Small bits

I am participating in the
 Slice of Life.  
All participants are writing about one moment, one part of their day, 
on Tuesdays.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

It now feels almost normal to keep six feet separation from others, wash my hands and face frequently, and wear a mask when I leave my home. Here in the Washington, D.C. metro area, pretty much everyone continues to follow the guidelines for sheltering in place and social distancing, due to the fact that we continue to have many new COVID-19 cases each day. There is some good news in that these numbers are beginning to plateau, although a more marked decrease would be a true cause for celebration.

Here's a brief reflection on three small things that are true at my home these days....

1.  My stockpile of "first response" virus weapons on the kitchen counter: a bin of freshly-laundered masks, disinfectant wipes, individually-wrapped ones for any errands, and tissues. These supplies are always out - right near the sink, right as you enter my house, right at the ready. We have back ups in a cabinet, should this supply dwindle. Once upon a time, I did my best to keep the counter clear, clean, and decluttered; now, it is as if I have a small shrine at one end. 

The first line of defense for coronavirus: my kitchen counter.

2. Book stacks, at the ready. These are not books I am reading; no, these books are prepped to be the perfect height for video calls. I have a stack of books on my living room coffee table, where we sit for virtual church services. I have a stack of books in the spare bedroom, "my home office," where I do all my virtual teaching. There is a third stack of books near the cozy chair in my bedroom, for social calls with friends. Each of these books stacks just seems part of the room decor, at this point.

My living room coffee table, with books ready for "Zoom church services."

3. There's been a significant increase in animal sightings. Are we simply more aware? Is this because we are home in one place and able to take more notice? Have they always been there? The backyard birds have been amazing to watch, with many having regular routines when they visit our yard. I've challenged myself to learn their individual sounds, using The Cornell Lab of Ornithology website as a reference tool.

When we walk down one particular street, we invariably see an albino squirrel...I don't think I have ever seen one of those before, and now I can find this little guy almost daily.

Then, of course, there are deer. Just yesterday, we had a funny experience. Tony was in the backyard, trying to shoo a doe from the yard (we are doing our best to keep them from eating our tomato plants, which have just started to flower and seem to be particularly attractive to deer). He was frustrated by the deer's bold refusal to leave, as she just stood there looking back at him, when he felt a soft brushing against his bare leg - and jumped when he found two small fawns looking up at him!  Mother did not want to abandon her children.

Last but not least of the animal sightings, we believe we've found a favorite nesting spot of a great blue heron at a nearby creek..this seems special. The heron flew directly over us the other day, swooping low, seemingly comfortable and at ease to be near us. Later, looking up the possible meaning of this connection, I loved this reminder:

The Heron comes to us with a message of meditate and contemplate. You are exactly where you need to be right now in this moment! When this graceful bird crosses your path, stop and think - just pause. Sometimes that is all we need to do when we are in the middle of a chaotic situation or a difficult decision.

Bud to blossom

I'm participating in a 5-day "Open Write" on Sarah Donovan's Ethical ELA.  

Today,  Kimberly Johnson inspires us to channel Jericho Brown and his invention of a poetry form he calls "Duplex." I found his poetry writing to be extraordinary - and the prompt to be extremely challenging...which he describes as follows:

Here are the boundaries:
Write a ghazal that is also a sonnet that is also a blues poem of 14 lines, giving each line 9 to 11 syllables.
The first line is echoed in the last line.
The second line of the poem should change our impression of the first line in an unexpected way.
The second line is echoed and becomes the third line.
The fourth line of the poem should change our impression of the third line in an unexpected way.
This continues until the penultimate line becomes the first line of the couplet that leads to the final (and first) line.
For the variations of repeated lines, it is useful to think of the a a’ b scheme of the blues form.   

So, here goes...my first attempt at a "Duplex." I don't believe this will be my last...I found this form to be truly inspiring.

Bud to Blossom

Time is to life as bud is to blossom,
with possible wither or grow.

Is it possible to grow while withering?
Her gentle kiss, while I read, told me so.

Her gentle kiss, while I read, made me glow.
This toddler seeks only our love and laughter.

This toddler knows only our love and laughter,
though we feel loss, walls, and isolation.

Through our loss, walls, and isolation,
this sense that time has been stolen from us.

