Pandemic Halloween
November 1, 2020
On Facebook, members of my New England community have squabbled over whether we should cancel Halloween. People posted ways to make it safe, people argued there was no way to make it safe. People with small children asked for addresses were families were giving out candy, people with large children reminded each other the numbers are climbing. More than once, parents were strongly advised to stay home with teenagers to watch Hocus Pocus while sipping juice boxes. Or bake.
Katy, my seventeen year old, doesn’t like Hocus Pocus. She has a boyfriend, and about five friends she’s spent time with since June. So I negotiated with her to host a Halloween party outside with, (I don’t want to use the word pod,) her people. They decided to dress up as characters in “Among Us,” a game they play on their phones. The characters look like spacemen, and it is free. That is all I know.
Then there was snow. Our table was broken by a run away umbrella, our backyard was as muddy as spring. We thought about cancelling because we’d have to move it indoors, and we didn’t. These kids had been inside our house a week ago making their costumes.
Rachel made caramel apples and I burned my finger tasting, just like I did forty years ago. Her mom brought mountains of naked wings so that Jared, whose allergic to dairy products, could eat them- her primary ingredient in buffalo wings is butter and I wouldn’t let her leave until she promised to make some for me next week. The kids ate wings, mountains of nachos, pizza and brownies. Jared was happy we had coconut ice cream, because naked wings alone for dinner is kind of sad.
Raphael, Katy’s boyfriend, took a nap; he’s exhausted from rowing crew, zoom, and life. They watched movies, and had meaningful conversations when they weren’t arguing over whose playlist was best, and played Cards Against Humanity.
They made Lisa and I go Abby Park for dinner, so this is what Katy told me after everyone left at ten.
We were cleaning the kitchen, and “Blue Moon Revisited” by the Cowboy Junkies came on my radio station, 92.5 The River. I told Katy to stop what she was doing, (she wasn’t doing much, mostly offering moral support,) and just listen. We stood there, while the sad voice of Margot Timmons spilled out of the radio. When melody of the original “Blue Moon” crept in, Katy sighed. I loved that album in the eighties, and I tried to make at least twenty people listen to that song. Katy, on this pandemic Halloween, might have been the first one who did. She added it to her playlist, and felt a small tear.
Afterwards, we sat in the living room, and talked- about Raphael, her friends and first kisses, the baby she’s taking care of today, the kalimba she’s learning to play, daylight savings time, and whether she misses her brother, Colin. We talked about whether I miss Colin, and to be honest, that answer is different right now than it was last night.
It was not the spookiest of Halloweens. For the most part, we were with the people we are closest to, friends who do not surprise us, but know us well and love us anyway.
This year’s Halloween was a respite from the fear of 2020. Over the next few days, the goblins and gremlins will do their work.
Please vote.
There is a piece of me that is enjoying every moment at home with my daughter.
We watch tv together. Eat breakfast together. Workout together. She shows me a game she’s playing on her phone that is just like FarmVille, and gave me a tour of her “campsite.” (I pretended to be impressed, but wasn’t really impressed until I read AOC plays the same game. Now I’m a little impressed and kind of confused.)
I asked her to look at my LinkedIn profile, and listened to her feedback about potential career paths.
She talks to me about her relationship, takes great delight in hiding condiments when I don’t put them away, plays her flute at midnight, and bakes at one am.
I know this is abnormal behavior, but who, anywhere in the world is behaving normally right now?
How do I know if something is wrong?
I wake her up each morning, because schedule is important. We exercise, because movement combats depression. I’ve been lenient about time on her phone so she can stay connected with friends.
I do not have a clue what I’m doing, or what all of this is going to do to her.
I’ll be fine. I have some leads on new opportunities. Sophie keeps my feet warm, and Sheldon is building me a garden in the back yard.
But what kind of scars will this leave on my daughter, and will I ever stop missing my son?
This is the season of not knowing anything. I’m a mom, and the stuff that I know isn’t that helpful right now.
Should I give her more space, or insist she does her homework in the living room?
Do I check on her grades, or let her know I trust her to that chemistry homework takes precedence over carrot cake?
Do I say something about the fact she has macaroni every day for lunch, or do I stock up on Annie’s?
I’ll try not to give into buying a $300 Nintendo to make things better, but it’s tempting as hell.
Arrrghhhh.
Julie
On Day Fifty Four, this helped
May 10, 2020
On Day Fifty Four, This Helped.
Today, I had to get off a zoom call because I needed to drive my daughter somewhere. I was worried about a friend of mine diagnosed with the virus, overwhelmed by LinkedIn, and exhausted by trying to come up with something to say- here, on the phone, or to my husband during dinner.
