Tag: #somegoodnews

Let It Snow – Even in August

Let It Snow – Even in August

Meg

All through the fall, my son poured time and effort into learning a piano piece for his winter recital. He was ready to share his music, but a schedule conflict meant he couldn’t perform. He’d worked so hard on his piece, it was a shame he wouldn’t be able to share it.

“I bet you could play at Grammy’s place if you wanted to perform with an audience,” I suggested.

To my surprise, he was willing to try it. It took a couple of months to facilitate making it happen – volunteer paperwork, CORI forms, scheduling, etc. – but then he was added to the entertainment roster to play on the memory care floor for about a half an hour every-other-Sunday.

As I’ve shared before, my mom, who has Alzheimer’s, has lived on the memory unit of her care home since she started needing 24/7 care seven years ago. Our/her trajectory appears to be an anomaly. She has incredible staying power and a bright spirit that’s impossible to extinguish. But this journey can be emotionally exhausting at times. It can be a struggle to connect with her in any sort of meaningful way. We have lost the back and forth quality of a traditional relationship where each person contributes a part of themselves. Though the metaphysical cords that connect my mom’s heart with mine will never break, as the years with Alzheimer’s have gone by the way we engage with each other on this Earth has an increasingly gossamer-like quality – wispy, ethereal, and easily split and broken.

I often think there’s nothing new to be seen or done with my mom. We’re just here, in a moment, one part biding our time, one part just surviving, and one part seeking the sweet in everything that we still have because we still have something (and what else can we do?). I keep showing up because I promised her I would and she deserves all the love I can give her – plus you never know when the last time will be. Surely when she passes away it will still feel like the time I devoted to her wasn’t enough and I’ll want to go back and be part of every minute I missed. Even knowing that day will come I still cycle through the full spectrum of feelings – many negative – about our situation. Visiting her can be very lonely, that’s just all there is to it.

With that as context, my son and I arrived one Sunday morning in March for his piano performance. He was still wiping the sleep out of his eyes and I was nervous because I am a people-pleaser and I was hoping this wasn’t a bad idea. I know it’s hard to visit my mom and the memory care floor in particular. I know there are unfamiliar – and sometimes unpleasant – smells and that there are people who do and say unexpected things or make strange sounds. There are lots of wheelchairs and walkers and hoyer lifts. I also know that this is not the Grammy who baked cookies with him and watched him play soccer and read bedtime stories to him about a tickle monster and then tickled and tickled him until he couldn’t breathe. I had decided a long time ago not to force my kids to visit their Grammy. They were really happy to be with her in the earlier days of Alzheimer’s and then they weren’t anymore and I understand that. It’s not easy for me, either.

The staff had gathered a small group of residents around the piano with my mom’s wheelchair right next to it. We said hello to Grammy, who was awake to my surprise and happiness, and then stood there awkwardly trying to gauge what to do next. After a couple minutes my son sat down at the piano, I muted the TV, and told him to go ahead. He dove in with the first piece that came to mind from memory – Let It Snow. The staff who were passing by in the hallway and I looked at each other in silent agreement, “Please no more snow.” But the residents? They loved it! Most don’t leave the floor and are not oriented to day or time so, for them, Let It Snow is simply an upbeat song that triggers fond memories buried deep in the mind. No winter fatigue for them. They clapped. They sang. They shimmied in their chairs. They smiled.

He played a few more pieces – from Viva La Vida by Coldplay to Axel F from Beverly Hills Cop. And then he froze. He turned to me and whispered, “I can’t remember how this one I’ve been working on most recently starts.”

“Just start where you can remember, even right in the middle, like when you practice at home. They just like to hear the music. “

And so he started where he could remember. And they were thrilled.

“Wonderful!” “Bravo!” they exclaimed.

My mom? She tapped her toes and her leg up and down to the beat. She raised her hands in the air like a teen at a rock concert. She smiled. She was alert and engaged. She tried to sing or talk. My son’s music manifested a clear response in her. It felt like we three were directly connected, almost in conversation, in a way I hadn’t experienced with my mom in a really long time. I know she has always loved music, but this was a completely unexpected, direct relational back and forth with her. And she was so happy.