While we know that time has been stolen,
she's outside, picking flowers in the grass.

Outside, holding flowers from grass, I know
time is to life as bud is to blossom.

Zooming through

I am participating in the
 Slice of Life.  
All participants are writing about one moment, one part of their day, 
on Tuesdays.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

"Maureen, would you go and get me a cranberry cocktail?," my father asked me. Cranberry 'cocktail' is non-alcoholic and a nursing home favorite - half cranberry juice and half ginger ale; at age 90, he's earned the right to drink as many of these as he wants.

The only problem was, I was on a video call with him when he asked for one! 

Dad is isolated in a nursing home in Maine, and I am sheltering-in-place in Maryland. It is really hard not to be able to visit him, and each passing week of this pandemic makes me a little more depressed, as I think, realistically, will I see him again? How will it ever feel 'safe' enough to enter his nursing home, before a vaccine is made? Will it ever feel fair to his caregivers and their families, to have visitors entering the facility on a regular basis? How long will it take to make a vaccine? 

About three weeks ago, the Activities Director at Dad's home arranged for families to make video calls to their loved ones. What a blessing this has been! Although it had been many weeks since I had seen him, that first video chat revealed my Dad in much the condition as he was when I saw him last: sleepy, his face set in a frown (always!), yet good color, healthy, clean, and relaxed. 

Dad has some vision impairment, he's hard of hearing, plus he has a little dementia (as a result of Parkinson's). He can be very confused about some things (for example, he often talks about my Mom as if she is still alive). I wondered how successful video calls would be, against these odds, but, honestly, they are a very good way to connect. When he asked me to get him a cranberry cocktail, I realized he was mistaking my image for the real thing - how great is that? The Activities Director immediately said, "I'll go get you that drink; we'll let you talk to your daughter. You don't get to see her much!" I loved how he took Dad's request seriously and in stride. 

The Activities Director is quick to make technical adjustments with each call - when Dad had trouble hearing, he got head phones; when Dad rejected these, he connected speakers to the tablet. The speakers are phenomenal, giving such great sound, and making him think I am right there with him.

One call, Dad asked me very seriously: 

"What's your evaluation of Mom?"

He had slipped back in time. 

Background story - Mom suffered from mental illness and Dad spent years asking me this same question, as if to get reassurance that she was doing well. Often, I think, he was seeking a 'pat on the back' because she always refused any and all medical help; Dad didn't fight her about this, and simply took care of her himself. If I responded, "she seems great," then I was effectively saying he was doing well by her.

Mom died a year and a half ago, so "What's your evaluation of Mom?" is a very odd question these days.

I responded gently, "I think she's calm. I think she's missing you."

He nodded his head, resignedly...perhaps, understanding.

Then I said, "What's your evaluation of you?"

He said, "What?"

I repeated the question.

He said, "I'm sad." 

Ah, isn't that the truth? Aren't we all? Isn't this hard? How are we supposed to feel anything other than sad these days?

I decided to be silly and give him a taste of his own medicine - 

"Well then, my Dad always says, you have to stand on your head and turn your frown upside down." 

This made him chuckle. 

Which I call a win.

Just like I do with my preschoolers, I have to take Dad exactly as he is, in whatever mood I find him. The Activities Director does a great job "transitioning" Dad to the call, getting him ready a few minutes beforehand, trying to get him excited and alert. It doesn't always work out. Our last video chat, he had absolutely zero interest in talking to me. He looked off to the side, not acknowledging my voice at all; I asked question after question, trying to joke with him, compliment him, using up pretty much everything in my "bag of tricks." Then I said, "Gee, Dad, you are really making me 'up' my entertainment game, today; I guess you really aren't in the mood to talk." Dad turned his face right to the screen and said, "Would you allow me to go downstairs and get a cup of coffee? Bye, Maureen."

Ha! 

That's called, 'being shown the door.'


Every call brings an anecdote, some surprising little nugget, a shared moment together. I am truly thankful to have the ability to video chat. 

It is so good to see him.

Tony and I "zooming" with Dad.