I’ve always used music to lift me up. I dance with Katy to the Latin music of Zumba, drag Sophie for endless walks, earbuds tucked, volume up, and play classical guitar on Google home to fall asleep.
Today, I needed more than the radio.
So I got in my car, plugged my phone to the auxiliary jack, pulled up Spotify, and searched for Bruce Springsteen.
I put on his playlist, and turned it all the way up.
I sang so loud my vocal cords ached. I wailed to the sound of Clarence’s sax, whispered about Billy down by the railroad tracks, and believed, for about three to four minutes, in a promised land, and that I, or we, will find our way there.
It’s nice to get swallowed up by headphones, jump around the living room with Katy, and lean into sweet melodies as I drift off.
But sometimes, I need to sing along, as loud as I can, to the music I’ve loved forever. I need to know the notes and lyrics, remember what it was like to be sixteen years old, and sing like no-one is listening.
Find your music, and make some noise.
Rainy Monday (aka Day Forty- Five)
May 2, 2020
I lie there, with my eyes closed, and try to feel how I’m feeling. Is my heart light in my chest, do my feet want to hit the floor and bring me upstairs? Does my skin crave another layer of blanket, does my head want to fold itself inside a pillow?
The first couple of weeks, almost every morning, I’d find that things didn’t look any better, and I’d dive into Facebook and feel worse until Sophie or I had to use the bathroom.
I will not tell you I’ve adjusted.
Or that in a month, a salad will come from our garden.
I will not tell you the time with the kids has been gift. It has been an revelation and complete pain in the ass.
I had the chance to know them when their only escape route is a screen. The fifth week in, it is easy to underestimate, and there is no end in sight. So I take notes and occasional pictures.
I check in with my overall state of mind all day long.
Today, I found joy, goofy, bird flying high, Christmas morning with toddlers and Santa, Bruce Springsteen in concert, joy.
At first, it scared me a little, this unfamiliar flutter, this smile that found my mouth, and lifted up to my eyes.
I don’t know, maybe it’s a symptom that hasn’t been documented yet.
I felt better almost all day, even though Katy and Colin are fighting over Netflix, Sheldon has some document I need to review, and it’s supposed to rain again tomorrow.
Tonight, I looked into the eyes of the cashier at Walgreens, read an update from my friend who works in the ICU, and washed my hands, like I’m Lady Macbeth on her worst day.
My spirit fell quiet, ached, went to wait in the wings.
Today, I glimpsed joy,
and it stayed for a bit.
I’m not sure why it came-
All I have to look forward to is clean sheets, a late night conversation with a friend, and pancakes for breakfast. I like French toast.
This joy isn’t strange.
I have clean sheets and soft blankets.
I have a friend waiting for my call.
I have pancakes for breakfast, and real maple syrup.
The coffee pot is set
so I’ll wake up to the smell of
dark roast and cinnamon.
I am blessed.
Sometimes, I don’t feel that way.
Today I did, for a while.
I need to work on that.
Love,
Jules
Day 19- The Day I Fight With My Daughter
April 5, 2020
The sun was out for the first time in days.
Katy has not been a fan of hiking with me since I dragged her and her brother wandering the Blue Hills behind the Trailside Museum when she was five and we got lost. I didn’t have snacks, and we probably ran out of water five minutes into our journey, which, I think, lasted about two hours. I’m surprised she speaks to me, or agrees to go anywhere near any kind of trail with me.
Today, I guilted her into coming. She was tired, and depressed. I was wide awake and depressed. By the time we left the house, (guilt tripping takes time,) the sun was hidden, it was windy, it was already 3:30 in the afternoon.
She didn’t want to drive. She put her head on the dashboard, and said she was tired. I said we could just skip the whole thing and go home. She managed to put her head further into the dashboard. (I don’t know how she did this, and, yes, I know this is incredibly dangerous. And I’m not the best driver.)
I was going to turn around, but spotted Sophie the Wonder Dog in the back seat. Sophie doesn’t like fighting and she really likes ponds.
We went to Houghtons Pond. Katy kept her head in her hands on the dashboard. When I pulled to a stop, she looked up.
“I thought we were going home.”
“I need to walk Sophie,” I growled.
“I want to go for a walk.” she answered.
“You don’t have to. You can wait in the car. Remember, you’re tired.”
“Well, then, if you don’t want me to go for a walk, I’ll go that way,” Katy marched off towards some rocks.
I dragged Sophie out of the backseat. She wanted to follow Katy. I wanted to follow Katy.
