Lysol

Did the manufacturer of Lysol just come out and say "wait, please don't inject yourself with our products?"

Yes, yes they did.

Because a situation in Washington warranted their "hang on wait a minute" post.

Which led someone I know to post "oh, that's not really true" followed by someone else using vitriol that I haven't seen for a while.

And when I say "a while" - take that to mean 3 or 4 days. The opinions coming from some people are not only passionate discourses on their beliefs (I like those), but they are riddled with anger, fear, frustration - and I daresay, hate. The hate-speech I've seen has been overwhelming. These posts are also coming fast and furious on social media - causing me to take a break from scrolling, stopping only to slap up my Gratitude Journal post.

I don't want nor need life to go back to exactly the way it was. So much of society and our earth needs subtle or gigantic course corrections.

But civility and compassion would be nice if it could come back in spades.

And a sweeping dose of common sense.

So, therefore, have no fear, I will only use Lysol to clean my counters. Not my veins.

Life Moves On

When I get earworms, they stick for days.

The line of a song that rolls over and over in my head - the scene from a movie that just won't leave my thoughts.

Currently, it's the scene from the movie Steel Magnolias - easily one of my favorite movies ever. The group of women has come together at the funeral of the daughter. Sally Field says she's fine and then she breaks. She just wants her daughter back.

183 viewings of that and I still tear up.

Olympia Dukakis chimes in with some humor at the expense of Shirley McLaine and the group laughs for a moment. The scene cuts - they are at the wake in a neighborhood backyard. Darryl Hannah plays with a baby on a blanket - and is asked what she will name her own baby when the time comes. She acknowledges that she wants to name it after the deceased - the mother replies lovingly and states "life moves on."

She doesn't forget her daughter. She doesn't skip that she's gone. But somewhere in her heart, life has to continue to take steps forward.

Even in the middle of a pandemic - when the world seems to have stopped. Or significantly slowed.

Life moves on.

Every time I look out my kitchen window - or sit on my comfy couch - or prep myself for bed, I see my beloved neighbor's house. I see his chair in the backyard where he would review his day with his wife with a glass of wine - watching the frogs in his pond.

I miss him.

The grass is growing - it needs to be cut.

Hubs and Bubs need haircuts, too.

My bleeding hearts are popping up, the beds need to be blown out again. I've got to track down the deer spray and attach the hoses.

Someone has to finish long division - someone else has to write a paper on igloos versus treehouses. I should really get to stripping the bathtub. It's been on my list for 2 years. The stuff is even in the bathroom.

Life moves on.

"God of Glory, majesty. Praise forever to the King of Kings...."

Joy Comes in the Morning

In the end, the miracle did not come.

My beloved neighbor met Jesus Friday night. In an attempt to keep my rhythm on my gratitude journal on Facebook and Instagram, I wrote the following yesterday:

Gratitude Journal Day 37 - my neighbors. But today, especially this house. 💚
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For a person like me who always has All. The. Words. Today, I have none. I had teased a week ago I had excellent news to share. My beloved neighbor was coming home from the hospital. Signs were made. Plans were hatched. But, by Easter morning, as I celebrated the risen Lord, my high-fiving, ever-smiling, wave to me over the fence, never too early for happy hour, wander the yard with me, Spartan buddy, suffered a cardiac event and our idyllic neighborhood hamlet came crashing down. By last night, he was gone.

I can’t tell you how much I admired this man. It was pure luck that we have been able to share a property line with him and his amazing wife. From the day we moved the first item in- to my last memory of him scurrying through my backyard in his trademark shorts, having just dropped off wine and banana bread (see Day 10)- and every day in between - you don’t find better neighbors than these.

We have been so insanely blessed.

To his three children (and the bonus in-laws), 3 grand babies- we promise to watch over your momma. We love her with fierce abandon.

And to my beloved neighbor- love you forever. Like you for always. Will miss you like crazy. Go Green. 💚💚💚

I placed my phone back down.

I went outside, I heard his granddaughter cooing on the backyard deck. I saw his wife - we talked over the fence - she modeled bravery. I wiped tears as I smiled my love in return.

Hubs and I went inside and FaceTimed my cousin and wife to talk about anything and everything. Just to think about something else. Inevitably, since he's a doctor, the conversation turned to spikes and numbers and ventilators and personal protection equipment. PPE. I didn't even know that acronym until a few weeks ago.

I sat with my children - we watched a silly movie, we went for a walk. We had copious amounts of snuggles.

I went to bed for the first time in four days and didn't cry myself to sleep, willing him to come back.

I awoke today to sunshine and warmer temperatures.

Joy comes in the morning.