Peregrine Falcon

I am participating in the
 Slice of Life.  
All participants are writing about one moment, one part of their day, 
on Tuesdays.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

It was an absolutely gorgeous spring day, perfect for a long walk. I headed down to my favorite nature path. Just as I came around one bend, I saw this amazing bird standing on the very edge of the grass, almost on the path. I froze in my place, not wanting to disturb it. I was standing about  50 yards away from the bird. It was about 15, maybe 17 inches tall. It had long wings, and these, plus the feathers down its back, were blue-grey, with specks of white, almost dotted; its breast was largely white, with orange or rust spots. It had a black, roundish head, with yellowed eyes, reminding me a little of an owl. Was it an owl? Was it some kind of owl that I had never seen? What a gorgeous bird, so distinct. I kept looking, still frozen, fearing it would fly away if I moved any nearer. Why didn't I bring my phone/camera on this walk? I needed to remember what I was seeing. Wait, was it hurt? It moved ever so slowly from leg to leg. We stood there together - separate - for a few minutes. I noticed its sharp beak, the sharp talons on its feet. Wait, maybe this was some sort of hawk? Hmm. Maybe I need to just give it space.

So I walked back the other direction, headed home, and came back with my camera, some 20 minutes later. The bird was gone, of course.

Back at home, I entered the bird's description into the old "Google Search bar," and made my way through lots of bird pictures and descriptions. I believe the bird I saw was a peregrine falcon. 

In all likelihood, it had just wounded some bird or small mammal, and was waiting to pounce again, when I happened upon the scene.

According to The Cornell Lab,
"In cities, they are masterful at catching pigeons."
"They often sit on high perches, waiting for the right opportunity to make their aerial assault."

Something tells me that falcon was as alert to me as I was to it, and therefore it paused in its deadly process.

I'm sure as soon as I turned around and headed home, it finished its work. That is the nature of this bird of prey, yes?


In what ways do we act as birds of prey?
Who is highly-focused, determined, ruthless?
Are there human birds of prey?

I can't help but see an analogy between this bird of prey and our current government. I am so horrified by the intentional work being done to undermine so much of what I believe is right, and, especially, how those in power are taking advantage of opportunities like this pandemic. Look at these headlines from recent weeks:

Trump administration uses pandemic to push far-right agenda

During coronavirus, the Trump administration environmental rollbacks continue

Well-connected Trump alumni benefit from coronavirus

Before COVID-19, Trump aide sought to use disease to close borders

Trump's temporary halt to immigration is part of larger plan, Stephen Miller says

Red states are exploiting coronavirus to ban abortion

Senate Republicans to push ahead on judges over Democratic objections


I will stop here; it was just too easy to find these headlines. It's as if the Trump administration has sent out a secret memo, "Quick, no one is paying attention...let's grab this opportunity right now and make all our ugly desires happen." They are sneaky, they are focused, and they are lying in wait...watching for the perfect opportunity to strike. COVID-19 gives them excellent cover. This is what my daily newspaper reading reveals...and why I find myself wanting to read the paper less during this time of shelter-in-place.

This is no time to stop paying attention.

Look how the administration spreads blame at this difficult time, using racist, divisive language and diatribe about China, cheering on the militias who protest the shelter-in-place rules, mocking and belittling others, especially women. Look at which watchdog or non-sycophant staff is being ousted or demoted on a Friday evening. Look at who is profiting during this pandemic.

Look at what those in power find time to do and what they don't do.
Look at their subterfuge.
Look at their focus.

This is purposeful cruelty. This is blatant disregard for those that truly need help.

We must all be on high alert. We must interrupt these human birds of prey, freeze them in their tracks. We need to make sure that this administration knows we are here. We must continue to protest, to speak up, and to question. We must keep our focus on what we treasure, what we value, and do not lose sight. There is so much at stake.

The peregrine falcon - this is nature, this is the way the world works, let falcons be falcons.

These human birds of prey - we have to stop them.

