Planning Ahead

Covid doesn't let me plan for anything.

Nothing. Zip, zilch, zero...N.A.D.A.

And for the planner in me, that drives me nuts.

However, as Monty Python is always reminding me (always look on the bright side of life...sing with me now..) - I can find some sunshine in all the lemons of 2020.

Postal Service says Christmas packages might take longer this year? Plan ahead? Amazon shipping delays? Plan ahead?

THIS IS MY JAM!

So - I've spent the last week or so sorting out wish lists, snagging deals - and today, I wrapped some presents. Not all of them - but some. As next week Friday, we put the tree up - and I am a little giddy to torment my children for a full month by already having something for both of them under the tree.

And I'll get my two boxes off to their destinations. By using my eBay and PayPal account to pack, weigh and address at home - and then drop off at my local grocery story because they take packages, too.

Boom!

And I'll support some more small businesses this week for stocking stuffers...and and and.

Look at me, 2020 - I'm planning.

Take that!

Early Morning

 It wasn't the early morning - it was the middle of the night. Because those people who get up at 4:30am for a good run or spin class - you are inspiration, but you are not my people.

At 4:30am, I consider that the middle of my sleep and I should not be awake.

But there I was, staring out the window at the glow from the lamppost in the neighbor's backyard. It's a little warm glow that allows me to see the trees sway. Generally, it's nice to see. But not in the middle of the night. My brain would not shut off.

It's probably the prednisone I'm on. For the third time. For the hives that have returned. For the third time.

Only to clue me in that I have another cold sore forming. Which is insult to injury - but catching it at 4:30am is better than at 7am, so I fumbled out of bed, got the meds, got back in bed and still couldn't sleep.

Gee, I wonder why.

But I mused on doing something nice yesterday. I sent a message to the staff at school thanking them for working on kindness with their students. That (for the most part) I see it on the playground when I arrive - and I'm never without a day where a student hasn't done something kind for someone else in  my presence. 

(It counteracts the snarky stuff I get from stressed out teachers - which I completely understand - but which I am growing tired of to be sure)

And somehow musing on something nice blocked out whatever it was that kept my brain spinning. And then somehow, the alarm at 7am went off. 

It's a new day.

*********

The Father’s House
Cory Asbury

Sometimes on this journey
I get lost in my mistakes
What looks to me like weakness
Is a canvas for your strength
And my story isn't over
My story's just begun
And failure won't define me
'Cause that's what my Father does

Because Covid

 Why have I stopped writing?

I wrote for years, archiving the growth of my family and marching our way through each month. Two years,  I got up to 300+ post each. 

That's an insane amount of words and thoughts and feelings.

The bottom dropped about about 2 years ago. Something happened, my feelings got hurt and I packed away the proverbial typewriter. 

I stopped doing yoga, too. Book club changed, kids grew older, jobs changed, I was needed differently. I gained back the weight I lost before I went to Italy. Friend groups changed. Parents got older. Life got harder.

Covid came and cemented the fact that my fingers had no longer found the outlet they wanted on the keyboard.

We're 8 months into this now. The stress is high. The constant change is ever-present. Nothing is consistent, there are no plans. Everything is fluid. There is no rhythm to the day or week or month. There can't be. Because when the health department comes on TV, you know things are going to change. Again.

And I still didn't write. 

I wrote a lot in my head. I also yelled a lot at the mirror. Or the dog.

Yea, we got a dog. Another post for another day.

And last night, as my friend WK and I chatted while she walked, she told me about a short article about the benefits of therapy, journaling and meditation.

It was there that I did realize that the removal of my words from the paper, stopping therapy and yoga (or any lame attempt I had at exercise) - all came about the same time and their absence has had an impact.

A big one.

Sure, I'm fine. I'm healthy, so are the kids and Hubs. We have a house and food and heat and water. Way too many electronics and things and stuff. We are in no way, shape or form in any jeopardy. In fact, we had a pretty good run in spite of Covid. 

