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I skipped writing yesterday. I am trying not to feel guilty about this on top of all the other things I’m inclined to feel guilty about because I don’t really believe in feeling guilty about things if they don’t involve harming others. Of course, there are things that I’m doing (or not doing) that others might feel harmed by. But I’m not responsible for other people’s feelings, right?
This week has been rough. I think it feels especially painful because it was supposed to be spring break. Technically it is spring break–there’s no expectation of online classes or distance learning or homeschooling–but otherwise our day-to-day existence is no different than it has been for the past several weeks since the quarantine began. I still have to work, and I’m not doing a great job of it because I can’t concentrate and it’s just awkward to have work meetings on my bed. I feel like I’ve been neglecting my kids, especially Zeke, but I can’t pull myself together enough to get all the things done and carve out the time I want to play with him. I have the sensation of sinking slowly into the abyss. Sometimes I am able to crawl out and take a shower.
Being trapped in the house during vacation is disappointing but also confusing and ominous. Nothing is normal or as it should be. I should have the week off. We should be having fun. I don’t want anyone else to tell me how we can have fun at home. I don’t want anymore input or ideas. I just want relief. If spring break is cancelled, what does that mean for summer? I feel like the unreality and unpredictability of this situation is wearing away at my soul.
Randy suggested getting takeout tonight in part because we are running low on food and in part because he wanted to get out of the house. Zeke was so excited to go with him. On the way to the restaurant they stopped at a friend’s house to pick up masks that her mother had made and she was sharing with us. These masks are the opposite of cold and clinical. They are adorable. And freaky. There is something unsettling about wearing something over your face that has been lovingly sewn with cute fabrics to prevent yourself from catching or transmitting a deadly virus. I kind of dread wearing one when I go out because I will be reminded every second of this frightening world we are living in right now.
Adding to my anxiety is that the climax of a monumental project I’ve been working on for the past 22 months is coming in the next 48 hours. I have spent thousands of hours and expended enormous emotional energy as a (volunteer) member of the ministerial search committee for UUCA–more time and effort than I ever could have imagined, despite the fact that the nominating committee warned us it was a “big commitment.” On Friday we will announce our candidate to the congregation. Then in a few weeks we will hold approximately a million virtual opportunities for people to “meet” the candidate and vote on whether to officially call the candidate as our next senior minister. I’m sure there are ways to make this situation more complicated but I don’t want to explore those right now.
One of the revelations of this quarantine business is demonstrating how people respond to other people’s thoughts, feelings, and problems. There are a lot of solvers out there. Sometimes you want someone to give you suggestions or solutions. But most of the time, I’ve learned through both personal and professional experience, people just want to be heard. Right now, especially, I think most people just want to be heard. When I post or text when things are hard, I usually just want to know that someone else gets it, that they’ve been there, that they feel the same way or understand what I’m saying. So thank you, empathizers and affirmers of the world. I appreciate you.
When you are stuck in the middle of chaos and confusion and you feel like it’s impossible to be your best self or do the right things, it’s easy to slide swiftly in the other direction–facing your worst self, feeling greasy and smelly and unable to get out of bed. I know it’s not completely bleak. There are moments of relief and glimpses of grace. Then they seem to disappear again and you’re awake at 2am wondering how to make the next day better.
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Here are some current realities:
Our downstairs toilet is clogged but I am scared to have a plumber come into our house.
My back hurts because I have been working today from my bed. I bought a little foldable computer stand so I don’t have to hunch over but my bed is much more comfortable for sleeping than for working.
The kids and I went on a hike to a new place and only saw one person but it was humid and buggy and we weren’t quite sure where we were. Luckily we made it out but I don’t think we’ll go back there. Also we only have sketchy makeshift masks.
I am still tired of thinking of what food to make and making it. My cooking mojo is fading fast. The less food we have, the more creativity is required, and my creativity mojo is also fading fast.
Sudden change in atmospheric pressure = migraine. Migraine severely compromises any remaining mojo.