As for my son, he discovered that he really likes playing for his Grammy and her neighbors. He goes on a weekly basis now. They are thrilled all over again every single time he comes. Let It Snow begins the recital every week, even in the middle of August. And next week, we will do it all over again in exactly the same way and the reception will be just as warm, engaged, and happy.

And me? Being with my mom as we walk this journey remains the most beautiful, burdensome blessing. I am so grateful for having a chance to discover a new way to connect with her and to feel joy together that I hadn’t yet experienced. Not only did this moment touch me deeply in my soul and fill me with emotions that are difficult to put into words, but the whole recital was an awesome example of people showing up for each other as their best selves – open and joyful, without judgment, making and enjoying music together to the best of their abilities. Every single person in that room contributes to joy and meaningful – even if momentary – connection. This recital time has presented a newness to how I engage with and relate to my mom, a balm for my caregiver fatigue and loneliness, and the kindling of a small, hopeful flame in my heart that has fused part of the fraying threads to my mom back together.

It’s a Dog’s Life: Lessons from My Dog VII (Find Place and CHILL)

It’s a Dog’s Life: Lessons from My Dog VII (Find Place and CHILL)

Meg

Hi, again, Tucker here.

I’ll be honest, I have been one wound up schnoodle recently. I am still as fluffy and lovable as ever, but my main hooman (the mom one) has been using – ahem – inappropriate language in my company (in fact, directed at ME, I dare say) way more than normal these days.

In my defense, the weather is getting warm and there are SO. MANY. GOOD. SMELLS. Grass growing, bugs flying, flowers blossoming, other animals out and about. A veritable cacophony for the senses. Plus the bunnies taunt me all day long, sitting just outside my window chewing on MY grass. And then the hoomans keep putting meat on the firey thing on the back porch causing these incredible aromas to waft through the air (who am I kidding? Raw or cooked, that meat smells damn fine to me!).

What is a dog to do? I am not a guy to be vague about what I want. Some may say I have a stubborn streak. Perhaps that I am a bit needy. I believe in speaking my truth. And, the truth is, I want their dinner, not mine. Needless to say, whining (on my part) is involved and then cursing (on my main hooman’s part) follows. So undignified.

These episodes always end with me being sent to my Place cot. At first I act like I’ve never heard that word before and I have no idea where I am supposed to go, but then I have a “light dawns on Stonehenge moment” and I leap over there with an expression like, “Here? Is this what you meant?” I do enjoy a bit of improv theatre. Then I am told – quite emphatically, I might add – to SIT. And then to Stay. There are treats involved so I am all in on this game.

What’s really amazing is that within seconds of sitting on Place (aka a forced time out), I feel so much better. Almost like the whining and fussing is some sort of out-of-body experience and Place gives me a moment to pause and reset that puts me back in touch with my inner schnoodle. One minute I am pacing and whining and begging for hooman food and the next I am lying down on my cot and this big, deep sign spills out of me. Ahhh, what a relief. All that frenetic energy just floats away.

It occurs to me in my moments of Zen – is it me that needs Place, or is it my hooman?

Because, if we are being honest, she seems a little wound up, too. It’s, like, way too easy to push her buttons.

My main hooman says I am driving her to drink, but if she would just pay attention she would see that I am showing her the path to inner peace: find a peaceful place, sit still, and breathe. Anxiety melts away and you emerge from this pause with more clarity and more mastery of being instead of constantly doing doing doing.

If nothing else, I am here to teach.

My advice: send yourself to Place and take a deep breath. It takes practice to learn how to do it for yourself, so have someone send you until you figure it out. I highly recommend extorting them for treats as part of your healing process.

Photo by Samson Katt on Pexels.com
OMM – Your Soul and Money

OMM – Your Soul and Money

Meg

I mentioned the book The Soul of Money by Lynne Twist in my last post, Sometimes Asking is Giving. As Ms. Twist explains, “What’s poor is [people’s] circumstances, not them, and the unlocking of a vehicle to change circumstances is a gift; the radical truth about money and life is sufficiency. If you clear away the mindset of scarcity, you will find the surprising truth of enough. When we recognize enough, when we have more than enough, that excess, that’s for others.”

