Thursday, March 19 (First day of spring)
“Art is the only way to run away without leaving home” —Twyla Tharp
It was a quiet morning inside the house. But a stormy and loud one inside me. WOW is that bad prose.
Kids did homework. I tried to work. Couldn’t focus. Felt desperate inside. Nothing seemed important. Everything seemed disorganized, unnecessary.
I would start one thing and not be able to get to the end because something has changed about the process. How do I make sure my freelancers’ invoices are submitted correctly? What is the new password for the now-shared social media scheduling platform? Should I email, Gchat, text, or Zoom a colleague about a question? Maybe just open the window and shout out into the universe for an answer?
And when’s the last time I stood up from my desk.
Sometime around midday, the 11-year-old came downstairs for lunch. She made herself hot cocoa and avocado toast, but not before asking: “Mom, is it OK if I make cocoa with the milk. We only have a half gallon left?”
And
“Can I use the last avocado for avocado toast?”
Yes. YES. I said.
These questions were not posed with a sense of fear or urgency, just with a kind of practicality. Like, did you need these ingredients? Were we saving them for some other meal?
Then, “Do we have a lime?”
Yes.
“Can you cut it?”
Absolutely.
I didn’t look at news much. I did text with my sister and my mom a lot.
It was the most challenging day yet in terms of managing my own internal storm. (I couldn’t resist the bad prose again.).
I transitioned from work day to home by taking my almost-daily-so-far 4.2-mile walk. Fresh air and an audiobook and a chat with my mom brought me some calm.
And the day ended with cookies, also made by the 11-year-old, who used the last two sticks of butter without even explicitly asking. Progress.
Oatmeal Scotchies. A quiet tribute to Grandma C.
Stay safe, everyone.