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In this house
I can always tell
who is coming up the stairs
by the weight and velocity of their footfalls
Because of the creaky floors
I know when anyone is walking anywhere
Like a Marauder’s Map in my mind
The thin walls reveal
every conversation
personal noise in the bathroom
keyboard stroke
video game melody
piece of television dialogue
even when all the doors are closed
If I don’t want to hear all the details
of your life
I have to put on music
but then
you will hear
my music
Sometimes I sleep
just to claim some time
by myself
but even then I am not really
alone
There are certainly houses
smaller than ours
but ours is small enough
that there is no privacy
but plenty of intimacy
as I can hear you breathing
and I am thankful that
you are breathing
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The ideal person to be quarantined with would be my Nana. She was born in 1911, grew up on a farm, survived the Great Depression, and was smart, industrious, patient, thrifty, and a phenomenal baker and cook. My Nana always had two refrigerators and freezers filled with food enough to last forever. She washed clothes in the sink and sometimes in the washing machine, and dried everything on the line. She washed and dried the dishes by hand. Somehow I feel like she wouldn’t have run out of anything or would’ve known how to make what she had on hand last and last. She never learned to drive and would’ve been content to stay at home taking care of her family, reading her devotions, sewing, and playing Scrabble as long as was necessary. She might’ve been sad that Major League Baseball was canceled because she enjoyed watching the Atlanta Braves play. She would’ve missed going to church every Sunday, but she wouldn’t have skipped a single day reading the Bible. She would’ve called to check on the women in her Sunday school class and people from the church who were homebound (of course we’re all homebound now, but the people who were sick or incapacitated). She would’ve made meals and pound cakes and asked my Papa to drive her to deliver them. I am confident that Nana would have remained calm during all this craziness.
Perhaps because I’ve been thinking about my Nana so much lately, I had two terrible dreams last night in which she had just died. In one dream, I was in the house on Chestnut Street in High Point, North Carolina where she and my Papa lived for most of my childhood. I dreamed that she had died and the entire rest of my family had suddenly vanished. I had no one there to talk to or who could console me, except for an acquaintance I didn’t really trust.
In the next dream, I was in another city–maybe Arlington or DC at night and I was hysterical about her death. I was parked very tight between other cars and was trying to figure out how to get my car out of the lot. My friend Elizabeth appeared, along with a guy who sported an unfortunate Prince Valiant style haircut. Elizabeth asked if I could give her and Prince Valiant a ride somewhere because it was raining. I said I would, but then I was driving up absurdly steep walls, like in a skate park, and I couldn’t seem to get anywhere. I was crying and told Elizabeth I couldn’t drive because I was so upset and she would have to drive, so she did.
When I told Randy about this he suggested the steep walls I was trying to drive up represented the nightmarish graphs we keep seeing in the news, of the rise of coronavirus cases and deaths, and the unbelievable unemployment numbers.
My Nana died in 2005. I wonder if I am suddenly missing her more than usual because in all this terrifying uncertainty, I am longing for her steady, reassuring presence. She would know the right thing to do. I wish she were here so she could meet my kids. And so I could bake her a cake. I think she would like that.
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When my kids were in preschool at AUCP one of the concepts that the teachers and staff there reminded us parents all the time was the importance of teaching and allowing our kids to do things on their own even when it would be much faster for us to do it ourselves. If you are a parent or grandparent or older sibling or if you’ve ever cared for or taught a child, you know that it often takes little kids forever to do anything, especially if you are in a hurry.
Of course this is good advice because kids will never learn to be independent if you do everything for them. But also, life. Sometimes it’s really tedious to teach a kid to do something that you could do in five minutes, knowing you’ll have to cajole them to do it and then it will take them half an hour.
Yet there comes a time–perhaps when you are in quarantine–when you are making three meals a day for your family members, that you must teach your first-grader to make a sandwich. For whatever reason, Zeke has never liked peanut butter and jelly. Recently he has changed his mind. He seems to change his mind about a lot of things lately. So I taught him to make a sandwich. He was proud of himself. He added pretzels to the plate. I cut up the apple. I’m wondering when I can give him the sharp knife…
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I know she would never have chosen it herself, but I actually think Zoe’s 13th birthday while in quarantine was more eventful and filled with love from more people than it would’ve been under ordinary circumstances.
