It’s Only Day Four?
March 21, 2020
Day Four
It’s only day four?
Almost forgot the 930 morning meditation, but remembered sometime after 10.
Meditation is easier for me laying down, it’s hard for me to listen to my breath while I’m worrying about my posture. I peeked at Katy a few times, she seems to have this meditation thing down. I’ll start calling her Buddha if she ever comes out of her room.
Then breakfast, and laundry. Lunch, and dishes.
I’ve been paying attention as the day goes on, in case I do something worthy, but, well, I flossed for an extra long time? I went online and fell in love with Conan O’Brian all over again? Is this worthy?
Long walk around Ponkapoag with Sophie in the rain. No need for any distancing, the world stayed home while we strolled in the mud. On the way back, stopped by the liquor store and picked up a large bottle of Screwball peanut butter whiskey.
I avoided getting groceries because I spent all my cash on alcohol but long to go to Shaw’s for a box of pasta the way I used to crave a night out.
I discovered half way into day one that ice cream isn’t a good idea. Someday I may want to wear pants agin, and button them.
I’ve heard 18 months and mid May, and sometime this summer, and next week, in terms of a return to normal, but a friend said, there will be no returning to normal, or not the old normal. This friend also said extraordinary times call for extraordinary actions.
I can not say I did anything extraordinary today. I didn’t buy ice cream. I did buy whiskey, but I don’t plan to drink it any time soon. I walked the dog, but that was more a favor to me than to her. I made Katy breakfast and lunch, but I’m pretty sure she’s in charge of dinner, and it’s popcorn.
I tried to convince my mom not to play bridge, but she went anyway, and I think I will let her figure out her social calendar without my input. I use any excuse to call her on the phone.
I’ve let go of normal, and will cling to gratitude for now-this moment, this breath, this night.
That is easy for me to say from this chair at this time, across from an unopened bottle of whisky, Sophie snoring in the next room.
I haven’t faced the laundry table since noon.
Day Three.
More meditation.
More walks.
More me trying to figure out the right way to engage my daughter in a conversation that lasts more than two minutes long. She doesn’t want to discuss what’s for dinner, if pushed, she tells me “I’ll have pasta.” She doesn’t want to tell me how her friends are doing, because she says it’s obvious.
She will however, eat with me, walk with me, and sit on the floor with me and listen to someone on my laptop talk to us about the breath.
More me getting mad at laundry, and
trying to figure out of there is truth
to the liquor stores closing,
to things being bad for 16 months,
to how deal with missing work so much, I started talking to the guy at Dunkin’ Donuts about submitting his FAFSA.
More missing Colin and thanking all the powers that be when he picks up the phone,
thanking the lord he’s not living at home,
and wishing it was four years ago,
While he was.
Me wishing it was a month ago, and I was out somewhere somewhere after work, with music.
Me and my friends sitting there over cocktails, believing
the worst that could happen
Had already happened.
Katy, me, and a friend went to Castle Island.
Sully’s was closed, but I tried the most amazing coffee on the way home from the beach.
And dinner was good, and Katy is on her way down to wish me good night.
I guess Day Three had some charm, as days sometimes do.
Wishing all of you a wonderful night, or at least,
A little bit of sleep and a really good dream.
Day Two I walk the dog and make some cookies
March 21, 2020
Day 2
Breakfast
Morning meditation w Kate. Sophie decided to sleep thru it.
Katy did homework.
Lunch.
Homework.
I scrolled Facebook and rearranged the furniture so I’d have room to exercise. I tried hip hop cardio, a little dance fit, and a tiny tabata.
I scrolled on Facebook more, read a book, wiped surfaces, washed my hands, woke the dog.
Made oatmeal peanut butter snacks, read the paper, read a book.
Went on two hikes, picked up prescriptions at cvs, cauliflower at stop and shop, made dinner, made cookies, made calls, cleaned the kitchen, again, read a very long poem recommended by a friend, and
now, I’m sprawled on the sofa.
I’m not going to make coffee for the morning.
It snowed this morning.
We meditated together in the living room. The pellet stove was on; it was cold. Mostly, Katy and I were quiet this morning.
