19 May 2020: Daily Pretty

Oliver’s art teacher is knocking it out of the park with Zoom learning. He has done some really neat projects in recent weeks. Look at his nature mandala of today.

What would I do without my yard and garden?! The wonder of alliums, peonies, anemones, ferns, bees, worms, the birds, dahlias, things that aren’t classified perennials but are so happy they come back year after year anyway…Magic all around.

And my pretty girl.

Ruthie

15 May 2020: Daily Tale + Hilarity

Y’all, I do not even know where to start re: today, so I will simply start at the beginning with an earnest trip to Home Depot (even though I hate the founder, that shitty trumper human) to curbside pickup an order Tom placed last night.

I told my dear husband to measure the panel he was buying to refurbish our ancient garden shed. Charitably, because he is a smart man, I will say that he chose not to do that because pretty immediately, both I and the Home Depot guy could tell we were going to have to tie the 48” x 96” panel to my Prius’ roof. Everyone feigned confidence, but when he asked, “how far are you driving?” I knew this was not an optimal situation.

One mile, and 25 mph, into the four miles home, it was clear to me that the panel was serving as a car sail that I did not want. It was moving front to back, and the wispy plastic ties hanging into my car were growing limper by the minute. I did not wish to fly anywhere.

I put my flashers on and crept along the shoulder for a bit. Then, my highway met another highway, and I just couldn’t fathom taking my sail-car into the maelstrom. I pulled into a tiny triangle of neutral ground, pressed the hazard light button twice as if it were going to magnify the damn flasher impact, and called Tom.

This does not look like much, but the speed limit on both sides is 65 and it’s like the 405 meeting the 1.

No answer. He was, I knew, in yet another Zoom meeting.

I called my friend K. Straight to voicemail.

I made a Marco Polo video for D and A, filming the evidence of 18 wheelers racing past me on both sides at the confluence of two major, multi-lane roads.

I called Jack. He who never answers answered. I told him to knock on the door and tell Dad I really needed to talk to him. I literally heard Tom say, “I can call Mom in 2 minutes.”

I called K again. She picked up and in minutes we’d switched to FaceTime so that she could see the panel sail atop my car, the ginormous trucks whizzing by, and commiserate with my predicament. Because she is amazing, she measured her SUV trunk. This ludicrous panel would not fit there either. Oliver called while I was on with K.

Tom called back and said he would come immediately. I sent him a screenshot of my location: my ludicrous triangular niche in the middle of mayhem.

I called Ol back. He excitedly told me about the winching ratchet Tom had located. “Ol, has Dad left yet?” “No, mamma.”

WTF?

I called K back. I left another Marco Polo. I was not super-concerned, but at the same time, I really hoped every other driver was paying attention.

Finally Tom arrived, winched on some forearm forklift straps and agreed to drive the sail-car home. I drove his and felt liberated.

Then I spent four hours scraping old paint and rust off one third of one or our iron railings. Have mercy. #coronaviruslife

HILARIOUS:

A famous song, decoded.

Delightful:

Brothers enjoying an orange soda more than even seems possible is a full-tank gas refill.

Totally:

19 April 2020: Daily

Yesterday marked the start of our 6th week at home. It feels both longer and shorter than that, as if time has changed meaning in some way, has morphed from a way to order and navigate a day towards something infinitely more nebulous. I am sorry I didn’t write yesterday, but humor seemed MIA, and in light of all the terribleness, a day of somber stun seemed in order.

Yesterday in my state, hungry citizens waited for hours in lines outside MegaMarts, hoping to secure a bag of food or $30 food voucher for their families. I spent $22 to get four bags of fresh bread delivered to my doorstep, trying to support a struggling local bakery and broaden the offerings for my perennially hungry children. When I saw the videos of the food lines, I felt like such an asshole: to live in this country of such wealth and abundance, to live in a well-resourced county of a variably well-resourced state and not think of $22 as anything but helping someone nearby and feeding my children. Which is good and all, but shit. What so many would give for four fresh loaves of bread.

thank you, sharon

Yesterday, today, in many states, tons of people gathered in sardine fashion to angrily, vehemently oppose shelter-at-home orders and to sun themselves on beaches. Alex Jones attended one protest, he the deplorable liar successfully sued by Newtown shooting victim parents for spreading conspiratorial lies about the murder of their children and invalidating and profiting off their pain at every turn. Our “president” lies constantly about everything and urges states to “LIBERATE” themselves from stay-at-home orders all while refusing to provide enough tests for our country. His bimbo press secretary, naturally a blond culled from Fox, spouts his lies and pathetic “accomplishments” as victories. “We have tested 4 million Americans!”

Well, that’s about 1% which is a pitiful drop in the bucket and matters extremely little. Iceland has tested 12%.

Today welcomed more protests for “liberation,” more lies, more death, more frontline medical overwhelm. I became so rattled while reading the newspaper that I got dressed and went to work in the yard before accompanying Oliver to his first weeding job to provide guidance, intentionally leaving my phone at home. I stayed outside, working hard, without phone, for hours. We all did. I took my new chainsaw for a whirl, weeded, and tended, Jack mowed three lawns, Ol did four hours of weeding work at two different homes, and Tom mowed and parceled felled limbs.

Today is also the first anniversary of the day my friend’s son was killed in the Sri Lanka Easter bombing. We gathered via Zoom to sit with her, and despite the horror and loss, it was lovely to be present.

This is really hard, y’all, in unexpected and expected ways. I find myself invoking perspective and privilege a lot, trying to remind the boys how good they have it while not minimizing the ways their rugs have been pulled from under them. And if you, too, feel thankful, lucky and also like a hot mess, that is TOTALLY normal, valid, and OK. We have no leadership, the economy is in free fall for most, we all miss the family and friends we treasure, we don’t know when things will feel normal again or how, and not a few of our fellow citizens are acting like spoiled brats who got sent to the time-out corner but -stamping feet- don’t wanna go. Grow up, you self-indulgent twats. Do the right thing for the collective, for the United states you profess to love so dearly.

I do feel so much better after a day in nature, working, tending, seeing others from afar. But I know that nothing is certain and that mood and kilter are transitory.

Be kind, be generous, cry and rage when you need to, laugh when you can, make something pretty. I’ll get the laugh tracks going again asap, but for now let’s all take a minute to hold all the loss in our hearts and the light, honor it all, and release some good to the world beyond.