I shared a quote about one’s attitude two weeks ago, and this is related. It’s a mindset shift, from scarcity to abundance. It changes everything in how we approach life, ourselves, and others. When you realize you have enough, that you are enough, you can give of yourself more. Does anyone else remember Sark? This particular quote about Enough is from her book Inspiration Sandwich, which was also the genesis of much hilarity about the complete and utter dump in the deep woods of Maine that my friend Jen and I lived in one summer, which we affectionately called the Magic Cottage thanks to Sark. It was magical all right, hornets and mice living in the walls and all. But that’s a story for another time.

“There is a distinction between sufficiency and true abundance; if you let go of trying to get more of what you don’t need, it frees up oceans of energy that’s all tied up in that chase to pay attention to what you already have. When you nourish and share it, you make a difference with what you have and it expands. What you appreciate, appreciates.”

Lynne Twist

Deep breath.

You will be alright.

This has been another Oxygen Mask Moment.

Sometimes Asking is Giving

Sometimes Asking is Giving

Meg

The other day I was paddle boarding with a friend on a particularly hot and blustery day, stuck on my knees because the wind and chop were so strong that I risked tumbling into the lake if I stood up. After 20 minutes paddling into the wind, I looked up only to realize that I was a few feet further out from shore but still parallel with the dock. So much effort, so little progress, and, honestly, that relentless wind made me feel vulnerable and exposed even though I could have just let it blow me back to shore and call it a day.

As I dug my paddle deeper into the water to renew my effort to gain some forward momentum, it made me think about the extraordinary headwinds indigenous Guatemalan women deal with every day, and what it would be like to be stuck right where you are from the moment you are born, conscripted to a life of poverty, limited agency, and lack of opportunity. Young women in rural Guatemala face quadruple discrimination from the day they arrive on this Earth: they are poor, they are Mayan, they live in a rural area, and they are female. The MAIA Impact School works to change that by connecting the latent talent that exists in rural Guatemala but has been overlooked for generations with opportunity, starting with access to robust education through high school and aiming for university studies and access to formal work opportunities (as opposed to remaining in the informal economy, which is much more common, precarious, and poorly paid).

Each of MAIA’s Girl Pioneers (or GP’s, so called because they are pioneering a completely new path for themselves, their families, and their communities) trajectories has been astonishing. Though the wind remains incessant, there’s a flotilla of support, guidance, and information available to each of them about how to improve one’s technique, navigate challenges, find balance, and move forward.

Photo by Mat Brown on Pexels.com
Photo by Zadok P. on Pexels.com

In MAIA’s first class of high school graduates, a GP won a 4-year scholarship to college in the United States through She Can, an organization that builds female leadership in post-conflict countries. There are still so many hurdles for her to leap over and hoops to jump through before this opportunity becomes a reality, including the SATs, the bane of most high schoolers’ existences. Imagine being the first person in your family to go to high school, let alone college, and trying to take the SAT not in your first language, nor your second language, but your third language. More headwinds.

Because the US college process is so unique and challenging, with the SATs in one’s third language adding an extra twist, MAIA’s US Executive Director asked the Board if anyone knew someone who provides one-on-one SAT tutoring. I texted my neighbor, who is a college counselor, and he recommended Summit Educational Group. I googled them and cold called them, stumbling over my words as I tried to explain what MAIA is and does succinctly and clearly, who the GPs are, what the need was, all the while dreading the eventual question of cost. I asked not knowing what to expect and feeling like I was asking a lot. I was glad to be on the phone when I said the words “pro bono” because my face burned bright red and my armpits got sweaty. The gall of calling a complete stranger and asking for a favor – and then asking for it for free! Completely brazen.

But then, incredibly, they said YES. Yes, we will offer 22 hours of our time free of charge to provide the tools and resources this extraordinary young woman needs to continue along her path. That yes made my heart sing, astonished that this might actually happen and truly touched to experience the goodness, kindness, and generosity of other humans.

Several weeks ago, two MAIA staff visited the US for a conference. While they were here, we thought it would be good to meet and thank the Summit Education team in person. At our meeting we were able to give them a little more context about MAIA, rural Guatemala, and the GPs. It was the appropriate, polite thing to do in thanks to an organization that gave so selflessly on our student’s behalf.