When it was over, she read out loud the poem recommended by Steve Dooner, and I fell in love with her voice and her delivery of the words, even those she mispronounced, but had no idea what the poem about, except it was sad and beautiful.
When Katy went upstairs tonight, we agreed that for a time, she will only walk outside with me and Sophie.
Michael the cat may follow, but he’s getting tired and stays close to the stove, mostly.
She can use her phone a little later to FaceTime her friends.
Katy is sad and beautiful, tonight, day 2 done.
Afternoon of Day One Corona Virus Milton Massachusetts
March 21, 2020
Afternoon of Day One-
A sock project created havoc in our schedule, but I can say with confidence, our socks all match.
Swaddled in layers, with a lunch bag of hand sanitizer, lysterine, and wipes, we went back over the beach and then the Marina.
Tonight, there are vegetables roasting in the oven, for vegetarian enchiladas. I’m washing my walls, and waiting to call my mom for the third time. I’m hoping Colin will call, and really hoping he’ll talk to me about more than whether or not I’ll wash his sneakers. I will wash his sneakers, but I like to keep him guessing.
I want to turn this time for reflection into something more than the opportunity to try out new mindfulness apps, more than frantic walks down the beach, dragging Sophie, who has had enough walks for the next six weeks, and field trips to the grocery store for honey and chicken.
I want to find a way to slow down, to settle in to our space and the state of things. It is time to be still.
Still is hard for me.
I think still is hard for all of us.
That is why I will start the day again tomorrow with a meditation.
I will put my phone away by 8 pm.
I will take Sophie around the block, and hike up a mountain.
I will recognize these are guidelines, and that things change.
I will recognize that when one is told by the universe to slow the #$$%^^ down, one gently applies the brakes.
There’s time to practice.
Corona Day Five Milton, Massachusetts
March 21, 2020
6:45 am Wake up
6:46 am Realize there is absolutely no point in waking up. Discuss the situation with Sophie, who advises the best response is to go back to sleep.
6:48 Nap
10:22 am Wake up, again. Struggle with guilt for sleeping so late. Struggle with knowledge that I might as well sleep late, the first thing on my schedule is morning meditation with Katy, and she is probably quite happy upstairs sleeping herself. She is quite good at sleeping in, I think, or maybe she just likes to avoid mom/daughter conversations about her feelings, and uses blankets and pillows as tools in avoidance.
10:40 am Morning meditation. This was not my favorite. It was all about healing, which of course made me think about the virus, which of course led to me spending my morning meditation laying in the middle of my living room floor trying to figure out where I might be able to find baby wipes and tonic water.
10:40 am Not a very good breakfast. Don’t try to put yesterday’s roasted sweet potatoes in today’s scrambled eggs. No amount of sriracha and Swiss will help the situation, sweet potatoes and eggs are not friends.
11 am Scrolled thru Facebook and Instagram. Trevor Noah seems depressed. I would like to cheer him up but I got nothing.
12 pm Nagged Katy about homework. Asked Katy if I could help.
12:15 pm Laundry. I put some away. Yay me.
1 until 3 pm Waited on Katy to go for a walk. Scrolled some more. Called friends. Went on Facebook to volunteer to walk dogs or run errands for anyone that needs help.
Stared at the phone waiting for the avalanche of people that need assistance with their dogs and their errands. So far everyone’s all set.
Will post again tomorrow. Katy is tired of me asking her if she has any questions about her homework, and I don’t want to rearrange the kitchen cupboards. Or deal with the closet.
Resolve to deal with the closet tomorrow.
Checked email. Would appreciate more spam. Deleted emails going back as far as 2016.
3:30 Met Alison at World’s End. We walked along the cliffs, watched the dogs roll in the grass, listened to Katy and Juiliana chat, talked to Kharson about his art and agreed that the world has a lot of assholes; it was like three years ago, and we needed that.
5 pm Dinner. We are trying to be mindful of the rationing thing- I don’t want to run out of food and be forced to eat the ramen noodles from 2017 that fell behind the refrigerator last week, the raisins Sheldon bought two years ago when he forgot that I do not ever eat cooked fruit, or the generic peanut butter that came with the house.
This has not been the best of days, but one thing I have learned is not to declare that it can’t get any worse. It can, and we are all learning together what worse looks like.
