Fon-DO!

We have a routine — not perfect — that keeps us mostly on track, appropriately fed, and somewhat active. Every day, my son has his first call at 9 or 9:30. We get together after that to check Google Classroom for upcoming assignments and plan his day around his schoolwork. He has a daily video conference from 12-2 (all of you adults who video conference know how hard THAT is) and then we break again, take the dogs outside, and eat a light lunch (peanut butter jelly time, peanut butter jelly time!). 

Monday Fondue

Yesterday, I was feeling a little peckish at like 4 and had a snack epiphany. Several years ago, as a joke, I got the kids fondue mugs (“personal fondue” if you’re looking on Amazon). They’re fun for an occasional small treat (each mug holds maybe a half cup of fondue). Yesterday, I pulled them out of the cupboard, melted a little chocolate and ransacked the pantry for a handful of dippables — Ritz crackers, chocolate chip cookies, marshmallows, pretzel sticks, potato chips, strawberries. It was a fun, silly break. One of these days, we’ll try cheese instead of chocolate. 

Dinner explorations continue. A couple nights ago, we had flank steak and home fries. Last night, it was chicken and a lovely salad with field greens and some of those fondue strawberries. Late yesterday, I grabbed a couple small roasts (BOGO!) while I was out picking up a prescription at our local grocery store. We’ll probably make one of those tonight with some po – TAY – toes and carrots. 

Meat and potatoes was a standard meal at our dinner table growing up. I have a vague memory of my mom browning the roast before putting it in the oven with potatoes, carrots, and little white onions. Did she season it? I don’t remember, honestly. It was delicious though; and then, a couple days later, since this is all before microwave ovens made leftovers tasty, my sister and I would “get” to put the remainder through the meat grinder and we’d have hash with a runny egg for dinner. 

Peach tree is blooming!

Most nights, we play a game together after dinner. We aren’t tired in the same way, now, but we are tired of the monotony already. We stayed outside as long as possible over the weekend. The weather was lovely and we puttered in the backyard, sat in the sun, played with the dogs. I could hear the birds and the neighborhood kids squealing in their yards. Once I heard an airplane and, while I had noted their absence, I was startled by the sound of one, which tells me they are becoming rare. 

I’ve seen some jokes about what dogs will do when we get back to life after quarantine. But I worry more about what WE will do after quarantine. Do we have enough mental health professionals to treat the healthcare workers suffering from PTSD, the family members whose loved ones died in isolation, the service workers whose jobs don’t return, the small business owners who lost their dreams to quarantine (I hear a poem, do you?)….

We act like we’ll just return to life pre-quarantine as though it’s the day after vacation but that’s not reality. Think about the places you visit in your communities. Which of those won’t survive or will be drastically changed? The breakfast places, the independent booksellers, that hole-in-the-wall bar or pizza place, or the little DnD store. Those owners, right now, are trying to figure out if they can re-open, if they can re-hire their staff. Our communities are going to be forever changed by this pandemic and by the way our state and federal reps, governors, mayors, and … yes, president … manage through it. 

Who knew pancake mix and syrup are quarantine staples?

I’m not being political here. This is just truth — look at New Orleans (or Puerto Rico) and my comment in an earlier blog. Some places will never recover. Oh, sure, Target and Walmart and Starbucks will probably be fine but will Ritter’s re-open? How about D’s Dogs n Suds? Or Cafe on Main? Our communities are bound up in these places. If we lose them, we’ll lose a part of ourselves. I can’t help but wish that our economic focus was on saving our communities rather than the cruise industry. 

What are you eating? How are you managing?

Fon-DO!

Third Anniversary

All day long I’ve tried to write a gentle, loving note to honor this horrible third anniversary of Ken’s passing but the only thing in my head is an anguished cry of grief for my best friend. “Why are you gone?” are the words bouncing around in my otherwise empty head. 

Why are you gone?

I can’t laugh about how irritated Ken would have been by our isolation. He — the man who never went out without first strategizing all the reasons why we could stay in — would have chafed at the restrictions, not because they aren’t necessary but because anything, once denied, is that one thing that we long for most. If he had lived, he would be one of the most at risk and we would have been far too protective of his health, which would have irritated him even more. 

Why are you gone?

Tarriona “Tank” Ball, of Tank And The Bangas, once said, “There’s some areas of New Orleans where the storm has never passed.” I think about that a lot, and not just in reference to New Orleans. Recovery, resilience, isn’t a solo activity. It requires support; for me, it requires support from the one person who can no longer give it. Ken would have loved the eclectic poetry of Tank And The Bangas’ music. He would have been the person to say, “I have a new artist for you to hear.” He would have known about them before they were famous and would have celebrated their success as though he himself had discovered them. He would have been impatient with my grief, would have hated that I’m crying as I type this.

Why are you gone?

