the parent mallards swim in their pool, taking short breaks from their early parenting duties to wade back and forth in a water body that Andrea and Bob assure us won’t have any chemicals or even salt until later in the summer.

They seem so thrilled to host their new guests that the bird droppings or other germs that might clog their filter or encourage bacterial growth don’t seem to concern them.

Indeed, they are so focused on these duck eggs that they have told anyone who ventures in their backyard, including insect control experts, not to spray or go near the nest.

Just to make sure the nest remains undisturbed from human activities, they have also put sawhorses — the kinds of temporary fencing police use to control crowds and building managers use to keep people away from exclusive entrances and exits to buildings — on either side of the nest.

Once the ducks hatch, they plan to take pictures from their window or around their yard, sharing them with friends and family.

The excitement this nest has created not only speaks to the Groundhog Day nature of our lives, but also to the core passion some people feel for nature.

When the right kind of animals appear, and I suspect a young raccoon or a nest of vultures wouldn’t make the cut, people will go well out of their way to support those creatures and to encourage the safety of their young.

Perhaps the arrival of spring and the renewal and hope it brings offers a fitting backdrop for the affection and appreciation of this collection of eggs.

After all, this spring in particular is unlike any other, as people hope to get vaccinated, emerge from their versions of hibernations and plan, tentatively, for the next steps over the next few months and year.

We will hopefully see friends and family we haven’t seen in months or even a year and, in some cases, will also visit with extended friends and family fortunate enough to have added new life to their ranks as well. Despite the baby bust, two sisters in my wife’s extended family gave birth to baby girls within weeks of each other. They will have their own stories to tell, passed down to them from their parents and extended family, about the unusual and challenging environment into which they were born.

In the meantime, however, Andrea and Bob can plan for something in the next few weeks that is unexpected, unplanned and wonderful: the hatching of new ducklings.

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Photo from Pixabay

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

This month, we completed our first pandemic year. As we prepare for a hopeful future, please find below the words that reflected the realities of our past year.

— “We were behind the eight ball on testing for a while now,” Suffolk County Executive Steve Bellone (D) on a conference call with members of the National Association of Counties and the press, March 18, 2020.

– “These are not helpful hints. These are legal provisions. They will be enforced.” Governor Andrew Cuomo (D) on a conference call with reporters, describing his decision to shut down businesses not considered essential, March 20, 2020.

– “A lot of us are thinking about staff on the hospital side who are really being tested in an unprecedented way.” Cathrine Duffy, director of HealthierU, an employee wellness program at Stony Brook University, March 25, 2020.

— “I’ve never seen anything like it.” Joan Dickinson, community relations director at Stony Brook University, in response to the over 100 emails she received each night from people eager to donate to the university, March 27, 2020

— “For the N95 masks to come in without a charge helps all those local entities laying out a lot of cash at the moment.” Rep. Lee Zeldin (R-NY1) in response to the announcement that President Donald Trump (R) would ship 200,000 masks to Suffolk County, April 6, 2020.

— “I never imagined being in the position of reporting the numbers on a daily basis of people who have died in our county from anything like this.” Bellone on his daily conference call with reporters, April 12, 2020.

— “We feel that science will solve this problem, and hopefully soon.” John Hill, director of the National Synchrotron Light Source II, who was part of a team coordinating Brookhaven National Laboratory’s COVID-19 research across all the Department of Energy labs, April 19, 2020.

— “We have a hard winter ahead of us.” Bettina Fries, chief of the Division of Infectious Diseases at Stony Brook Renaissance School of Medicine, regarding projected increases in viral cases, April 23, 2020.

— “I always felt an urgency about cancer, but this has an urgency on steroids.” Mikala Egeblad, associate professor at Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory, in describing her efforts to apply her scientific expertise to COVID, April 26, 2020.

— “Coming to the hospital is still safer than going to the supermarket.” Todd Griffin, the president of Medical Staff and chair of the Department of Obstetrics, Gynecology and Reproductive Medicine at Stony Brook Renaissance School of Medicine, April 30, 2020.

— “We love you, but you can’t come anywhere near us.” Malcolm Bowman, distinguished service professor at Stony Brook University’s School of Marine and Atmospheric Sciences, recalls his extended family in New Zealand telling him and his wife Waveney as they left an old car with food at the airport so the couple could live in a camper in New Zealand , May 1, 2020.