Grief sucks. This virus sucks.

I want my friend back.

And joy still comes in the morning.

On Optimism

My beloved neighbor has taken a turn.

He bled into his stomach, causing his heart to stop for a bit - and reduced the oxygen to his brain. The MRI for activity is scheduled for tonight.

I'm numb.

He was up...out of the ICU last week. Having heard the applause of the unit upon leaving it - he was eating macaroni and cheese - he FaceTimed his wife.

And now we wait. Again. For another test.

He's a fighter - but how much fight does he have left?

We will pray as a family - I will ruminate and ponder and wonder and worry.

But I will not give in to fear or the darkness that is just outside my door.

I watched Steve Hartman's On the Road: Kindness 101 series this afternoon just after learning the news. It's on optimism.

Has God made me this way for a reason? Looking for the bright side of life at every turn?

I sure hope so.

Easter Sunday

Not as it was in my books to be -

Not that I had planned for -

Not what I knew how to execute -

But....four pairs of feet on a coffee table, while in pajamas, eating Resurrection Rolls (those crescent rolls stuffed with a marshmallow that disappears) watching our pastor from his home talk to us in ours.

No rushing around.

Calm and centered.

Eating rolls I never get a chance to make because I'm too crazy trying to get the perfect picture of kids in outfits that are pressed and laundered.

It was a departure from the normal. And so many news outlets are saying that during this time, take pause to note the frantic life - and choose purposefully what pace to resume when the time comes.

Good advice.

Easter Saturday

Caught in between the pain and sadness of Good Friday - and the of the resurrected Lord on Sunday is this middle ground on Easter Saturday.

I know the end of the story. I know that joy comes in the morning.

But there was a time on that very first Easter Saturday when the world did not know that heaven was counting to three.

The people were stuck in the pain and the chaos that was brought by Jesus' death on the cross. There were stories of hope, glimmers of what could be - but that Saturday, nothing had happened yet.

That's a lot of what I feel today - the truth in knowing that it will get better, the joy that will come some morning soon when I'm not asked to stay home and not see loved ones - I know that truth is there. I have faith in the Lord - and our fellow humans (well, most of them, anyway!).

But today feels "wander-y" - a wait with no end.

The Rain

The last two days have been beautiful - enough that I got a little sun on my face when cleaning out the beds. I'm so grateful for that.

But today it's raining. Blah. Rain. More reasons to stay inside.

Fear still swirls on the internet - I try to avoid reading the hyperbole and conjecture. It's nothing but frustrating. But I would like to get out and go to a garage sale - or to the grocery store - or the home improvement store to buy some supplies.

Everything seems off-limits right now - and rightfully so. I see the maps the CDC puts out on where the virus is - and I see how well Michigan is doing to stay at home. We do our part.

For our neighbor.

For the neighbors we don't know.

For strangers.

And I reflect back on a post recently about how my children will remember this time. Will they remember the stress (because even though they say they are fine - their anxiety is still present and their fears are still real) - will they remember struggle? My hope is that the remember lots of movie nights and playing games and reading books in hammocks and finding new ways to play Battleship over a computer. I hope they remember that.

April showers bring May flowers - and perhaps some hope as well.

Glimmers of Hope

My sweet neighbor - who has been in the ICU, sedated and intubated- for almost a week - opened his eyes tonight! He responded.

Praise be to God - we have been praying continually for his improvement and we hope to see him home.

A WIN! I love those moments of hope when all is dark and bleak.

It's April...

When the governor called for classes to be canceled and schools to shut - and then for a shelter in place, she mentioned April 13. In March - the promise of April had the ability for us all to take a deep breath and hang on.

There was this nugget - this dangling carrot of hope, that once we got to April, we might get to the end of the upheaval, the chaos, the change and the confinement. There was a sliver of hope.

April 1 was also to be the day we were to get in the car, and do our annual trek to Atlanta to see the BFF - spend a few days with her and then pop a plan to Miami for our family vacation.

All of that gone.

Enough water has passed under that bridge to know that April 13 isn't going to hold. It'll be later.

School will more than likely be done for the year -we'll go to remote learning, whatever that will look like. Life won't begin to look like normal at least until May - and probably June. School won't feel like school until August.

Those who said this was possible a few weeks ago were right.

Those of us who needed hope put our head in the sand.

In any event - April is here. It's still chilly - there are no trips, there is no school. And we're in our home for a while.

Oof - that's a lot to swallow today.

Tomorrow will be better. It'll be the day after we were supposed to be on vacation. It won't be "there's still hope" - it will simply just be. Perhaps that will help. Perhaps it won't. Time will tell.