I had put a call out on Facebook for people to send video birthday greetings to Zoe, and my wishes were granted. Beginning this morning I air-played the videos for Zoe on our TV and enjoyed seeing her smile. Some of the videos were from friends, some from teachers, some from people she doesn’t even know but who know her through the magic of Facebook. Some of them were from dogs and cats and plastic birds. One video made me cry and another made me laugh so hard I peed.
Last night we made a Kahoot–an online quiz using an app that Zoe has used in school for years–about Zoe. Today we invited family and a few groups of friends to play during Zoom birthday calls. Our first call was with the McCrays, who all sported birthday hats and had put up a happy birthday banner and balloons for Zoe. Later, the Cass family brought their adorable new puppy, Bentley, to visit us. They stayed six feet away while Bentley nibbled bits of turkey out of our hands. Then my parents drove up with some birthday gifts for Zoe, which they handed through the car window. I had just made pasta salad for lunch and I hurried to package some up for them (along with the baby carrots and tortilla chips we always serve with the pasta salad) and passed their bag of lunch back through the car window before they drove off.
Zoe and I played speed, her favorite card game, at which I am usually terrible, and I beat her. I told her now that she was a woman I wasn’t holding back anymore. Which is nonsense, because I never held back before I just wasn’t good at the game and it was lucky that I won today. Then the four of us played Not Parent Approved and ate pasta salad.
Next we had our family celebration, during which Aunt Susannah aced the Zoe quiz, and our littlest family member Sam did a little birthday dance for Zoe. Susannah and Aaron and Charlie and Sam made the best birthday video ever–their rendition of Taylor Swift’s “Me,” which featured Susannah in a bridesmaid dress and Charlie popping out of unexpected places including the fridge. Also Sam doing baby pushups.
Eager to get back on her bike, Zoe asked me to take her back to the field where she and Zeke rode Friday and Saturday. The field just so happens to be located near her best friend’s house. After riding a few laps around the track, Zoe was suddenly serenaded (from a safe distance) by a vaguely familiar group including a unicorn, Wolverine, a poop emoji, a hot dog, a windsock guy, and a Slytherin. Strangers stopped to take photos and videos.
Back home Zoe got back on Zoom with her squad from school, a happy reunion that lasted more than two hours, until our delivery arrived from Bangkok54. While we ate we watched the Taylor Swift documentary Miss Americana, which Zoe had already watched five times, but it was my first. The movie was excellent and gave me a newfound respect for Taylor.
Of course Zoe received some presents, and some will be arriving in the mail pending coronavirus delays. But the best thing about this birthday was her just hearing from people in Arlington and all over the country that they are thinking of her and wishing good things for her and sending her love. And now that she’s 13 I think she understands how much that matters.
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(this is a slightly belated post for Friday, April 3 as I was too exhausted last night to write)
Surprisingly, this week went by fast. Although we still have absolutely no semblance of a routine, I guess we’re getting used to the new reality. Here’s what Zeke does every day: draws, builds with Legos, reads, does some math (usually with an app), practices martial arts or hikes (and now practices on his bike!), does a zoom or FaceTime call with family, and plays xbox. Here’s what Zoe does every day: schoolwork on her iPad, reads, practices martial arts and hikes or bikes, does some chores, talks with friends on FaceTime or Zoom, and explores the exciting worlds of Instagram, YouTube, and TikTok. I won’t list what I do because it’s much more boring, but rest assured I keep busy.
The absolute highlight of my Friday was seeing Zeke put all his energy into learning to ride his bike, and finally succeeding. And Zoe was an amazing cheerleader and coach for him, as encouraging and kind as I’ve ever seen her with her brother. Most of the time Zeke was trying to ride, he was shouting bizarre phrases such as “Peruvian chicken!” and “I am the man!” He did a lot of yelling and laughing and running between attempts. I did a lot of running behind him trying to hold on as lightly as I could until he got some momentum going.