SOL20 Slice #29: Dread

I am participating in the
 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL20).  
All participants are sharing stories about moments in their lives, writing 
 every day for the month of March 2020.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

Laying on my bunk in the cabin, I was wide awake and terrified. Every detail of the ghost story that the older girls had shared around the campfire earlier in the evening was now omnipresent in my mind. Every exaggerated, imaginative depiction that I had laughed at earlier, sitting next to peers, now seemed very plausible and real, alone, in the dark of night. I listened to my roommates' uneven breathing. One girl had a cold, and her breaths would catch and then rattle, unpredictably, intermittently. My image was of this big, thick, dark green, slimy, amorphous monster that came out in the middle of moonless nights, just like this night. It would quietly creep, almost flow, across the surroundings. It would pass under the thin opening at the base of a door, and spread out into our cabins, and across our bodies. It was a green so dark that it was impossible to see without moon and stars to provide a light. Sometimes it suffocated you. Sometimes it just passed over you, leaving a deep green stain across your face. In my bunk that night, I knew the wind through the branches of the trees was IT, coming. That cracking noise...IT! Was it near?  Perhaps it had just bumped into something...maybe that was just the sound of its weight, as it slithered along. Was it repelled by light? If you had a flashlight, could you ward it off? Why didn't I ask this before? I pulled the thin cover up over my head and just waited, paralyzed, impotent, helpless. At some point, exhausted, I fell asleep.

Honestly, I believe this is my only take-away from my brief stint in the Girl Scouts. I have long heard many more honorable things about this organization, but I only remember that night-time dread, while participating in a one night sleepaway camp in the woods. 

Even though some fifty years have gone by, I can still conjure up that creepy monster; I am all too familiar with that ominous dread.

It's back.

We just got word that COVID-19 has made its way into the nursing homes of two folks we love. One, up in Maine, my Dad (age 90) - a fellow resident was suspected to have the disease several days ago, and was immediately isolated, and the test just came back positive; every resident in the home is now isolated in their own rooms. Two, my sister-in-law's mother (age 93) -  her roommate was diagnosed with the disease, here in Maryland; the beloved caregiver was sent home on a two-week quarantine; the mother is now isolated in her own room, showing no signs of having the infection.

No visitors are allowed in. No family members are allowed to visit. 

Doctors and staff are present.

Until they get sick or exposed.

I wonder if nursing homes are kind of making it up as they go? Do they feel paralyzed and impotent, just lying in wait for this disease? I know I do.

My sister-in-law was able to sneak over to the outside of her mother's first-floor room and hang paper hearts all over this exterior window  - "I love you, Mom." She says her Mom gave her a big smile and a wave. 

Dad's on the second floor of a complex, making this loving action near impossible. I smile at the thought of "doing a John Cusack" (in Say Anything) and bringing a boom box underneath his window, blasting his favorite songs. Dad would want to hear Willie Nelson and Jim Croce. 

I am filled with dread. I think dread necessarily involves a lack of knowledge, an eerie prediction, some fatalism, but always - YOU. DO. NOT. KNOW. IF. IT. WILL. HAPPEN.

I laughed with delight, in fact, at this clip from CNN on this past Friday (March 27, 2020):

Meanwhile, a 101-year-old man was released from hospital after recovering from the coronavirus, Gloria Lisi, the deputy mayor of the Italian city of Rimini, has said.
The man, who has been named only as "Mr. P," was admitted to hospital in Rimini, northeast Italy, last week after testing positive for Covid-19 and left the hospital on Thursday.
Lisi said his "truly extraordinary" recovery gave "hope for the future."

As I write into this sense of dread that is growing in me, I must say - I'm not surprised or afraid that Dad will die. I mean, seriously, he is 90. I think if I were to speak about 'fears of dying of this virus' they would center around losing younger, healthier family members and friends. My Dad has had a long, full life. My dread is about how this plays out in real life - this deeply sad image of dying alone. No matter your age. The effect of having this virus, of being in proximity to someone with the virus, means that you will be acutely isolated. You will suffer alone. All by yourself.

Yes, that's it: I find that I am perseverating on the image of these two much-loved people being so alone right now. So alone. 

What gives them peace while they are hunkered down and waiting it out? I hope my Dad is lost somewhere on memory lane, remembering all those times when he felt strong and happy, thinking about silly antics of the past. Maybe he's even well-trained for this time of isolation, having spent so much time on submarines, away from all the physical space and pleasures of our world.

It helps to think he's laughing.

SOL20 Slice #27: Moments that Mattered

I am participating in the
 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL20).  
All participants are sharing stories about moments in their lives, writing 
 every day for the month of March 2020.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

Six word poems, describing new normal.

Busy day ends, almost forgot post!

Isolation is actually busy and demanding.

