Monster vs. Monster

Originally published at KarenVernon.net on July 31, 2021

My heart has been heavy this week; actually for a long year and more, but especially this week. 

I’ve been so frustrated and angry and deeply heartsick at the “not dead yet” scene playing out right now with the pandemic. Like the ending of so many classic horror movies, we’re almost out of the woods. So very close. And then, just when we are starting to relax and breathe normally, the monster reaches its arm from the murky depths and tells us, “Not so fast.” 

My anger and frustration has been compounded by the knowledge that – like for many a horror movie heroine – the solution is right here in our grasp. But because so many people delayed or denied the life-saving vaccine, a deadly mutant of the virus has taken hold again. Like so many people I know, I’m oh-so-weary of doing everything we were supposed to, and still finding ourselves stuck in the purgatory of masks and social distancing and fear.

And then, like it knew exactly what I needed, the universe intervened for me this morning. Savoring some rare down time, I walked to our little village to visit the Saturday tailgate market. I chatted with my neighborhood farmer and selected some heirloom tomatoes that will make their way into a pie this weekend. I wandered to the bakery and picked up coffee and a pastry and headed to the lake, always a place of respite for me.

Despite all these abundant signs of life, despite the seeming normalcy of my errands, my footsteps sounded an elegy. My heart and spirit were burdened. 

Then I saw the Lake Monster.

Turns out a community group had organized a Lake Monster Parade for this morning, presumably for the sheer joy of it. And what a joy it was. 

Families of all shapes and sizes and combinations showed up, in homemade costumes and carriages, all presided over by the Lake Monster itself, gently paddling along in the wake of the paraders.

There was the pint-sized pirate, swashbuckling his way through a gaggle of geese. We had an octopus, mini-mermaids, furry four-legged dragons and more. Spectators scrambled for photos of some of the more elaborate contraptions and carts decorated with googley eyeballs and rubber glove flippers on their wheels, transformed into seaworthy chariots for costumed toddlers who no doubt wondered what all the fuss was about.

And right there, just there on the lakeside, my seized-up heart melted. I wept to see the young families, no doubt far more weary than I, indulging in a moment of fantastic, unbridled fun. I wept for those of us standing on the sidelines, cheering them on and laughing at their antics, united in serendipitous whimsy. And I wept in solidarity with those harried parents and confused-looking kids who showed up late or couldn’t find the start, but simply paraded where they were and made the best of where they found themselves.

I said a prayer of thanks for the creativity that made this magic happen, and for the grace that led me to it.

We’re still fighting the COVID monster. But for a moment, just a moment, we were fighting the despair of it together, with an army of mermaids and sea creatures, anodyne for heavy hearts.