I fully believe that both my children learning to ride their bikes is a significant silver lining of this pandemic. Before everything was closed and canceled, they always had or made a million excuses about other things they needed to or would rather be doing than practicing on their bikes. Now they have no reason to be tired and they are excited to go outside but they can’t touch anything outside so biking is suddenly appealing. Someday, when all this is over, they’ll be able to ride their bikes to school and to friends’ houses. Can’t wait.
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Today I tried to work while wearing headphones and listening to Bach’s cello suites so I could drown out my children’s noises but they both asked me so many questions I had to take the headphones off and pause Bach about 25 times. Eventually I wound up working in their bedroom while Zoe folded laundry and watched Queer Eye in the family room and Zeke watched drawing tutorials and drew at the dining room table. In case you were wondering, sitting in a bean bag chair is not the most ergonomic way to type on your laptop.
There have been no pajamas in Zeke’s drawer for a couple days now as we are behind on the laundry. So he’s taken to wearing regular clothes to bed, and then he’s already dressed for the next day!
When Zoe and I drove to the church parking lot so she could practice riding her bike, two police cars were there, parked facing opposite directions so the officers could chat. Zoe was worried they were there to prevent rogue cyclists so we left hurriedly. We ended up at a school where Zoe rode laps around the track and then around the school building. I walked a mile around the track while she pedaled. She asked me to take a video of her riding, and she has achieved enough velocity now that I had to jog behind her. During one of the laps in front of the school, I heard someone call my name and saw the mom of one of Zeke’s martial arts classmates across the street pushing her baby in a stroller. I stopped briefly to chat with her (while remaining across the street from her). Because it took me a few minutes to return to Zoe, Zoe worried that I had been arrested for unlawful recreation. Zoe is very law-abiding.
One of my big accomplishments today was pumping up one of the tires on our minivan. My sister observed that it looked flat last time I made a delivery to her house (I brought her an iPhone charging cable and she gave me a bag of latex gloves). I carry in my car a small air compressor that you plug into the car to inflate your tires. I bought this at the suggestion of Reidy Brown after I got a flat in a hotel parking garage and a super nice guy used one on my behalf. I didn’t realize you could just own one of those. But I bought one and it’s come in handy.
Although bits of news and information about the pandemic and its effects on people I love and the people they love we’re still floating around in my atmosphere today, I managed to focus enough on the tasks at hand that I wasn’t sucked underwater by grief and anxiety. I don’t think I can ever get used to this, but I think I am learning how to live despite it.
While writing an email today I typed the phrase “virtual insanity” and suddenly remembered the 2010 song by Jamiroquai. How could I possibly have forgotten about it until nearly three weeks into our new virtual existence? And how did Jamiroquai predict all this so clearly? https://youtu.be/4JkIs37a2JE
I’ve noticed on Facebook a significant increase in ads for whimsical underwear and comfy loungewear. And I am noticing how many pairs of my pajama pants have sprung holes. I imagine all the people with whom I’m having Zoom meetings conducting their business wearing underwear printed with pandas. Maybe I will order some matching animal loungewear for my family so we can quarantine in comfort and style.
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When they first announced that our schools were closing because of the virus, it was only supposed to be for a month. The kids would return to school on April 14, after spring break. I can’t believe this decision was made only two and a half weeks ago. Already it feels like forever, since everything has changed and changed and changed again since then. But way back then, I naively thought that we might still be able to have spring break. We weren’t planning any exotic trips–just an overnight to Baltimore to visit the American Visionary Art Museum, explore the National Aquarium, and take the water taxi to Fells Point. And another overnight to Pennsylvania to spend a day at Hershey Park, which Zoe requested as a birthday present and where she and Randy were going to ride all the roller coasters. Still, we had something to look forward to.
Now our schools are closed for the rest of the school year, although perplexingly that’s not the case nationwide. And Virginians, along with residents of many states, have been ordered by the governor to stay at home unless we need to leave home on essential trips. The number of confirmed coronavirus cases in Arlington has surpassed 100 and continues to climb. It seems like we are stuck at home for the foreseeable future. I just hope to God we can have our summer. Please don’t tell me otherwise right now. I cannot handle it.