— “At a certain point, it’s not just about the patient. It’s about the whole support system. You’re pulling not just for them, but for their whole family.” Amanda Groveman, Stony Brook quality management practitioner, describing the My Story effort to personalize patient stays at the hospital, May 7, 2020.

— “I always knew you were smart, but now I know you are brilliant.” Marna said to her daughter Tamara Rosen, who  defended her graduate thesis at Stony Brook University through a Zoom call, May 24, 2020.

— The death of Minnesota resident George Floyd at the hands of police officers was “an outrage” and was “unacceptable.” Suffolk County Police Commissioner Geraldine Hart in a statement on a media call, May 30, 2020.

— Army veteran Gary Degrijze has “truly made a remarkable recovery.” Jerry Rubano, a doctor in Trauma/ Acute Care/ Surgical Critical Care in the Department of Surgery at Stony Brook Medicine, said after he spent seven weeks on a ventilator and twice lost his pulse , June 9, 2020.

— “You couldn’t have found a happier group of people.” Dr. Frank Darras, clinical professor of Urology and Clinical / Medical Director of the Renal Transplantation Program at Stony Brook Renaissance School of Medicine, about a transplant at 3:30 a.m. on a Saturday morning, June 12, 2020.

— “My whole career has brought me to be who I am in this moment.” Risco Mention-Lewis, deputy police commissioner, in the wake of protests over policing, July 3, 2020.

— “When you have untreated mental health and substance abuse disorders, the county will pay for that one way or the other.” Children’s Association Chief Executive Officer Jeffrey Reynolds amid an increase in demand for mental health during the pandemic, July 31, 2020.

— “People sent really moving and emotional notes. We saw a lot of good in people” [during a difficult time.] Colby Rowe, Trauma Center Education & Prehospital outreach coordinator who helped coordinate donations to Stony Brook, Aug. 7, 2020.

— “Long Islanders deserve better.” Thomas Falcone, CEO of LIPA, in response to a letter from Senator James Gaughran (D-Northport) questioning LIPA’s oversight of PSEG after extensive power outages and communication failures following Tropical Storm Isaias, Aug. 28, 2020.

— “I tell my patients, I take their hands, I say, ‘Listen, I was in there, too. I know what you’re feeling. I know you’re scared. I know you’re feeling you can die.” Feliciano Lucuix, a patient care assistant at St. Catherine of Siena Medical Center, describing her hospitalization with COVID and then her return to her work in the same hospital, Dec. 14, 2020.

— “As hard and as difficult and sad and heart wrenching [as it was], so many other parts, you just saw such humanity. It was amazing.” Patricia Coffey, nurse manager at the Critical Care Unit at Huntington Hospital reflecting on the challenges and responses of the health care field amid the pandemic, Dec. 31, 2020.

— “When we reach our number, we make an announcement inside.” Michael Connell, who runs the M.A. Connell Funeral Home in Huntington Station, said about alerting people about crowds awaiting a chance to visit with family during a funeral service, Feb. 26, 2021.

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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

I would like to cancel some things from my past and my own life. Here are some things I’d put on my cancel list:

Self doubt: Movies (remember when we used to go out to movies, pay way too much money for popcorn, candy and enjoy previews for upcoming films that looked better than the one we were about to watch?) often encourage us to overcome self doubt. What if we never had those doubts in the first place? We might become arrogant and insufferable, but we also might truly become our own versions of “The Little Engine that Could.” Wait, that hasn’t been canceled, has it? Well, if it has, I’m going to ignore the latest cultural eraser.

Self stuffing: When self doubt crept into our minds, how often did we reach for the kind of comfort food that just didn’t do us any favors? Sure, those cupcakes, cookies and sugar cereal might have tasted good in the moment, but was the momentary satisfaction really worth it? Did the eight vitamins and four minerals do us any good? Let’s cancel that urge and impulse, making it impossible to continue unfortunate patterns.

Self loathing: I admit that the self loathing that has crept in at times in my life has helped me get off the couch and do some sit-ups and push-ups, has driven me to be more productive and has put me on more of the “right track,” to borrow from that Little Engine. Still, maybe all that energy would have been more effective if I used it earlier.

