I went through my Covidity diaries today. 3 years and change.
Home Schooling days 17-20
Every Friday we have a mini-cocktail hour at work. My colleague puts a playlist we have contributed to on Spotify and I listen. It is an interesting insight when you think that a I work between two sites and haven’t been on the team that long. The Sandman keeps score of the music he prefers and the BD makes note that there is never enough Avril Lavigne.
Most days, I seem to float along. I speak to my dad every day, ask him about the TV shows he watche, steering well clear of politics and knowing we have very different views about this virus and how life during its reign should be managed.
I’ve started rewatching ‘Parts Unknown’ and Bourdain’s point that sometimes there is stuff governments just do not want people to know. I think about how my relationship with my chosen home. I think about the people who peer over my proverbial hedges to check in and the people who don’t and vice versa. Do I miss who I don’t see? I didn’t know Bourdain but I miss him in the world, miss his challenging my point of view. I look at my passports and I sigh. Will the world still want us to travel when this is all done? When we have loved and lost and made peace with the limitations of government and science? When we have stopped railing at the skies, at gods we don’t all believe in? I wonder.
The BD received a certificate from school. She was nonplussed. I don’t push too hard, a I try to incorporate a little math into making Barbie clothes, use baking for the science. Reading isn’t even really an option, although we are all spending far too much time online. I confiscated the phones and put my sewing machine cover over the computer for two hours. I’m trying to say ‘yes’ to the little things more. Trying to be more present but I’ve always been fairly insular.
Aside from going to the grocery, my only other adult real time contact is with the artist now known as my co-parent. And I have to give him props: he is turning up. I get down time, which is far more than the average single parent in self-isolation is getting right now.
My daughter came downstairs this afternoon in a flood of tears; she had been looking through her memory box at photos of family, of my mom and dad, back when my father used to smile and mean it. You know, before his heartbreak turned to hurt and that turned cold and mean. And all I could do was hold this gazelle of a child and think ‘Damn...Time really is a lion.’ I have friendships that are ending, family who are slipping away, friends who are suffering all manner of upheaval and what can I do? I can only watch. From a distance, sometimes wave my arms above my head. I see you. I really do., I want to say. But my voice is a croak from underuse and my arms are heavy.
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