WHAT IS THAT

New Old Dog finds the giant Peep to he EXTREMELY SUSPICIOUS.

At Least One Of Us Is Relaxed

Hole

Herself speaks.

There's a hole in the back yard, in the area of pea gravel where the swingset used to be once upon a time. Some kind of squirrel lives there; I've seen a tail disappearing into it. I haven't seen the squirrel out in the yard, though. Perhaps it keeps different hours than I do.

With the "Stay Home, Work Safe" order in place here, it's hard to escape. I love the people in my house tremendously -- and yet I desperately miss my time Alone. I want to cook when I feel like it, without having to wait for other people to move out of the way in the kitchen, while listening to my music or my Harry Potter audiobooks without interruption. How I took for granted that simple pleasure. I'll bear that in mind when things return to whatever the New Normal will be, in weeks or months from now.

I wish I could just disappear into a hole, like the squirrel, and have a bit of peace in the dark and the cool underground. How lovely that would be. 

On Love

Spotted on the sidewalk while out for a constitutional with the small dogs:

Love is not love until you give it away.

For the Love of Pete, What Next?

Bud

Pandemic Thoughts

Herself speaks.

A few weeks ago, my Saturday looked like this: go to the bank; go to the gym; go to PetSmart to pick up the dog food that Tiny Dog likes best; go to the home goods store and look for a certain type of basket for a particular purpose; go to the specialty grocery store to get rice milk; and finally, go to Sam's Club and do a big shopping for the household for the upcoming week or two.

What a luxury that day was. How little I appreciated the ability to go where I wanted, when I wanted, and purchase the things I wanted, without incident.

How things change.
-----

Now, I do one anxiety-laden shopping trip, just to one carefully-chosen grocery store. Shelves are three-quarters empty. Every person I pass is suspicious. There is a child sneezing in line in front of me, and the checkout clerk is coughing into his elbow. I scream internally. There is a new plexiglass shield between the clerk and me. I carry a disinfectant wipe clutched in my hand, to wipe the cart handle, the keypad to pay. I forget items on my list. I rush through and out.

And yet, I am still lucky. We do have food -- meat, a few eggs, plenty of dry goods. We have toilet paper. I have the luxury of working from home if necessary. My loved ones are safe, for now. It could be worse.
-----

The news outlets reported yesterday that effective immediately, no visitors are allowed in hospitals. This makes my blood run cold as nothing else has done yet.

I am terrified of my loved ones being sick and alone. The very thought chills me to the bone.

I know I am just projecting. In truth, I am terrified of being sick and alone.
-----

I am very aware of everything I touch.
-----

I am worried about finances. Not only for me, but for everyone. Will the economy recover? Will we be able to afford what we need in the meanwhile? If one of us is hospitalized, the cost will be terrible. So many Americans are but one serious illness away from financial disaster.

I may never be able to retire.
-----

I plead inside my head: please, keep us safe. Help us all. I am not sure who I am asking. I ask anyway.

I am reminded of Psalm 18, which I first encountered in the aftermath of 9/11. I feel the weight of humanity's sorrow and fear now, as I did then. It is no wonder that we call out for help.

Lord, have mercy.

The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer, 

my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge,
my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.
I call upon the Lord, who is worthy to be praised,
and I am saved from my enemies.
The cords of death encompassed me;
the torrents of destruction assailed me;
the cords of Sheol entangled me;
the snares of death confronted me.
In my distress I called upon the Lord;
to my God I cried for help. 

Handsome Boy

Sorry!

I lost four times in a row. It was nevertheless tremendously enjoyable.

Painted

Went for a hike in the desert today. There were wee painted rocks here and there all along the path.  I wonder whose art project we witnessed? So nice to see, in these weird times.

'

Dystopian

Herself speaks.

Things are weird.

Traffic is so much lighter, especially around the closed schools. The sound of a helicopter overhead while I am out walking the dogs is surprisingly ominous. I am afraid to touch anyone (which, I will admit, is a discomfort I carried around long before COVID-19, that is merely being amplified by the current situation.) And I desperately long to be touched.

Did I fall into a dystopian novel?  I feel almost like we are living through the times that would have occurred prior to the narrative in The Handmaid's Tale. How will we look back onto these moments, in two months, two years?

I do not have the ability to imagine (or to control) how things will unfold. All I can do is try to prepare for the unknown, and to hope for the best.

The only solution at the moment: to bake zucchini bread, while I currently have eggs in the house.

Ant and Grasshopper

Herself speaks.

I have been avoiding writing about the coronavirus pandemic, because I am Afraid. I have a visceral fear that is likely (I hope) completely disproportionate to what is necessary. The shape of the immediate future is unknown and rather a bit scary. And people are either alarmingly lackadaisical, or even more alarmingly panicky with their aggressive purchasing and hoarding of supplies. 

I am trying to walk the line: I am being cautious, certainly; I am not over-purchasing, though. Nevertheless, when I went to the fancier grocery store over the past weekend, I did buy several cartons of eggs, because eggs had been unavailable at other stores and were miraculously available there. I felt guilty doing so; but, I rationalized, there are many people in my immediate circle who may be of need, and I wanted to have extras just in case.

Now I don't feel quite so bad about those extra purchases:  Offspring the First -- an ovo-lacto vegetarian -- is in need of supplies and has been unable to get to the store. So tomorrow I will deliver some eggs, and some dry goods, and the ever-so-critical toilet paper. And also, Offspring the Third will take some fresh fruit to my lovely in-laws. Going forward, I will include them in my shopping when I can, to make sure they do not go without.