I am learning how much I rely on my family and friends.
I am learning how to get up in the morning, even when I’m not sure how to move forward, or where to go.
It’s coffee first, and things follow. Beautiful things will follow, I just need to take note.
Even for those of us who prefer tea, or don’t need a beverage first thing in the morning at all.
Day Four is almost done, though Katy has promised me an hour in front of the tv, and I think I’ll walk Sophie around the block. At the end of the day, it’s nice to take a moment to look at the beautiful moon.
Next time we’re in the same room, I should ask.
October 6, 2019
My daughter’s sixteenth birthday is coming up in a week. She made a slideshow that included pictures from when she was still a toddler, all the way up til last week.
When I watched the video, the video, I found myself mourning for her days in pre-school. She’d greet me by hurling her tiny body into mine, throwing her arms around my waist.
I’ve been missing her older brother, who recently moved out, to a town twenty minutes away. I’ve been remembering family dinners, trips to the park, games of tag your it, and Sam the Turtle.
Time passes. It is so easy for me to linger on what was, who we were, and wonder where the hell it all went.
Katy doesn’t give away hugs as easily. Colin the young man is not Colin the boy. Sam the Turtle disappeared in our yard. We won’t be wandering thru the streets of Provincetown on summer vacation next August, arguing over where to go to dinner, and when to visit the candy store.
My daughter is a graceful, intelligent, funny, stubborn, unforgiving, kind, young, woman.
Colin is a nineteen year old young man. He is not an athlete or a scholar. He is struggling, he is funny, he is fiercely independent. He texts me back. He goes to class most of the time. He wears the world on his shoulders, and he won’t lean on me, ever.
They are here. They are in my lives. They are different than before. I don’t know if I’m different. I don’t know if they feel like I’m different.
I don’t know if in their own minds, they’re still the same, just slightly larger, with different voices, different bodies, different phones, and different bedroom. I don’t know what they think about all of this, because I haven’t asked.
I can get to know them now, when they let me in. When they don’t, I can walk my dog. Look at photographs. Love my work, laugh with my friends, look at the moon. Text their phones.
It is hard, the passing of time. I miss the long ago, the homework, the driving, the laundry, the squabbling over every. little. thing.
In Katy’s slideshow, there were so many photos of her and her brother. I didn’t even know she liked him that much. I think she misses that boy as much as I do.
But he’s down the road, figuring it out, in his own time. And she’s still here, a sophomore in high school.
For now, I’m letting go of the times of two at home. Of negotiations. Of basketball in the driveway. Of babysitters. Of being the keeper of band aids, nail clippers, and the maker of lunches.
Now is as perfect, and amazing, and fragile, as it’s always been. We’re in each other’s lives, changed, needy, lost, and loving.
I wonder if she’ll want an ice-cream cake, and if he’ll come to dinner. I’ll make sure she invites him, and reminds him the day before.
One of those.
September 6, 2019
Long. Damn. Day.
I’m grateful for
Um
Dogs. I guess.
And cats are kind of okay.
Of course, I love my kids, and for about a minute a month, I like them.
Friends and family are funny sometimes, and they give me nice cards and rides because they don’t like the way I drive.
Work doesn’t suck.
The woods are nice, and the ocean feels good on my skin.
Chocolate helps.
And bed is bliss.
These days, these days, (pockets of grief, puddles of bliss).
August 13, 2019
The day started with a trip to Newton to pick up a friend of a friend’s dog to watch over while a friend of a friend went on vacation. The interaction involved a large kitchen mitt, prayer, and the dumb bravery that comes when I don’t have time for coffee.
Dog and I made it home, and I went to work. Spent the day talking to prospective nursing students, 18-year-olds about the FAFSA, eating the best lunch ever with the amazing Alison, making calls, taking calls, and sending texts to everyone at home about the dog.
Home meant another blowout knockdown brawl with Colin. Followed by shoulder shaking sobs when I found his old soccer uniform in the hall closet. Colin held me while I cried and told me everything was going to be ok. I did not believe him but I went to Zumba anyway.
I danced for an hour, oh my god, I love that class, with my friend. She’s been going thru a bad break up for like four months, so some of the love songs made her cry. She went to the bathroom before I could hold her and tell her it was going to be ok. I don’t think she would have believed me either.