So much uncertainty about this virus.

Washing my hands all day long.

Son visits, stays six feet away.

We share together but no hugs.

Change clothes for walks, not work.

Pajamas not seen on video screen.

Spend hours creating video, looks amateur.

Virtual classroom requires so much thinking.

I miss leading with my heart.

So many new tools to learn. 

Tender video calls with my preschoolers.

Office hours too restrictive - call anytime!

Preschool FaceTime means views of ceilings.

Laughter, love, caring through tiny screen.

Preschooler says "love you!", hangs up.

Notice cilantro in teeth after video.

What day and time is this?

Weekends and workdays seem so alike.

Could be worse, could be worse.

I know that I am blessed.

Moments that mattered, in small bits.

SOL20 Slice #26: Recalibrating

I am participating in the

 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL20).  

All participants are sharing stories about moments in their lives, writing 

 every day for the month of March 2020.

Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

I remember, years ago, taking a drive with my husband and tween-age son to investigate a new interstate that had just opened, after years of delays and construction setbacks. It was designed to be more environmentally friendly, and we were curious to see it. We turned on our dashboard's GPS device, and made our way to the new route. When we turned onto the new highway, the GPS went wild - the 'gal inside' began stammering "recalibrating! recalibrating." The GPS had not been updated for this new highway, and from its perspective, the road did not exist. Perhaps it imagined we were driving quite fast over fields and across creeks. Lady GPS threw one command after another, "Turn left onto, make a u-turn, take the next...", as she tried valiantly to get us back onto familiar terrain. We laughed so hard at this GPS voice, and its confusion. I wondered, geez, if she cares so much about us, shouldn't she send some rescue vehicles? Well, she didn't care, of course, because she was simply a computer, detached and unfeeling, following the codes she had been given. If you don't want to listen to the GPS voice, you simply turn it off.

With this virtual learning, we have entered into a whole new world of communication and collaboration. In a way, we are all becoming computers - our communication can be stopped, started, sequenced as needed. 

It's a whole new world for team work. How do you connect deeply in this artificial framework? 

I guess I am in mourning.

I am trying to get used to not seeing my families every day, as they drop off and pick up their preschoolers. I miss all those little 'in the moment' conversations that revealed so much, and created such a loving, caring bond between all of us. I am trying to imagine what my preschoolers' day is even like, logging on to video read-alouds, pre-recorded morning meetings, and links to lessons. Ugh. 

I am grateful that this pandemic is happening in an age of so many virtual opportunities, such as "Zoom," and "Google Hangout," but the coordination and planning is challenging. One needs to think many steps ahead, and accept the 'waiting' and the disconnects.

I am trying to get used to not seeing my colleagues' faces, and not getting those visual cues as to what's on their minds, how they are feeling. I am trying to get excited about potential topics and opportunities, to brainstorm in this new reality, and I have to do this without human connection. Of course, the whole notion of accountability has changed, too. We're not showing up for a normal teaching shift...we actually have "office hours," and we have to collaborate without being physically together.  We're all at different places in terms of maturity, professionalism, emotional response to the pandemic itself, and ability to self-motivate. 

When you think about it -

No one has to answer the cell phone.

The number flashes on the screen, alerting you to who is there.

The text tells you it's her.

You can answer or ignore, deal with it now, deal with it later, or delete it entirely.

Everything is on Google Drive, ready for you to look at it, review, edit, whenever you please. Nothing really has to be done together.

Unless you choose to do so.

Everything is slowed down. Everything is stalled. My neighbor shared how he had to go to his office to work on something proprietary, something that he was not permitted to take home as work. He gave colleagues a heads up that he was going in to work very early, and he did what needed doing, carefully working all by himself. Hours later, perhaps even the next day, his supervisor came in to review the work he had done, and he, too, worked carefully, all by himself; then my neighbor was told that the work was ready for his additional input. So, my neighbor will be heading back to the office. At a separate time, of course. Alone.

We are all recalibrating.