But the part that struck and surprised me most that has stuck with me was how powerfully resonant and moving this connection to Guatemala was for them. Though they had no prior connection to MAIA or to Guatemala, while I was busy sweating through my shirt feeling awkward and queasy about my bold ask, they weren’t asking themselves if at all, only how. In fact, the response was more like:

“We don’t often get the chance to help a student like this.”

“This whole experience has been the highlight of my time here at Summit.”

It turns out that my ask was a give. Your read that right. By asking, I gave the gift of meaning, joy, and connection. By connecting, we build bridges and forge deeper understanding, expanding our own world and worldview. The wind may not die down, but if we work together we all make more forward progress.

Asking for help is hard. It’s challenging to separate a need from feeling needy. I find it easier to ask on behalf of someone else, certainly on behalf of a cause that’s bigger than me, but it’s still hard. It strikes me now that while it is so hard to ask for assistance in so many aspects of life, sometimes – often? – the asking creates an opportunity to give that is meaningful to the giver. As Lynne Twist writes in her book The Soul of Money, “this unlocking of a vehicle to change circumstances is a gift.” It’s a remarkable, empowering twist and the ultimate oxygen mask moment.

OMM – Your Inner Wonder Woman

OMM – Your Inner Wonder Woman

Meg

When I was a kid, I got Wonder Woman underoos for Christmas one year. I may be misremembering, but I am pretty sure even the weather in December didn’t stop me from proudly running down the street to show them off to the neighbors (it was the 80s, I have no better explanation than that for this behavior).

1980s Underoo Advertisement

The genesis of the need for “underwear that’s fun to wear” is a bit mysterious to me – was this a time in history when parents were having inordinate difficulty getting their kids to wear underwear or something?

What I know for sure is that that Wonder Woman costume (costume? underwear?) made me feel powerful. Invincible. Strong. I mean, look at the muscles on those kids in the ad!

And that memory made me think about the wonderful poem “If I Should Have a Daughter” by spoken word poet Sarah Kay (it’s just over 3 minutes long and totally worth it). And it also made me think about the power of imagery.

For today’s Oxygen Mask Moment, imagine drawing a cape around your shoulders (or donning your favorite underoos), take a deep breath, and channel the power of your inner superhero.

And breathe again.

You will be alright.

This has been another edition of Oxygen Mask Moments by Meg

OMM – Find Your Sanctuary

OMM – Find Your Sanctuary

Meg

I discovered in my late teens what it means to find sanctuary. Though the word is often associated with a church, human constructs never stirred my soul or provided room for quiet contemplation in the same way that a peaceful wood, a calm lake, or a mountaintop (as long as there are not a lot of other people there) do. The combination of the effort (and endorphins) that hiking engenders plus beautiful surroundings and time for quiet contemplation has always been my favorite refuge, affording me the best opportunity to reflect and re-center.

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”

Henry David thoreau

I read that Thoreau quote for the first time in the early 1990s while sitting on the side of a mountain somewhere in Oregon’s Three Sisters Wilderness and it has stuck with me ever since.

After years of practice I have learned (okay, am learning) to quiet the noise and find my sanctuary amidst the hustle and bustle of suburban family life. Putting your own oxygen mask on is about finding refuge and peace within. It’s been a nearly lifelong practice for me. Get outside today, breathe some fresh air, and find your way toward your own calm and sanctuary.

“All of our problems stem from our inability to sit quietly in a room alone.”

Blaise pascal

This has been another edition of Oxygen Mask Moments by Meg

For more musings, check out Finding Sanctuary.

Breathe.

You will be alright.

OMM – Treasure of the Sea

OMM – Treasure of the Sea

Meg

Did you know that horseshoe crabs have bright blue blood? I was blown away when I learned that fact, this oddity of nature making my heart leap with curiosity and wonder.

They also deserve our reverence. They are survivors, predating dinosaurs. In their modern iteration, though, they are becoming increasingly endangered. That bright blue blood of theirs? It coagulates when it is exposed to bacterial endotoxins, which has both kept them alive for millions of years and happens to be the reason we have vaccines (A Horseshoe Crab’s Blood is Vital in Testing Drugs, Washington Post August 1, 2o21).