The 2004 Red Sox: Yeah, I know you can’t cancel a team or sports history, but that would be one of the first teams I’d erase from my memory. The Yankees were winning 3-0 in the series and no team had ever come back from such a deficit, plus we had the curse of the Bambino. None of that mattered, as the Sawx not only took the next four games, but then went on to win the World Series. Blech! Now I know how all those New Englanders felt about Bucky Dent, which probably stings a lot less. Bucky Dent is like trying to tease your younger brother with something that makes him smile even more broadly than you do.

Mirrors: We should cancel mirrors. After all, they keep showing how much older and more exhausted we’re getting. Sometimes, like when we conquer the self stuffing and the self doubt, we see the version of ourselves we’d like to be. Other times, though, the mirror tells us, albeit in a backwards way, that we aren’t who we’d like to be and that we need to climb back onto that train car to get to our desired destination.

Report cards: Students, parents and teachers can’t win. If a teacher gives everyone A’s, the teacher will be popular, but the students probably wouldn’t learn as much as they could or should. The teacher who has more of a bell-shaped distribution of grades may reflect the reality of the class as a whole, but he or she may put someone who belongs on the right side of the curve on the left and vice versa. Let’s cancel report cards and let the students prove what they know in some other way. The great thing about this version of cancel culture is that it doesn’t require me to replace it with something that works. 

Bad parenting: We’ve had moments when we have the right intention, but the wrong result. Let’s cancel those unfortunate parenting errors. If kids can get a do-over on the playground, we should get to cancel one or two of our mistakes.

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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

In my daily conversations with a range of people over the last week, I have heard stories I thought I’d share, as a reflection of the reality of our lives.

The first involved a discussion with Joe about his vaccination. Joe had been trying to sign up for a COVID vaccination for weeks. He thought he’d landed a coveted vaccination appointment at Jones Beach. Driving out there for a 6 p.m. appointment, he drove in circles.

The site had the wrong address, he said. In addition, even the correct address, which had a phone on-site that wasn’t working, naturally, was closed that day because the winds were too high.

“Who would put tents up on Jones Beach?” Joe asked, his voice barely rising but his frustration evident from the time wasted trying to get a vaccination that would allow him to do a job that required interacting with the public. “If you want to build a tent, put it somewhere that’s not as windy. It wasn’t even snowing.”

Fortunately, Joe, who spent more time the next day sharing his experience with a vaccination operator, was able to schedule a make-up appointment much closer to home.

The next day, I spoke with Matthew, who is worrying about his son Jim, who is a sophomore in college. Jim, you see, has already received a COVID warning. A second warning or infraction could send his son home, which would, as Matthew put it, “not be good for anybody.”

As it turns out, Jim has a girlfriend, Sarah. Normally, that wouldn’t be such a cause for concern for his parents or for the university. Still, with his girlfriend living in a different penitentiary, I mean, dormitory, Jim is not allowed to visit with Sarah.

The problem is that Sarah, who is an excellent and committed student, not only works hard at school, but also inspires Jim to expend considerable additional academic effort.

If Jim stops seeing Sarah, which he may do to comply with school rules designed to protect the campus from spreading the dangerous virus, he will miss time with his close friend, while he will also likely not study as hard.

My friend Matthew advised Jim to be careful and comply with the rules, although I could tell that he felt his own return on the investment he spends for college will likely be higher if Jim spends more time with his studious friend.

Finally, I spoke with Paul, a friend who regularly attended conferences before COVID shut all those events down. Paul traveled at least four times a year to meetings all over the world, visiting interesting places but, more importantly, speaking with people in his field.

One day in 2019, Paul was sitting in one such conference and was taking notes. As the conference ended, he and the man sitting next to him, whom he’d never met, struck up a conversation. The man suggested a follow-up effort to the work that might help the industry. Realizing he had the ability to do exactly what the stranger suggested, Paul asked if the man would mind if he used the idea. The stranger was delighted and a friendship, and an idea, was born.

I asked Paul how much he missed conferences and if he planned to attend them when the world reopened.

He said he would not only jump at the chance, but might even attend conferences he wouldn’t have previously considered, just to benefit from such random and potentially beneficial interactions. His only hesitation is that he hasn’t gotten his vaccination yet. He wondered what I thought about driving out to Jones Beach.

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Photo from Pixabay

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

I have a surprising amount of “found time” these days.