SOL20 Slice #25: Mud for the Muddle

I am participating in the
 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL20).  
All participants are sharing stories about moments in their lives, writing 
 every day for the month of March 2020.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

Walking has been such a restorative outlet for me over these past (how long has it been? six months? oh, only 12 days?) many days of isolation and physical distancing. I am blessed to live near a walking path that is adjacent to a creek. Dirt, rocks, water, trees, varied terrain...ahhh! A daily walk in nature is transformative, taking me out of my mental muddle, giving me peace and hope. Mud for the muddle! Ha! Today's slice is simply photos of some of this beauty, taken during this time of coronavirus. Plus, an acrostic...just for the play of it.

Called to be in nature

Ordinary four walls won't do

Run, walk, keeping six feet apart

Options are few but

Nature heals

Allowing me to remember the beauty and diversity of our world, and

Visual evidence that I am not separate, but connected

I am not the be all and the end all, my problems are

Really small. In fact they

Usually get even smaller or outright disappear after a 

Short or long walk in the woods.

SOL20 Slice #23: Somewhere new

I am participating in the
 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL20).  
All participants are sharing stories about moments in their lives, writing 
 every day for the month of March 2020.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

Somewhere New

This time of isolation, 

physical distancing, 

pandemic and unknown, 

happened so abruptly,

as if 

a stripping,

a shattering,

a mad, impulsive, wild tossing,

of all that we are.

We, 

and all those we know and love,

and all the things we do and care about,

and everything that matters, 

are like the small flecks of pretend precipitation

in someone's snow globe that 

has been randomly grabbed and shaken. 

We get to wait and 

watch ourselves land,

somewhere new.

SOL20 Slice #22: Here's to you, Dad

I am participating in the
 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL20).  
All participants are sharing stories about moments in their lives, writing 
 every day for the month of March 2020.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

I visit my 90 year old father regularly, and had a trip planned for the end of this week, along with two of my brothers - we were all excited to get together, and see him. Obviously, the trip is cancelled. Here I am, isolated in my home in Maryland, and Dad is isolated in his nursing home in Maine. He's very much on my mind. My oldest brother lives just a mile from the home, but that proximity isn't an advantage these days - the nursing home is closed to all visitors, as the staff tries its very best to keep out coronavirus. It is very hard, but we are just letting Dad be, trusting the nursing staff that he is doing well and that he enjoys the daily routine. He's hard of hearing, with limited vision, and the beginnings of dementia...to try to do a phone call or set up a Skype visit is incomprehensible to him; it leaves him confused and agitated. At their suggestion, we're trying to be content with simply reaching out to the nursing staff regularly, and hearing about how he is doing.

I have no doubt that Dad is doing better with this time apart than we are. He has the advantage of time being very whimsical.

On the last day of my most recent visit, I found him sitting quietly in his room in his wheelchair. I sensed he was brooding, and I bent down to give him a light kiss on his forehead, with a gentle, "Hi, Dad." He said, "What do you think Mom will do? She has to meet with the psychiatrist before she gets out, and she is refusing to do so."
Ah, time traveling.
I played right along, although Mom died a year and a half ago - "She doesn't much like to talk to psychiatrists, right?"
Him, "Oh no."
I fished for memories. "How many different hospitals has she been in? There was northern Virginia, and Charleston. Was she ever in the hospital in New Hampshire?"
Him, "I don't remember."
Me, again, softly, desiring so much more - "Did she ever talk to you about her mental issues?"
Him, "Oh, no way,  no way!" and then he just slipped into a quiet fog.

We sat quietly together in the silence.

After a few minutes, he announced - "Let's see what everybody's up to, " and wheeled himself over to the dining area and right up in the center of everyone. His new pals. I join in the fun. To sit alongside these folks in the nursing home is to travel in myriad directions, not unlike a preschool classroom, where some are present, others have wandered in their minds to someplace altogether different, and others seem to have one foot in both places. Everyone feels what they feel very strongly, right then and there, and there's an insistent undercurrent of 'hey! why don't you take care of this!! Yes, just like preschool. My biggest takeaway, the one that warms my heart during this time of isolation: Dad's happy these days. He is accepting of his lot in life, and seems to be more or less at peace with the nursing home.

Amusingly, he is very attracted to this sharp-tongued, acerbic, crusty gal who seems to not take any nonsense from him or anyone on staff. She spews sarcasm and random complaints and wonderings. When I said goodbye to him, he was seated right next to her, wheelchair to wheelchair, holding her hand. Is her edgy way, her cold, distant manner, reminiscent of Mom? Or does he like that she is feisty, with some life in her, that jumps out and sparkles, just like him? I hope she is making him chuckle.