If you live on the East Coast of the U.S. (and maybe elsewhere, but I don’t know about elsewhere), you’ve likely seen the discarded shells of these prehistoric-looking creatures on the beach. These creepy/cool little armored tanks are so much a part of the seascape that I have never really given them much of a second glance, their remnants being fought over in a screeching battle by seagulls or half buried in the sand amongst the shells and seaweed, periwinkles and rocks (yes, New England beaches feature rocks) as familiar as the sound of crashing waves. They deserve a second glance, our admiration, our gratitude, and our protection.

From the NY Times Health Why We Travel

This has been another edition of Oxygen Mask Moments by Meg

Breathe.

You will be alright.

Introducing Oxygen Mask Moments (OMM)

Introducing Oxygen Mask Moments (OMM)

Meg

Where did the good news station go? Just because we aren’t in the middle of a pandemic-induced lockdown doesn’t mean we don’t need a steady supply of good news! Remember, psychologists say that human brains are hard-wired toward the negative. We need 3 positives to counterbalance a single negative.

When Some Good News (SGN) started I was like, wait, that’s the same idea as putting your own oxygen mask on first! Since I am fairly sure that the name SGN is taken, I will call my own short little bursts of hopefulness, joy, and wonder Oxygen Mask Moments (or OMM…omm…omm…that’s right, breathe!).

For today’s OMM, how about some photos of flamingos that descend under cover of darkness to roost on unsuspecting neighbors’ and friends’ lawns for 24 hours before the flock flies away? In the snow, in the rain, nothing deters these harbingers of joy.

Breathe.

You will be alright.

Masks are Tyranny???

Masks are Tyranny???

Meg

Some people really and truly think that masks are tyranny. Really and truly. Despite EVERYTHING, there continues to be (really strong) opposition to wearing a mask.

I was initially all geared up to rant about it. I wanted to rant, but I am not going to. That’s the easy thing to do, but it isn’t helpful. It’s what everyone is doing these days. Who wants more of it?

I mean, don’t get me wrong, I looked up the definition of tyranny just to sanity check my gut reaction to that phrase and, yep, tyranny is a pretty extreme word for a face covering:

Tyranny (noun): “cruel and oppressive government or rule.

“people who survive war and escape tyranny” · 

Synonyms: despotism · absolutism · absolute power · autocracy · dictatorship · undemocratic rule · reign of terror · totalitarianism · Fascism · oppression · suppression · repression ·

  • a nation under cruel and oppressive government.
  • cruel, unreasonable, or arbitrary use of power or control.

    “the tyranny of the nine-to-five day” · 

  • (especially in ancient Greece) rule by one who has absolute power without legal right.”

close up of face masks
Photo by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels.com

I admit that after reading that definition I was even more pissed off for a while. Wearing a piece of cloth over your nose and mouth to stem a scientifically-proven public health crisis isn’t anywhere near the ballpark of being subjected to cruelty, oppression, or a reign of terror. It’s just not.

Of course there is plenty about this pandemic situation that is definitely cruel and unreasonable. Dying alone in a hospital comes to mind. Perpetuating this shit show and elongating everyone’s suffering by ignoring public health mandates gets a nod. Setting up the most vulnerable people in our society to be taken out by a virus that, at this point, we know exists and, honestly, we know how to contain, reigns pretty high too. But wearing a mask?

In the face of racial protests, clear inequality, food insecurity, massive unemployment, and pretty much many much bigger issues, calling a mask tyranny – wasting your breath complaining about it at all, really – seems pretty damn tone deaf.

But this blog isn’t Ranting and Raving.com for a reason. Put Your Own Oxygen Mask on First is about providing a hopeful viewpoint to counterbalance the pervasive negative we are ever more perpetually steeped in. It’s about changing the narrative, looking more deeply at the universality of human suffering (how much more universal could you get than a pandemic?), and striving to take a new look at our challenges and to uncover the threads of hope.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. – Max Ehrmann, Desiderata

So, here we are, deep in struggle, and this is what I got for ya.

It’s been a really hard time.

People are BURNT OUT and worried. In the U.S., we left school in March with the promise that fall would be better. And it’s not. We are still vulnerable, still uncertain. And now, all these months later, the cure is perceived to be worse than the curse. There is virus fatigue, isolation fatigue, fear fatigue, economic fatigue, uncertainty fatigue, cheering-myself-up-and-looking-on-the-bright-side fatigue, fatigue fatigue. Kids are climbing the walls and so are parents. What’s so sad is that if everyone would just wear a mask, keep some distance, and wash their hands, we wouldn’t be having this problem.

mona lisa protection protect virus
Photo by Yaroslav Danylchenko on Pexels.com

So here’s the short of it: we can do this. We HAVE to do this.