I still have numerous responsibilities and deadlines, but the time between activities, when I’m walking and talking with my wife, when I’m driving to the supermarket or when I’m preparing dinner, my mind is free of the pattern it had developed over the course of the last four years.

No, I wasn’t training for the Olympics and no, I wasn’t preparing a machine to land on the Red Planet. I was, like so many other people, living my life and reading the headlines.

More often than not, the 45th president of the United States consumed the news cycle. Periodically, I wrote about him, but, for the most part, despite reading and reacting to the things other people wrote, I recognized that few ideas or thoughts I had were original or even worth printing.

Yet, I found myself reading and reacting with friends and family, pondering whether he was setting new presidential precedents.

While my body hasn’t gone on any distant vacations, except for a relaxing ski weekend, my mind suddenly has more time. Indeed, even when there are headlines about Supreme Court decisions related to the former president, I glance at a few sentences and move on to other things.

So what am I doing with all this found time? In no particular order, here are a few ways I have reengaged my mind:

■ I’m reading more books. I have had Walter Isaacson’s biography of Ben Franklin next to my bed for a while. I’m now parsing through it more closely, enjoying the reality of an iconic American, learning about his love for travel and his well-known sense of self worth.

■ I’m thinking about Mars. At first, of course, I couldn’t help wondering how Marvin the Martian from the Bugs Bunny era might react to the Perseverance rover landing next to his home. On a more serious note, I enjoyed the absolutely giddy scene at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory, where scientists and engineers have been working tirelessly for years for this moment and where they saw and heard sights and sounds from Mars that bring us all closer to the planet’s surface.

■ I’m noticing the lighting around our neighborhood. As we approach spring, the colors of the light have changed, turning ordinary homes into glowing domiciles. If I were selling some of the houses around me, I would take pictures of them during the sunrise and sunset, showing prospective buyers these residences when they are glowing.

■ I’m becoming preoccupied with sports again. I am following the Brooklyn Nets more closely and, more directly, am excited for the days and weeks ahead when my son might play baseball. In his last year of high school, he has an opportunity to play for his school and himself, if the school and the league are able to get through an entire season during the pandemic.

■ I’m marveling, in a distant and impersonal way, at the turnabout in press coverage. CNN, The New York Times and The Washington Post have toned down their Washington criticism, while the New York Post and Fox News seem intent to point out all the flaws and dangers of the new administration. The teeter-totter has tilted in the other direction now, with the New York Post attacking White House Press Secretary Jen Psaki with some of the same concerns that the more liberal papers attacked the previous press secretary.

■ Lastly, I’m listening to everything around me better. The children playing down the street and the returning birds calling to each other in the trees have captured my attention.

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Photo from Pixabay

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

If you can do it, I highly recommend getting away from your life, even if it’s just for a day or a weekend.

Despite the ongoing threat from COVID-19, we took a weekend ski trip. We called the small inn where we hoped to stay and asked if they required masks of their guests.

“When you get here, you’ll see that there’s almost no common space,” the innkeeper said. “You’ll be in a small hallway.”

That was music to our ears and, as it turned out, exactly as he described. We only saw two other guests that weekend and that was in the parking lot.

Upon check in, we called the family that ran the inn, who directed us, unseen and contactless, to our room, where an old fashioned key, not a key card, awaited us on the kitchen table.

After we emptied the luggage from our car, we raced up a foggy mountain filled with hairpin turns to the ski slope after 9 p.m. to pick up our equipment. I had read that the ski slope recommended getting the gear the night before to save time the next morning. With only two other customers at the rental center that night, we maneuvered through the process quickly.

Something about getting away from the sameness of the last year was incredibly liberating. We woke up later than usual, had a light breakfast and headed to the slopes. Assured that the three parking lots were full, my wife suggested driving to the closest lot, where a friendly parking attendant suggested we could take our chances and circle the lot. Sure enough, my wife spotted someone pulling out of a spot just as we arrived.

The only remaining obstacle between us and blazing a trail down the mountain was a lift ticket.

Clearly, we weren’t the only ones pining for an outdoor sport, as an enormous line awaited. My wife discovered that the line was for rentals and that the ticket line had only two other people.

Grateful for the time we saved procuring equipment the night before, we put on our skis and shuffled towards one of the closest lift lines.

