HE SAID, SHE SAID
AP writers predict 2021 Grammy winners
NEW YORK – Putting out music in a pandemic, without the ability to connect directly with fans through touring, felt sort of like a tree falling in the forest with no one around to hear it. h Experiencing music in 2020 became a solo experience, for good and for bad, and music that was able to transcend the physical bubbles we all put around ourselves felt rare and special. In some ways, the Grammy nominees represented that difference with albums and music meant for self-exploration or dancing like no one was watching. And sometimes the omissions speak volumes. h Associated Press Music Writers Mesfin Fekadu and Kristin M. Hall dissect the best of an extremely unpredictable year in music. h The Grammys will air on March 14.
conifers and their needles with my husband on the phone. I had even taken out my phone to Google “fir.”
When I got home, I deposited my outerwear in the mudroom and went to make breakfast. Later that afternoon, as I set off for another walk, I realized I couldn’t find my hat. I searched everywhere, positive that it had fallen off the shelf or behind the boots or into a nearby tote.
Outside, I retraced my steps as best I could because my routes are varied, and I only vaguely remembered which one I had taken that morning. But no handknit hat was to be found.
Later that night, I looked out an upstairs window at the trees below. I had gone to the backyard after the morning walk to check out the conifers. Perhaps I had dropped the hat there? I flew down the steps, out the door and across the lawn.
Nothing.
For a moment, I wondered whether a family of squirrels had snatched it for a nest. They have been racing up the trees with unusual bits of nature; a halfdead hosta leaf now dangles from a low-hanging branch. Bulky hat yarn would make a cozy nest liner.
I will admit that the missing hat bothered me more than I thought it would. I had knitted it myself. That made it special. But I love to knit and could always make another one. I chalked up some of these feelings to COVID, as generalized anxiety seems to float through these pandemic days.
I’ve completed tons of tasks, connect via Zoom and talk to friends every day. But it’s wearing on me, and unexpected emotions well up at the strangest times. The lost hat took on a life of its own, and its absence left a hole.
The next morning, I was out the door again with a less-warm hat and a lighter coat. I took a sidewalk loop that I might have taken the afternoon before, still scouting around with the hopes of spotting my hat.
As I neared the turn-off for my street, it occurred to me that maybe I had dropped it when I took out my phone to Google that darn fir. But I didn’t see anything notable on the ground. Instead, perched on a mailbox finial was my hat. I quickly snapped a picture to remember that someone obviously wanted me to have my hat back just as much as I wanted it back.
So, hats off to my dear neighbor whose name I do not know but whose mailbox I now do know. Perhaps in the spring or summer, I will be walking by and will be able to thank him or her in person (instead of just the note I left tied to the finial) for bringing me a double scoop of happiness during this dreary COVID winter.
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