We walked in the opposite direction.
I took Sophie to the edge of the pond, and went back to the car. Katy was nowhere. I called her name.
I put Sophie back into the car and ran to the rock and yelled loudly- “Kattttyyyyy” and went back to the car scared as hell because my first go to every time we have an argument is to take the phone. I will rethink that in the future.
She came back to the car.
We didn’t speak on the way to Target.
There was no one at the store The people who were there were all wearing masks. Everyone stood miles apart.
For a little while, we were able to pretend it was a regular mother daughter shopping spree, the only thing that made it different was all we bought were pajamas and frozen vegetables.
We’re going to wear our new pajamas tonight, in front of the television, when we watch the Marvelous Mrs. Maisel.
It’s another Saturday night.
Katy and I have made peace, probably because I’m leaving her alone for the moment.
I need to leave her alone, or let her stay home when she needs to.
She needs to come along with me, sometimes, without the promise of ice cream or nail polish.
This is too hard to do with my daughter’s head on the dashboard, or standing in the woods, screaming her name.
I think she agrees, because she’s upstairs cleaning her room. (At least, she said she was. I’m not going to check.)
Peace be with you.
Love,
Julie
Katy and I meditate every morning. We’ve tried ocean breath, slow yoga, a guided visualization that let me found my own happy place, which was on the Cape with a cocktail in front of pool watching my daughter play in the water.
I’d really like to be on that lounge chair, holding a Pina Colada, wondering if I applied enough sun screen, watching Katy and Madeleine. In no time, I’d jump into the cold water, and twirl them around under the surface while they laughed.
Summer will be here at some point, I think.
It’s been incredibly gloomy, the weather in New England is far too appropriate for the current state of the world.
I don’t know what summer will look like, and I try not to think about it by gobbling up new stories and the Facebook feed, exercising to videos online, or tucking my ears between headphones, and TURNING UP THE VOLUME
to a ridiculous level so that there is no room to think about
what’s going to happen next.
At the end of the day, we find our way to the television. We make popcorn in the microwave and add butter and maple syrup. We watch Mrs. Maisel, and marvel at the beautiful clothes, sparkling actors, and shiny view of New York City in the 1950’s. We appreciate watching beautiful people kiss, hold hands, go to the store, share drinks, squeeze together in a cab.
Katy, my sixteen year old, has started calling me mamma, especially if she wants an impossible burger, or hair dye. Especially right before she goes upstairs to bed. She leans in and hugs me each night, presents me her cheek.
There are blessings in all of this,(I know, and I’ve counted the blessings, but I do need to remind myself of this,) and terror, and sleep is hard to come by.
I’ve got the days figured out, mostly.
Nights are long. We’ve taken to leaving the light on, and leaving the phones in another room.
Sleep well, my friends.
Julie
Day Eight- It Snowed and Life Went On
March 24, 2020
Day Six, On The Way to Drastic Steps
March 22, 2020
Mediation this morning was cut short. We didn’t make it the living room until 1130 and by the time we negotiated on the instructor, (it was Katy’s turn, according to Katy. It’s always Katy’s turn.) and sprawled, eyes closed, palms up, animals watching, it was almost noon.
Within seconds after the teacher’s voice started to flow, Sheldon started a home repair project that involved ripping up carpeting on the basement stairs. He wasn’t that noisy. There were not drills involved, and the door was closed. But I found it impossible to lay in the middle of the living room floor, listening to my breath, while my husband was dealt with the reek of cat urine that has lingered for weeks. Katy agreed to try it again later, and given that is after 8 pm, we’ll have to get back on that horse tomorrow.
We had planned to meet friends at Worlds End again today. The place matches the name, and given the current situation, I’m drawn there. I think Katy was happy to return because she likes the veggie burgers at Wahlbergers. But we didn’t get there either.
Around 1 pm, after a 10 minute attempt at Zumba in the living room, we decided we needed some downtime. From all the downtime, I guess. Katy made brownies. We turned on Criminal Minds, a show about FBI profilers that my daughter is partial to, and explains her recently expressed desire to study psychology. We ate brownies, watched tv, and catnapped for three hours. (I had not previously experienced this intense level of Netflix and chill.)
Afterwards, I did not feel chill. I’d missed calls from my friends. My leg was cramped, belly bloated with brownies, and brain disoriented by dozing thru stories of serial sex offenders and/or killers and the people that capture them. I almost let her talk me into one more about the cult and the Apache burial ground because my foot was asleep, but somehow, my inner mom rose to the occasion. I snagged the remote, stole Kate’s blanket, and sent her upstairs for warm clothes.