Sweaty clothes, and seats at Novara on the deck. Summer breeze and chicken wings and tuna tartare and ice-cold seven dollars a glass white Chardonnay.
Home. Made salmon with a ginger maple siracha glaze, roasted broccoli. Walked the dogs. Except for the new dog. He did eat peanut butter from my finger, so there’s that.
Now, this. Writing it down.
There are pockets of grief and bliss from loving my son. There is drama and the relief when the drama leaves for an evening to go somewhere else.
But it is not everything like it used to be..He is not the center of my world. Just one of the worst, and the very best parts.
And now, it is time to lure the dog out from under the table. It is time to box up the fish and the vegetables for lunch, find my shoes, fold the clothes.
It is time for bed. It is time to say goodnight to Colin, and goodnight to you, and pray that tomorrow the world makes a little more sense.
Letter to my boy
August 6, 2019
Don’t forget about the dog poop-
(I warned you
If things got bad
And they got bad
There would be repercussions.)
Scoop it, bag it,
Drop it into the
Starbucks dumpster.
And the dog,
Walk the dog-
not around the block-
The pavement burns her paws,
Take her to the park.
It’s not soccer season yet,
Bring a bag
Use it
Even if no one’s watching.
Check the website for your summer work,
Do it.
Email your coach,
Tell him what he wants to hear
and do that too.
Brush your teeth,
Floss,
Don’t only eat food flavored
Buffalo
Or from a bag
Or glowing orange.
Respond to all the girls that sent you Snapchats.
Be kind to everyone that asks to
Follow you.
(I haven’t asked but I know
Better.)
I remind you
to empty dishes,
walk the dog,
sweep a floor.
I don’t ask you
To follow or accept or friend me.
I keep our conversations about
The dishes in the sink.
I update you
About what
The world expects.
I text instead of call.
You talk to friends on FaceTime.
You laugh,
And swear, and listen.
I read books,
Ask for prayers from strangers,
And send you bullet points
so what I need from you
Is clear
And listed by
By priority.
-Call me.
-Do your homework.
-Clean the yard.
I check my phone
For your response
All night.
I’ll leave your bags by the dumpster. Don’t forget to brush.
February 15, 2019
Tonight, I packed my eighteen year old son’s stuff in two trash bags and a shopping bag and left them all in by a dumpster. I walked away and didn’t look back until just before I got in. He was standing in the middle of the driveway, looking around for the bags as if they weren’t right next to him. It was ten degrees, he was wearing a tee shirt, and somebody else’s sneakers. I don’t think he believed I’d actually drop off his clothes and leave. He looked up at me, and I don’t know what his face said. Fuck you, maybe. Why? Did you remember my toothbrush? What is going to happen to me now?
My son’s smile is warmer than the sun after winter. He is funny, and he can dance. He used to play basketball for hours, and if he wasn’t on the court, he always wanted to be connected to some kind of ball. If we went for a walk on the beach, we had to throw a football. If we took the dogs for a walk, he was in charge of the tennis ball. He’d dribble in his room. He’d play basketball in the driveway and eat dinner in between shots. My son stopped smiling about two years ago.
He still lived with me until today. In sophomore year of high school, sports and school were just hobbies. Drugs took over. Doing drugs. Posting pictures of doing drugs, or lip syncing to songs about drugs. Going to the woods, to the quarries, to whoever’s house was unoccupied by parents or belonged to parents that had their own stash and shared.
I’m not going to tell the tale of then to now. I don’t know how we got from early morning cereal before the game, to begging him to wake up to go to class at a community college because a judge made it a condition of his release.
I just know my son is not here tonight because I told him not to be. He is staying at a house with a dumpster in the driveway, that reeks like weed from ten feet away. He is staying there because last night on the phone he refused to come home. His words were slurred, and sloppy, his voice didn’t belong to him. And he’s been doing drugs for a while, so there’s something new on the menu.
He promised last night he’d wake up in the morning, and go to school. I was supposed to pick him up on my way to drop his little sister off at school. “Mom, I’ll be ready.” He’d straightened up a bit by the time our last conversation.
I woke up early, packed his toothbrush, and a change o Read the rest of this entry »
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