Today, a red-headed woodpecker sat on a tree branch outside my window. He climbed the trunk like a squirrel and pecked for a bit. Sometimes it was so loud, cartoonish, like the Woody that many of my generation grew up watching. Sometimes, it was a quiet tap, as soft but insistent as the tree branch against the glass when the wind blows: tap, tap. I feel his presence in everything and nothing. Sometimes, like that woodpecker, he seems to shout in my head but when I most need him, the only shouting is my own. “Why are you gone?” 

Dear god, why are you gone?

Third Anniversary

Chicken Tender Sammies and Other Kindnesses

If you came here for an uplifting “we’ll get through this together” post, I recommend that you leave now. We can all pretend that leaving a blog unread is like opening the conference room door, realizing that you’ve accidentally joined the wrong meeting and scuttling out, embarrassed but, at the same time, grateful that you didn’t sit down. If, on the other hand, you aren’t sure why you’re here, welcome; I’m not sure why I’m here either but we’ll be here together. Some days, that’s all we can ask for. 

Over the course of my life, I’ve spent a lot more time in hospitals than the average healthy non-healthcare-employed person does. There’s a quiet rhythm to the experience. You figure out how long you’re allowed to be with the patient. You pick up on the hospital routines. You learn how things like food, testing, room temperature, and parking work. After a while, if you are there long enough, you get to know the hospital workers and sometimes they get to know you. 

One time, in the midst of Ken’s illness, the lady working the register in the cafeteria looked at me and said, “You’ve been here a lot. Lunch is on us.” Since lunch was usually 2 or 3 hard-boiled eggs and an iced tea, it didn’t cost the hospital anything, really; but I remember the experience and the way it made me feel — a small “I see you” kindness. I made a similar connection this past week. In the hospital cafeteria, very late in the day, I asked the grill cook if I could have a bun to make a chicken tender sandwich. He looked at me and said, “Shh. I am making you a ‘burger’.” And then he proceeded to make me a chicken tender sammie with melted cheese, fresh lettuce, and tomato slices. Honest to dog, I nearly cried. I was so tired and so sad and there he was being gently kind. I told him how much it meant to me and he just smiled and said, “good.” 

I readily admit that I am flailing blindly through my life, no self-burn intended. If life is a series of plans fulfilled, my life has been a series of, sometimes intricate but more often simple, plans made and then discarded because of … everything else. 

More than half of March has been just that. First, I was knocked askew by some sort of non-COVID-19 respiratory illness. As I’ve mentioned before, I have moderate-to-severe asthma. I can go weeks without needing my emergency inhaler but a respiratory illness usually means a daily puff or two for me. With this recent illness, I used more than 50 doses in four days. It was as bad, if not worse, than epiglottitis. At least with that, my throat just closed entirely and I didn’t have to ask myself if I needed hospital care. (Okay, so, actually, even that time, I didn’t go to the hospital; I went to the urgent care facility. They panicked and called an ambulance … but that’s a whole ‘nother story of me being stupid.) The point is that, if I get COVID-19, I’ll be one of those people who takes up a hospital bed.   

Shortly after I was back on my feet, someone very dear to me was hospitalized for a completely unrelated reason. I spent the next 11 days living by the hospital rhythm, dozing through the night on ridiculously uncomfortable chairs or curled, knees tucked, on “sofas” clearly designed for very short people. While all this was happening, the world was shutting down. New protocols were being implemented every day at the hospital. They limited visitors to one person at a time and I started to worry about being banned altogether.

Because I was spending so much time at the hospital, I didn’t do the usual shopping and had a bit of a list when I finally had the opportunity to visit my local Costco. The things we needed were readily available (please don’t tell my dogs that there were only 4 bags of dog food left at the store!) but I’ll confess to being surprised to see people pushing two carts, one with six or eight cases of water and the other with stacks of other shelf-stable things like bleach, vinegar, 25 pound bags of flour and rice, sugar, pasta. I knew about the pandemic but I did not expect the hoarding. 

Over the years, we’ve had students from Nepal, Sri Lanka, The Maldives, and Bolivia stay with us and all of them have asked to see the glorious abundance of our grocery stores, something they’ve heard about but never experienced in their own countries. Yet, here we are: hoarding toilet paper and bottled water. I don’t understand hoarding generally but I’m especially puzzled by the bottled water. Are people expecting a complete breakdown of our infrastructure? Or are they panicking because they lack basic information about what to expect? I fear that it is the latter.

Since we’re distancing, we’ve started cooking more elaborate meals, with my daughter usually taking the chef role. Over the last several days, we’ve made meatballs and sauce, chicken pot pie, pork stew (heavy on the veggies), cottage pie, and pizza, homemade crust included. In addition, we were treated to a delicious roast, a gift from a friend. 