An invaluable gift of this time of isolation is the recognition, once again, that I am not in control. I am passing through, doing the best I can, with what I've been given, with hopes for more, and goals of my own. The reality is: us. We are so interconnected, dependent on one another. We need each other. We move forward together. We trust. Dad's figured this out in these last few years. I'm seeing it now, too. This, with some deep cleansing breaths, leads to a sense of floating, a softening, and acceptance.

SOL20 Slice #19: Sleep-deprived

I am participating in the
 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL20).  
All participants are sharing stories about moments in their lives, writing 
 every day for the month of March 2020.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

At a recent appointment, my doctor asked "How much sleep do you get?" I'm one of the lucky ones, I told her - I easily sleep for eight hours. I don't have trouble sleeping. I sleep deeply, and on many a night, I sleep right through. The teaching week is a challenge for me, because the alarm goes off in the five o'clock hour, and a good night sleep means getting into bed about 9pm, which is hard for me. Weekends become a time of delightful catch up.

My husband is quite the opposite. He likes to stay up late, and then he sleeps only four or five hours, and he is wide awake. Years and years ago, recognizing these differences, we set up the small room next to our bedroom as his room, his second room, his wide-awake place. When he wakes up during the night, he moves to this back room and gets comfortable on the sofa. He 'unwinds' again through reading a book, writing, or a movie on television, and then, before the sun comes up, he'll fall asleep again for a short nap. He lives a nocturnal life that I do not see.

He's also a big napper, a daily pleasure for him during retirement - and something I asked him not to share about, when I would come home from teaching so fatigued and sleep-deprived. I'm happy for him to keep that a secret!

I just had a happy flash on my granddaughter, "Frog" ...I think she may take after me in this sleep thing. She loves to sleep! At 16 months now, when she finds herself tired from all the doing at the end of the day, she walks to the bathroom for her toothbrush - signaling to her family that we need to get this bedtime show on the road. She has a sweet bedtime ritual of a book and some hugs and kisses, and then she is down for the night, not to be heard from for another twelve hours.

My doctor introduced the notion that my sleep patterns may change now that I am in menopause. Hmm. Hope not, I thought. Why bring that up? I wasn't too concerned. There might even be a silver lining, if it happens. I figure a middle-of-the-night wake up would be great for writing, right? I wonder what's on my mind during the night?

NEWS FLASH: All of my sleep habits as described above can now be labeled:

"The Time Before Isolation."

I am no longer sleeping through the night. We're only one week into this new normal, and I have trouble knowing what day it is and what time of day it is, most of the time. I am trying to keep myself on a schedule; I've been going to sleep at a more or less regular time.

I think I'm doing all the right things:

- not using my phone/computer/technology for an hour or two before bed.
- getting exercise, especially "active minutes," as my Fitbit calls them.
- slowing down, meditating, being mindful.

But, wow, something has changed. Last night, I felt absolutely wired after I laid down for the night, and I do not drink caffeine. Every new horror from the day raced around and around in my head:

We're going to throw 1 trillion dollars at this!
Let's watch our national debt go through the roof!
We're going to live this way for 18 months!
Let's cancel primaries! [Hey, what about that November election!]
What about all those people who are the working poor?!
What about those working part-time at several jobs, work that has all but evaporated in just a few days?!
What has happened to our children's ability just to play?!
What is happening to our schools?!
How do young families juggle work and childcare simultaneously?!

I tried to relax. I practiced breathing deeply. I did some anxiety-reducing moves that I learned from a workshop years ago - one example: lay on your back, then wiggle and stretch every part of your body, slowly, sequentially, starting at your toes, moving up your body. In theory, I am asleep before I get to my head. In theory, I don't repeat this practice several times in a row.

After about an hour of alertness, the next thing I knew I was waking up - and the clock said 4:15 am. Oh no! My mind was right back, racing:

Our favorite restaurants and hair salons and yoga studios are going to close for good!
Her wedding celebration cannot happen!
We might not be able to go on that big family trip this June!
Who's actually doing some big thinking right now?
How does it make sense to close borders to an invisible threat, that knows no walls?
Hey, how much more REACTIVE can we be as a government?!
How am I supposed to have trust?
Why does every message from this administration seem like a racist and superficial fix?
Who is putting any big thought into actual planning for the future?!
Look at the state of our healthcare system! Look how our politicians have piddled around on this issue for so many years now.
How can we be so unprepared for this!?
How does this country survive this?