I am feeling discouraged. My family will not be able to be together to celebrate my or my kids’ or my parents’ birthdays, or Easter, or Passover. We won’t be able to see friends or go to church.
Everything was glitchy today. Apps froze, devices crashed. Zeke collided with a bookcase and cut his arm. I cannot concentrate on writing anything for work when any children are in the room.
I do not intend to whine. I should just go for a walk. I feel this obligation to make dinner though, since we got takeout last night. I know it could be much worse and we are exceptionally privileged and lucky. But the indefiniteness of it all weighs heavily on me.
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A sage person recently reminded me that two contradictory things can be true at the same time. This wisdom seems particularly relevant right now, as the world struggles with a terrifying pandemic that is killing hundreds of thousands of people and causing widespread unemployment, hunger, and myriad manifestations of physical, social, and emotional distress. At the same time (which seems almost cruel to say because the first thing is so awful it feels insensitive to contradict its weight) there are good things happening that would never have otherwise been possible.
In no particular order:
- Greater appreciation of teachers and school staff
- Cancellation of standardized testing
- More downtime for over scheduled kids (and adults)
- Less consumer spending (at least at our house)
- Dramatic reduction in air and water pollution
- Families and friends connecting more using technology
- Grandparents learning how to use more technology
- Individuals and families getting outside and exercising together
- Greater appreciation of grocery store workers, janitors, garbage collectors, and other essential workers who don’t earn enough money
- More time for kids to explore their interests and passions
- Opportunity to be creative about learning (please note I am NOT saying this is easy or that homeschooling is simple or that most of us aren’t going berserk, just that we can think differently about what’s important for our kids to be learning and doing and maybe that’s not the same as what it has been for a long time)
- Workplaces learning how to be more flexible
- Greater awareness of the brokenness of our healthcare system and hopefully more public and political will to fix it (of course doctors, nurses, and medical staff are AMAZING! I’m talking about the overall system, insurance, etc.)
- Neighbors helping each other out more
- People who don’t usually go to church (or synagogue or mosque, etc) or museums, or the theater, or the ballet, or wherever else, may check these things out online and maybe find new destinations and communities when this thing is over.
I’m sure there are many more, but I’ve been thinking a lot about adaptability and innovation. Yesterday I was both delighted and dismayed to watch Zoe’s first home-based virtual martial arts class. Dismayed only because our family loves the EvolveAll community so much. EvolveAll has been a major part of our lives for eight years now. In recent times, since both Zoe and Zeke are students there and since Zoe was training for and earned her black belt, we typically spent six to nine hours in the studio every week. We love the instructors and the staff, we love the kids and parents, we love the warm, encouraging, and fun vibe. And we haven’t been able to be there for three weeks!
I was thrilled, however, (although not surprised!) to see the tremendous effort that Emerson, Christian, Elijah, Kamil, and the team have put in to creating a new experience for the kids. Over the past three weeks they had posted training videos online, but watching a martial arts video on your own is not that much fun, compared to the feeling of working hard together in class. So yesterday EvolveAll launched its live classes via Zoom, along with a participation component for parents and kids using Class Dojo. I could tell how glad Zoe was to see her martial arts instructors and friends again, even if only on a screen, and to get back to practicing black belt techniques.
Through the magic of Zoom, Master Emerson could see into everyone’s living rooms or basements, and offered guidance on how people could modify their techniques so as not to kick any nearby furniture. At the end of class he solicited feedback from the students, whose main request was more and longer classes.
Of course everyone would rather be doing martial arts (and ballet class, and music lessons, and soccer practice, and everything else that’s been cancelled) together in the studio or on the field and not in their living rooms, but it is so reassuring to know that just because you can’t see your people doesn’t mean they don’t exist. Maintaining a strong sense of community is essential during physical isolation, and I know these kids (and their parents) will never forget the instructors, teachers, coaches, and other folks who are helping us stay together.
You Ask a Lot of Questions 