But the stress is insanely high. The frustrations with the dog in the kitchen and me threatening to serve her up for dinner aren't exactly her fault for being underfoot. They are the long, built-up frustrations of a global pandemic...and self-doubt...and frustration...and all the unknown reasons I lost my voice for a while.

Once I finished the article from WK, I started writing in my head. I heard Confucius say that the line we all know too well - the journey beginning with a single step. 

I probably need to find my voice again to clear the sobwebs in my head. 

I just wrote sobwebs. I meant cobwebs. But the word seems glaringly apropos. 

This might be another attempt that I don't follow through on. But that's ok. I got up, I got the computer out and I tried.

I'm honked off. Grouchy, frustrated, angry, sad and dejected.

I'm also aware this is temporary and not who I like to be. 

Her Pool

We were back to the neighbors for for the first time this year, that inaugural dip and jump off the board! But I have to admit, I choked up when I walked across her grass. It wasn't the same knowing he wasn't there. My beloved neighbor has been gone now for about two months and that lump in my throat still remains.

She asked if I'd like a glass of wine. The children swim. She talked about how she has been doing. And now it's time to start coming back up. She said "I need to restore myself."

I told her that would sit on my heart for a while. To restore yourself. To come back to who you are. Or, in her case, a new version of her she never thought she had to be.

I admire her so.

The lump still remains. But the laughs and giggles were there. The diving board still has a good bounce. The gate still creeks. 

It's a new day. 

Oops

There has been a stretch since I last wrote. The coronavirus spread, the state was locked down further, things felt worse than better.

Life didn't seem to the accept restrictions in our local community and around the country.

And then a white officer kneeled on the neck of a black man during an arrest, prolonged with such racial bias, that he died. Coronavirus was forgotten momentarily and racism swelled.

There were riots in my city. There were riots around my country. The current leader of our nation did not unite but chose to divide. And tensions grew. And anger grew. And violence grew. It's been a rough couple of days for me. It's been decades of pain and suffering for those in the black community. I'm glad change is here. It needs to happen. I hope it stays. And grows. 

Two weeks ago we decided we needed a break. The kids needed a break, I needed a break, so did husband. We needed a change of scenery.

Upon telling our children that we would head to the north Georgia mountains, it only took five minutes for them to find blank paper and sketch out the interior of our van and the packing that they would do for the road trip. They love road trips as much as I do. Their adventuresome spirit is bucket filling. 

Yesterday, on the last day of school, instead of packing backpacks and taking pictures outside, we woke them quietly at 3:45 AM. We stuffed them into a fully packed van, and by the light of a full moon and just the creeping edges of dawn on its way, we headed south.

I took the first shift. There's something peaceful about driving at that time of day. No one is around, save a few semi drivers. The world is quiet. After the civil unrest of the last few days, I appreciated a quiet world. 

Upon arrival in a very small border town between Indiana and Ohio, we stopped for gas and to change drivers. I, grabbing the kids, headed inside, chucking the keys on the driver seat and shouted at my dear husband that's where they were as we crossed the parking lot. Five seconds later he shrieked. Somehow, oddly, all four doors were locked.

And yes, the keys were inside.

He looked at me with panic, I shrieked back with panic. Both of us trying not to blame the other but wondering how a completely unlocked vehicle had now four locked doors and no keys.

I thought about ripping a back window off, my mind raced, and for some reason I yanked on the back tailgate.

The darn thing opened.

It opened!!!

Shrieks now came from our children plastered against the side of the truckstop for fear that their parents were about ready to lose their bologna. And they came running across the parking lot. Little KK crawl through the back over the luggage, delicately avoiding breakable items on the floor and unlocked the door to save the day.

Bubba commented that he, volunteering as tribute, would be staying in the car for the rest of the trip. We assured him that we would have better practices in place. 7 AM Friday morning, middle of nowhere, crisis averted.

Joy still comes in the morning. 

For now, fresh off the lake, resting as the summer sun begins to warm the north Georgia mountains enough that my delicate flower of children find it too hot, I'm right at home. My BFF is around the corner.

Social emotional health, mental health, soul healing health… Call it what you will, we found it.

I'll take it. 

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...."