Care about the economy and want it to open back up completely? Wear a mask.

Want the kids to go back to school? Yep, wear a mask.

You say Black Lives Matter? Wear the mask (otherwise that is 100% NOT how you are living. Black and brown people have been disproportionately impacted by this virus. So, mask it).

There are a bevy of excuses for disliking the mask: it’s hot, it fogs my glasses, I don’t know anyone who has had the virus, I want my kids to have a normal childhood. My short response: rip the band-aid off, wear the mask, and we can all move on. The long version is:

  1. It’s hot: that’s true, it’s damn hot and the mask is extra uncomfortable when it’s hot. I am pretty sure a ventilator is uncomfortable, too, so a mask seems like not that much to ask, relatively speaking;
  2. Glasses fog: I wear glasses, too. I wipe them off or lift them up when they start to fog up. Ink smudges when I write with certain pens, too. I deal;
  3. Don’t know anyone personally who’s had the virus? – well, I do. The conservatively estimated 165,000 people who have died in the U.S. to date all knew someone. You will, too – eventually. Would that really make you feel better?!?!? The fact that the majority who have died were old doesn’t make me feel better about them getting bumped off. It’s a horrible way to die. When did we get so callous?
  4. Kids having a normal childhood: I get the worry about the kids, trust me, I really do. But adversity can be a great teacher. Besides, does anyone remember their own childhood in great detail? Like year over year detail? My summer memories are a blur of the odd family vacation, the odd sports or all around camp. Mostly we made our own fun and spent A LOT of time being totally bored (my mom’s solution: “I have plenty of things you can help me with around the house,” which effectively sent me into hiding and back to figuring out how to entertain myself). There is no timeline or dates or ages associated with any of it, just a vague pool of memories. School years also blur together. I am sure bad stuff happened in there, but I don’t remember most of it. And I turned out okay. Maybe better than okay. Completely pandemic-ready okay. Resilient, flexible, able to make my own fun.

person with a face mask and latex gloves holding a globe
Photo by Anna Shvets on Pexels.com

Basically, kids will respond to all of this okay, maybe even with some positive memories, if the adults in their world present it well. I don’t mean to fake it. I mean to listen and be present, but to work with it instead of against it. Resisting it or fighting it doesn’t make it better, it just makes it harder to live with this reality. This is 2020. This is just it. We don’t know the end date, but this isn’t forever. Take a deep breath.

Remember that many people are facing MAJOR, earth and life-shattering issues right now. If you aren’t food or shelter insecure, if you are safe in your home and not struggling with addiction or mental health issues, then it’s time to put your oxygen mask on, take a big deep breath, and then assist the person next to you.

Whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy. – Max Ehrmann, Desiderata

Just because we wish it so will not make this all go away. Until we all tow the line in a unified way, the U.S. will continue to trundle along with its ineffective whack-a-mole approach to dealing with this. More and more people will suffer and die, the school year will be in a constant state of upheaval, and the economy will not be able to fully re-open. Instead of the fast, difficult, unified approach, to date we have taken the long, slow, extended suffering approach. All the loss plus a clear view into our broken health care/insurance system (that would sooner bankrupt people for needed care than cover them); the inability of many to skip work despite the risk (because there is no financial safety net whatsoever); food tied to schools/food insecurity in one of the wealthiest countries in the world; and a government that treats its most vulnerable citizens as expendable, well, I think I just described tyranny. If masks and tyranny belong in a sentence together, it would be more accurate to say “masks are liberators from tyranny.”

Wear a mask.

Unite. Be strong. This too shall pass. If we work together, it will pass all the more quickly.

We are the solution.

You will be alright.

Back to School options

 

 

100 Days of Quarantine

100 Days of Quarantine

Meg

Yep, that’s right. I’ve been counting. I may be a day or two off because it all blurred together and I couldn’t tell what day was what for a while there, but I am calling it today and sticking to it!