We’re liking the family meals in the midst of all the crazy. We’ve always been close but as we hear people “joking” about how much they dislike their families, we feel so unable to relate. Tonight, during dinner, we played (and cheated) at cards with alacrity and a great deal of laughter. Earlier today, we gardened and played outside. I am so grateful for the opportunity to be home with them. 

My son starts distance learning tomorrow. I think it will be a challenge to keep him engaged while I continue to work at my own job but I am reminded of my husband’s advice when our kids were little. He said that our role, as parents, is to create a love of learning. If we engage with our kids about the things that interest them, and we encourage them to explore those things, we create a world in which exploration is their reward. So, we’ll follow the distance learning requirements as best we can and then when we need a break, we’ll go outside and break geodes, dig in the dirt, watch bugs, and maybe take a walk or two. 

And if you start to despair, jump on Twitter (who would have guessed I’d ever say that!) and visit Sam Neill (yes, the actor) for poetry, BroadwayWorld for living room concerts, Earyn McGee for “Find the Lizard,” the Urban Birder for bird trivia and pictures, Steve Martin (yes that Steve Martin) for Banjo balm, and so many more. The more you physically isolate, the more opportunity there is for social connections, even for introverts like me.  

Stay safe. Stay home. Listen to the birds sing.

Chicken Tender Sammies and Other Kindnesses

Banal Banter And Other Glory

An agent — we’ll call him Agent A — wants significant revisions to one of my manuscripts. He actually probably wants a different story than the one I offered him. Now I’m terribly conflicted: do I change Jooney’s story (she’s my main character) or do I write him the story that he’s looking for? I love Jooney and I’ve invested a lot of emotional energy into her character arc BUT if I don’t make the changes, perhaps her story will never make it to print. 

Regardless of my decision, I feel the need to offer some applause for his choice insults. Many years ago, as I think I’ve written about here, I was part of a project team that received some glorious feedback. If you’re going to insult my efforts, I want you to go all in. Don’t tell me that I suck. That’s uninspired. Say, instead, “Your website sucks sea water through a rusty scupper.” Now, that is an insult! I’d like to meet that person and tell them how much I still admire that phrasing 20 years after it was offered. 

Agent A does not think Jooney’s story sucks and his comments did not reach these glorious heights. He did, however, provide some input using a charming amount of alliteration. And for that, he definitely gets points. 

The writing process is so painfully personal that it can be hard to separate oneself from criticism. This is not the career path for the sensitive. I, however, am delightfully insensitive, and I’m having a great time! One agent even called me a meanderer. Since I AM actually a meanderer, I felt very SEEN. That’s an agent who gets me.

I missed a writing day this week to attend a funeral. It was in another city so I spent 4 hours in the car for a 30 minute service. However, in exchange for that, I did get to spend about 5 hours with a dear, quite elderly, family friend. The family asked me to be her chauffeur. Because of their own grief journey, they didn’t want the task (she walks very slowly and is starting to have memory problems) but I found it lovely.

We didn’t attend the graveside service because it was a torrential downpour (with no shelter!). Instead, while we waited for the wake to start, we chatted and drove around the city, visiting places she hasn’t seen recently. The day was an unexpected gift in the midst of their loss and sorrow. I’ll have to make up the time (I do have deadlines, people!), but I’d do it again in a heartbeat. None of us know how much time we have left. 

Speaking of loss and grief, have you taken the time to watch The Farewell? It’s a movie about a Chinese woman who doesn’t know that she is dying of cancer. Her family throws a fake party so they can all see her before she dies. The movie includes a lovely exploration of the Qingming Festival, which I’m coincidentally also reading about in a Grace Lin story called Dumpling Days. 

Writers are supposed to read a lot. It can be tough, not because I don’t enjoy it, but because the days are already very long. By the time I pick up a book, I’m often so exhausted that I only get through a chapter or two before I’m dozing over the pages. That doesn’t stop me from juggling books though! In addition to Dumpling Days, I’m currently reading Stay Sweet (by a local writer and I had high hopes but I am sad to say that I’m really not enjoying it), Beloved, Maybe You Should Talk to Someone (almost finished!), and a free online economics textbook called Economy, Society and Public Policy, a book club read about how all of these things actually work together. (It’s a lot more enjoyable than the title makes it sound. If you have an interest, speak up and I’ll share the link.) 

Back to work: while I ponder Jooney’s future, I’m working on a time travel novel. It’s full of danger and sand and deprivation, which seems to be a continual theme for me. I’ve been playing with this story for several months and have about 8,000 words down. It’s a middle grade novel so it will be around 30,000-40,000 words. The really dark novel that I’ve also been writing is at about 12,000 words right now but I have a lot more to do on that one. It’s probably going to top out at about 80,000-100,000 words. There was a time when I couldn’t really envision finishing a story but here I am, writing three at a time. 

Much love.

 

Banal Banter And Other Glory