I just counted and this is day 29 of isolation for us. I mean, if you can call it “isolation” when there are eight people in the house. But yeah, March 12 was my last foray into the world, except for a doctor visit when I injured my hand two weeks ago.
I’m no longer taking walks in the neighborhood because my seasonal asthma cough has kicked in & the cool air we’ve had (until today) exacerbates it. And anyway, even with a mask I’d worry my non-covid cough would make others uncomfortable. So I moved the garage clutter off the treadmill and have been using that. And gardening as much as my bad hand can handle. (It’s lots better now but not 100%.)
WB’s school is officially canceled for the rest of the year, and Jane’s job is remote. Beanie’s college classes are online this quarter. Rose graduated from PCC in March (without fanfare—finished last week of classes + finals online, will get her diploma in the mail) and is enrolled at PSU for the fall…whatever that may look like.
For Huck & Rilla, it’s absolutely a low-tide homeschooling time, but we’re keeping up with a few daily things. I’m feeling pretty slammed with work. The usual stuff plus as much extra as I can scrape together. And am feeling uneasy about how back-burnered my own writing is, not to mention outreach to help give Nerviest Girl a good start when she launches in August. There’s not enough time in the day—not when keeping focused moment to moment requires such Herculean effort. It’s exhausting, working through this thing. And yet I’m so grateful to HAVE the work. I just wish my brain weren’t so tuckered out all the time! It’s been…quite a year. Skin cancer surgery, the damaged tendon, my stupid cough which is so worrisome under the circumstances.
Scott’s the only one going to the grocery store, and he takes major precautions. Still nervewracking, though.
My parents’ neighbor’s grandson died of COVID-19 yesterday—the youngest person to die of it in Colorado so far. My sister also had warm ties to the family. It’s so awful. And I’ve had my heart in my throat for friends in NY and elsewhere for weeks. (Keep us updated, y’all. We worry about you.)
Reading is another tricky pursuit right now…I’m darting from book to book like a butterfly. Stitching + listening to stuff works a lot better—embroidery occupies enough of my mind that I don’t start absently opening tabs. Mostly I read coronavirus news.
When Jane was going through chemo as a toddler, we often shared a hospital room with post-op surgery patients. Sometimes we would hear distraught parents weeping on the other side of the curtain while awaiting their child’s return. Then, inevitably, the parents would find out Jane was in for leukemia and they would begin making profuse apologies for crying about elbow surgery or a broken leg. And I’d be like: no, no, you get to feel how you feel about this! You’re going through something hard and real and frightening. You don’t have to grade it on a curve or downplay your feelings just because the kid in the next bed has something more dire. I think about that a lot right now as I see people being honest about what they miss or are struggling with and then immediately apologizing because so many others are dealing with worse. It’s okay to say what you miss & articulate what’s hard. It’s okay to feel upended and anxious even when your day-to-day isn’t bad.
I miss working in coffee shops. I really miss Chorale. But for the most part I’m not finding it hard to be cloistered here at home. My life was already pretty home-based. (Although what’s happening now looks very little like our real homeschooling lives. Homeschooling doesn’t mean you stay home all the time.) I look forward to my early-morning writing sessions, watching the sun rise and listening for the train whistle, the Northern flicker, the first sparrow’s call. I wish I could spend these strange days just hanging out with my kids and making art. I wish I were doing a better job of documenting it all. I wish the federal government would do its job. I wish for people back who are gone.
I wish you all well and appreciate your posts!
Rusty, but trying
august 7: turning the page
Into the void, blather.
A Friday in March