What does this mean? Traditionally, in my experience, preschools and elementary schools celebrate the 100th day of school. The 100 days of school typically signifies that you are over the hump of the school year and on the downward slope toward summer break (that’s my interpretation anyway, no one ever actually explains WHY we are doing this). It drives me nuts, to be honest, because it’s pretty arbitrary and usually involves some sort of project with 100 objects that requires my assistance to collect, coordinate, and recoup after it goes to school. But damn if those traditions don’t just stick in your brain whether you like them or not! And, I mean, come on, 100 days is a freaking long time and a nice, round number so let’s at least notice it if not celebrate it! As far as I am concerned, these 100 days is 1/3rd of a freaking bizarre year and worth reflecting on no matter how many days are still to come.

The 100 days of not being in school? The 100 days of isolation? The 100 days of digging deep (sometimes really, really deep) to find gratitude? The 100 days of riding a roller coaster without ever leaving home?

Are we over the hump of coronavirus now? I suspect not really. Maybe we are over one hump, the first sin wave, but this bizarre period is not yet over. So the trouble I have with this 100 days is that there is no end in sight, and that still incites a little panic and overwhelm at times. I refuse to use the term “new normal.” I hate it. I prefer something like “the way things are for now.” For now is always a good way to approach uncertainty and change. It implies acceptance of the present but knowledge that the future might be different, though when that future comes is unclear.

Photo by Breakingpic on Pexels.com
Photo by Lina Kivaka on Pexels.com
Photo by Markus Spiske on Pexels.com
Photo by Markus Spiske on Pexels.com

I am trying to remember what life was like 100 days ago. I still prefer life from 101 days ago, I am certain of that, but am pleased with the mental shift that’s occurred in between. Those early days were LONG. And confusing. And depressing. I would go to bed knowing I had nothing to look forward to in the morning. I am a do-er and a busy bee so the idea that I had nowhere to go and nothing to go do tanked me at first. It felt so heavy, like so much work to get up and just make it through another day. I’ve mentioned before how I felt like coronavirus teleported me to the 1950s as a housewife, right? I swear that’s the truth of it. I wrote in my quarantine journal on March 31, “I missed 16 whole days in writing this journal. How is that even possible? Well, I’ll tell you how it’s possible. Because life right now is this twilight zone of sur-reality. I have been teleported to the 1950s and spend most of my waking hours cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, working with kids on one thing or another, and curating precious items for our consumption or comfort (general groceries and paper towels in particular).” That did not feel like much to wake up for. So for a long time I wallowed. For three weeks, in fact, according to my journal. Time is so strange. During the same period that the days were forever long I didn’t have time to write. Riddle me that, Batman.

Anyhoo, I know for sure that those first few weeks were a doozy, with more emails about cancelled plans and “uncertainty” than I care to count. I literally still use whiteout and still have a daily planner so I get to laugh when I look back at my calendar now and see the indent of my pen marks for all the plans that should have been just disappeared from reality by the quick stroke of the whiteout brush. It reminds me of traveling in Madagascar, sitting at the airport waiting on a delayed flight. The airport staff would just erase the departure time on the chalkboard and rewrite a new time when the plane was ready to go – two hours delayed was suddenly, miraculously, right on schedule! It’s like the question of whether trees falling in the woods make a sound if no one can hear them. If the plans you didn’t do don’t exist, well, did you miss out on anything?

I have 154 pages (including lots of pictures) keeping track of the last 100 days to pour over one of these days. In sum, a haiku:

Grief. Plodding days. Fear.

April snow. Enough! Spring blooms.

Pollen, hope abound.

Or something like that! I do love a good haiku :-).

So, today – day 100 – I am not saying we need to celebrate. But maybe we might as well (we did, after all, flatten the curve (where I live anyway) so at least a pat on the back is warranted for that)? My March 12, 2020, post Don’t Freak Out, But Also Don’t Be Cavalier is still all true. With the benefit of hindsight, I can say that the puppy thing is very real as is the racism.

It’s a remarkable thing that the whole world is living through at the same time. I don’t think it’s particularly helpful to define this period as good or bad, but we should notice all of it, learn, and adjust. Maybe I will make a list for next time of all the things I have learned over this time. Camus sums it up well, but I am always up for a good list.

Camus Quote

You will be alright.

Wash your hands.

Stay well, stay (close to) home?