By 5, we were at Wollaston Beach. We walked far, and we talked about her boyfriend, if school would be back this year, why she’s a vegetarian and if she’d consider giving it up for quarantine, (no,) and why I always feel the need to talk while we’re walking. I would like someone to explain how I ended up with a Mona Lisa daughter, and why this mysterious one still likes me?
She might not. She’s mysterious, and she’s pragmatic. She recognizes I hold the car keys and the cash. And for right now, I’m the only friend she can see live and way too in person.
I asked her to think what I can do to help her thru this, and I’m going to try to make space for her to respond.
This quarantine allows me the opportunity to know my sixteen year old daughter, my Mona Lisa flutist with the messy room, passion for olive green teeshirts and hot pink nail polish. She is a girl of mystery that might not be mysterious at all. We both just might have been busy.
Tomorrow, I am going to clean the basement and read a book. I’m going to walk with my daughter, and make sure we meditate before Sheldon decides it’s time to empty out the kitchen cupboards. I am going to delete Facebook from my phone.
It’s time to take drastic steps. Here’s hoping our government steps up and does the same.
Peace.
Summer 2018- It Ain’t Over Until It’s Over
August 21, 2018
Mid to late August, it happens.
The back to school flyers weigh more than the news/travel/ and sports section combined.
My 14 year old daughter sighs and shakes her head-“I don’t know where the time went.”
Cunningham pool posts it’s last day. Sunblock goes on sale.
I look up from everything
To wonder how the hell that happened.
The pool might close,
assignments might be due,
but the sales are going to run until it’s time for Halloween.
Summertime is time out. Time off.
A day at the beach. An hour by the barbecue. An afternoon with a good book.
Some time at the park with your kids, grandkids,
or a bunch of dogs you’re babysitting,
spying on them on the swing in the playground,
wondering where the hell time went.
I don’t know where you’re at in the journey,
but I can pass this on.
The beach doesn’t close.
The barbecue doesn’t care if it’s Monday, November, or 4 am.
Cunningham pool shuts down,
but there’s ponds, kiddie pools,
the ocean, the bay,
and the bathtub,
all offering different water temperatures and dining options.
We can move thru life
At summertime slow,
Or fall frantic.
It’s still August, my friends.
No one is going to run out of pencils.
You don’t need to start wearing fall until January,
orange is not on the runway this year.
Revel in flip flops, sundresses, and shorts of all shapes,
until knees are blue.
Stay barefoot whenever you can, have something on hand
in case you want to enter a store, a restaurant,
or have an appointment with a court officer, or a prospective employer.
There are beaches, and the water is warm.
If the sharks bother you-
There are lakes, kayaks, italian ice, baseball, drive-ins, eating outside, eating takeout from the boxes in bed while watching Netflix, bike paths, hiking trails…
These are my summer time things.
I want to say- to myself- as much as you-
It doesn’t have to end because
the bus pass came in,
or a leaf turned,
or your son graduated high school, and all his friends are going to college,
and you want him to get ready for fall.
Summer is here.
It will not leave
until we mark
it in pen
Or email a colleague
Likely to note
it’s expected departure
On the calendar.
There is time
To call your family.
Text your friends.
Light a sparkler. Go dancing.
Sing along to the radio.
Roll down the top.
Roll down the window.
Laugh out loud.
Wish on a candle.
Look at the clouds.
Buy a beach towel that
means something.
Everything else goes by so fast, everything else-
This year,
Let summer last.
We don’t need to infringe
on the Fall season-
those that love the fall,
or make their living selling leafblowers, pumpkins, and autumn colored towels-
I respect their needs too,
I am just asking for a little room
to prepare for what needs to be done
in September.
There is work to be done in September.
This year,
I need a little extra time at the beach,
Before what comes
After Summer
2018.
Humbled
November 13, 2017
I can tell the temperature,
within a degree or two,
first thing, every morning,
when I open the door
to let the cat in.
When I hear my best friend’s voice
over the phone,
all she has to say is hello,
and I know if it’s time to reach for my car keys,
make some soup,
or find a spot to listen.
I read body language,
talk to dogs,
and understand why
the three year old boy next door
finds poop endlessly amusing.
But I don’t know what’s going on with my 17 year old son.
I know where he is-
a flight of muddy stairs
a damp towel outside
a closed door.
I eavesdrop on his conversations,
Not to hear the words,
But to try to recognize his voice.
It hasn’t worked.
He is steps and oceans away.
I am here,
with clean laundry.
julierichmond 