I am glad we can help tend to our Important People. It is a small comfort in these frightening times. 

 

Moments I Wish I Could Revisit Right About Now

Hiking in this forest.

Little Things

Herself speaks.

I have been feeling completely out of sorts of late. Because coronavirus.

No one I know has yet been infected. Yet worries still abound and float freely, from concern about the impact of 'social distancing' and restrictions related thereto, to concern about the already-significant economic impact; and these are compounded by the knowledge that so many people I know and care about are in higher risk groups, and by a vague panicky feeling about having adequate food (which, of course, we do) and avoiding shopping. I fear the unknown and having additional responsibilities foisted upon me by the situation. I am exhausted from trying to peer into the unknown future. I want to lie down. Or to run away.

And then, this happened: I got home from work this evening, and a household member had done a handful of chores -- emptied and refilled the dishwasher; hand-washed the giant storage container; folded the dishtowels; and run the towels I had left in the washing machine through the wash, and then dried and folded them. It was a balm to my soul: all the small things magically taken off my plate, even if for just an evening. My soul unfolded a bit.

Later we sat outside with a cup of tea and chatted about television shows and this and that. And this delightful normalcy made such a difference. I felt such relief from the seemingly-omnopresent strain of the past few weeks; it washed over me, all the way from my eyebrows down to my toes.

Just when I could not do any more things, the pile of little things was done for me. I could not be more grateful.

Letters

Herself speaks.

It's 'tradition' in my family to have a Death Letter. The tradition was started by my Dad years ago -- every time he and my Mom have gone on a long trip, or moved house, or had a serious health issue, he has updated it. It contains instructions about the wills, account information, and stuff like that.

About six years ago, I decided to write my own. In addition to wills and financial information, I also wrote a short personal note to each of my Important People. I'm reading those now as I revise my Death Letter, and it is amazing how six years later (that's a lot of time passing, especially offspring-wise), I wouldn't change a word. 

Not that I'm expecting to shuffle off this mortal coil any time soon -- still, in this moment of coronavirus pandemic (about which I have not written, because I might be nearly beside myself with anxiety about something Terrible happening to me and leaving my Important People behind), it weirdly brings me comfort to know that if something happened, my words would still be right and meaningful.

I don't think I tell other people often enough how much they mean to me. Might change that going forward.

Lovely

It really is lovely to see the blossoms as the small dogs and I take our morning stroll in the neighborhood. Beauty still grows, despite the state of the world.

If Only We Were All This Relaxed

Spring Has Sprung

Barking Up The Wrong Tree

Wrong market, Facebook.

Not Alone

One of the Offspring was having a Moment yesterday.  They reached out to me and I did my best to soothe them, to direct them toward a more fruitful mindset, and to help formulate a plan for moving forward out of the Stuck Spot in which they found themselves. I hope it helped. When I touched base later that day, they seemed to be doing better. I am keeping this Offspring especially close in my heart, and hope matters will improve for them soon.

I am relieved, and comforted, by the fact that the Offspring reach out to me in their Moments. I can recall some Moments of my own from the past, in which I found myself Completely Alone -- and I would not wish such terrible Aloneness on anyone. Especially the Offspring. Sometimes, just to be Heard in a Moment, makes a world of difference. I want to make that difference.

I am here, for you.

Top of the Desert

At the peak of the hike yesterday, there was a very tiny, fuzzy, succulent-type plant valiantly sprouting on a bed of rock. Beautiful green, shining out from the dusty gray. Lovely.

There is something reassuring about such tenacious flora: it quietly reminds us, life finds a way. And it also reminds us of what we all must do: grow where you are planted. 

Hike

Took a hike up the mountain in the middle of this desert city. It was lovely, and such a welcome respite from It All. 

Spring

I do love when the fog and the mist hover low over the mountain pass. Because precipitation is so rare, it is quite delightful when clouds lay like a blanket over this sun city.

It is one of the most striking parts of the desert -- that the weather is visible over great distances. Lovely.

Birthday Boy

Happy birthday, Beloved Husband. At 54, you are so young at heart, still -- just as optimistic and full of curiosity and delighted in all the little things as when we first met. It is a breath of fresh air in these turbulent times. I wish for you, health and happiness and satisfaction in all your efforts, and many more years of a youthful heart.

Super Tuesday

Herself speaks.

Yesterday, I slid into the polling place exactly four minutes before the polls closed. I checked in and then joined the sizeable line. Half an hour later, I was able to step up and cast my ballot.

This was a difficult primary. The shadow of the terrible presidential election of 2016 is haunting -- as I drove through the cold rain home from the polling place, I had thought about that nauseating sensation -- like the bottom falling out of reality -- when I realized who would win then. Will we ever overcome that terrible loss? And the damage that has been done since then?

I do not remember politics being so loud and divisive and rude and vulgar in the years of my youth. Now, though, all I feel is a sense of dismay and an ever-heightening need to avoid all footage of politicians and debates and pundits. Reading as much factual information (which can be difficult to find) as I can will suffice. I cannot bear the angry voices. 

We shall see how it goes. I am not hopeful. But still, I vote, because my one voice should be heard, however faintly.

Unnecesarily Gendered Products, Yet Again

The only discernible difference being the color of the items.

Just, no.

Quarter Century

Offspring the Second turned twenty-five today.

He is such a lovely person -- kind, polite, thoughtful. Impressively self-taught on the drums. Smart, witty. An old soul. A good soul.

I so enjoy listening to him when he speaks, for he always has something meaningful to say. The world is a better place, having him in it.

Happy birthday, my young man. I wish for good things for you, always.