Sitting on a lift for the first time, dangling above skiers and snow boarders who did everything from carving their way down the mountain to sliding on their backside as their skis popped off, we shed the sameness of home life, home responsibilities and home entertainment.

The first time down the mountain, we reminded ourselves to keep our weight forward. My feet and legs, which have spent far too much time tucked underneath me in a chair at home, appreciated the chance to set the pace and direction.

My ears delighted at the shushing sound and my eyes drank in the magnificence of mountains gently piercing through a blanket of clouds that changed from white and grey to orange and pink during the approaching sunset.

We had a few challenging moments. Numerous skiers went maskless until reminded by a lift attended, while some people seemed genuinely disappointed when I didn’t agree to share a lift with them. When I explained to one of them that I was being, “COVID-safe,” she said she was already vaccinated. I told her I hadn’t and was being careful.

A few errant snowboards passed perilously close to my legs before colliding into a tree, while lift lines were sometimes too crowded for comfort.

Still, the ability to get away from a life that, as my daughter describes, “remains on pause even as it moves forward,” provided a refreshing and memorable change to our routines.

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Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Panic, which started in my stomach and had seeped so deep into the sinews of my fingers that I could barely write my own name, was overcoming me.

I was staring at the problem, knowing that I could do it if I calmed down, but also fearing that the answer wouldn’t come in time.

I had studied this type of organic chemistry problem for weeks, had attended every extra help session Randy, my teaching assistant and the head teaching fellow for the class, gave, including several late in the evening on Sunday nights.

If I froze up for too long, I ran the risk of not finishing that problem or the test. I couldn’t come up with a solution, and I couldn’t move on.

Then, it hit me. No, it wasn’t the solution. It was Randy’s overwhelming cologne. My teaching fellow was walking up and down the rows of the testing site, making sure no one was cheating, while responding to requests to go to the bathroom.

Something about his cologne brought me back to one of the many study sessions, helping me break the mental logjam in my head and sending me toward the solution that was right under my nose.

As we enter the 11th month of this pandemic, we can see and hear many of the cues we would get if we were continuing to live the lives we took for granted, but we are much more limited in what we can smell, especially if we are sticking with federal guidelines and staying put.

So, what smells do I miss the most?

While I enjoy visiting Long Island beaches in the summer, when the trio of hazy, hot and humid hovers in the air, I particularly appreciate the cold, salt spray of a winter beach, when the scent of crispy and frozen seaweed blends with air that seems to have brought hints of its cold journey across the ocean.

Then, of course, there is the missing smell of the kinds of foods that aren’t in our own kitchens or right next door. One of my favorite restaurants, the Good Steer sends out the scent of their onion rings in every direction around the building, calling to me and recalling my youth when my late father would watch happily as all three of his sons consumed our double order of onion rings, alongside our burger supremes.

While all ice might seem to smell the same, the scent of Alaska’s glaciers brings a frozen crispness to an inhospitable climate. Marveling at the ice around a cruise my wife and I took over two decades ago, I inhaled the cool fresh scent of frozen water.

Then there’s the food from all over the world. The enticing smells of freshly baked baguettes and fruity macarons in Parisian patisseries, the welcoming scent of fish caught earlier that day on Hawaiian beaches or the symphony of smells from places like Faneuil Hall, where Boston accents form the acoustic backdrop for the smell of flowers, steaks, and baked beans.

With spring just a month away, I turn to thoughts of baseball and Yankee Stadium. Yes, of course, numerous odors throughout the stadium — from other fans who could use some of Randy’s cologne to restrooms that don’t smell like a rose garden — aren’t the first things that come to mind. I’m talking about the smell of the grass and the dirt after the grounds crew waters it. That baseball field scent conjures infinite possibilities, from triple plays to triples off the wall, from immaculate innings to grass-stained catches. The smell of hot dogs and soft buns entice us as vendors march up and down the stairs nearby.

These days, we can see and hear people through FaceTime calls, but we can’t smell them. That person might love orange Tic Tacs, tuna fish sandwiches, fresh roasted coffee or any of a host of other scents — cinnamon rolls, perhaps —that define her the same way the light highlights a crooked-toothed smile. We might find Tic Tacs that remind us of them, but, without the combination of scents, including their laundry detergent, their soap or their conditioner, or their physical presence, we are missing that olfactory connection.

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