This early morning wakeup has happened for the past several days. I have gotten up and started writing,
writing until I am sleepy again, and
then gone back to bed.

Writing into the fear,
writing until I am tired,
not finding any solutions.

Although I am writing more,
I do not like this new sleep pattern.

Maybe I have entered, "Menopausolation"?

Exhausting.

I love sleep. My life has the tendency to fall apart when I'm awake, you know?

-- Ernest Hemingway

SOL20 Slice #17: Everything is virtual

I am participating in the

 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL20).  

All participants are sharing stories about moments in their lives, writing 

 every day for the month of March 2020.

Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

It's St. Patrick's day, so I'm thinking of limericks.

There once was a big old pandemic
With a reach that was so systemic
We were all forced indoors
Spouse, children, and chores
And tasked to pursue academics.


I don't know about you, but my head is bursting from all the new learning I am doing, trying to do everything virtually! I participated in an IEP remotely - how do business people do these conference calls all the time? That was just a nutty experience, trying to listen to and hear from individual folks, and trying to concentrate with all the background noise.

I had this idea to read a book to the preschoolers, so that they might see my face, feel a connection from their teacher, as they hunkered down in isolation with their families. Simple, right? Make a video and put it on my class page. Oh my, this was a technical challenge for me, involving missteps and confusion.

I'm also trying to call my little sweeties on a regular basis. I've never really needed such frequent access to their telephone numbers, so I decided to create a phone list for easy access in my cellphone...well, this was much harder than it should have been. Now, I've sent out messages, and families are responding with their preferred numbers and the best times to get in touch with them...adding these individual details to my group list has just about put me over the edge!

Simple, ordinary tasks are taking me so long to do because they are done differently under these circumstances. Who knew that isolation and alone time would be so demanding?

A parent texted me about the challenges of this time of isolation with their preschooler. Their routines are totally out of whack. It is clear, already, that this time with family is not a vacation, not a weekend, not pure fun. This is hard. It's only Tuesday!

Last night on PBS News Hour, Dr. Asaf Bitton noted we're creating "a new social compact by coming together by staying apart."

I need to remember this is new for all of us. I must work on my self-talk. There is no need to feel as if I'm not doing something fast enough, or I'm doing it wrong, or I'm not doing enough.

I need to remember:
This is hard.
This is new.
This will take time.

I'll be okay, we'll be okay.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!!

There once was a writer named Maureen
Who loved to be quiet and unseen
Along came this virus
With its plan to hide us
She was alone so much that she screamed!

SOL20 Slice #16: Day Four

I am participating in the
 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL20).  
All participants are sharing stories about moments in their lives, writing 
 every day for the month of March 2020.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

It's hitting me - I am living in a dystopia, and I have long avoided dystopias. I remember reading Brave New World by Aldous Huxley for my high school English class, and I was so troubled and distressed by it. Chilling, yes, I found it chilling.

Yet, here I am, now: unsettled, unnerved, unclear.

I'm waiting for something to arrive, visit, and depart that I cannot see or feel or smell or experience in any way except foreshadowing.

There are so many strange signs of its impending: creating virtual learning for my preschoolers (what?), nothing but empty shelves at my grocery store (am I really seeing this?), cancelled flights for vacation (are you kidding me?), the world around me shutting down (c'mon, that's closed, too?!), and yes, he's 90 and he is your father, but no one is allowed into the nursing home to visit (how can this be?!!).

And this is just day FOUR of this coronavirus isolation.

All the above is my intro to a simple poem for today:

Day Four

I stepped outside

in the early morning dark

barefoot

to feel the ground.

The moon is half today.

Someone sliced it

right down the middle.

The world is half today.

No work.

No school.

No seats too close.

No church.

No parties.

No food in the stores.

No touch.

Everyone, alone.

I am not half.

I am still I.

I think.

SOL20 Slice #14: I Hear You Talking

I am participating in the
 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL20).  
All participants are sharing stories about moments in their lives, writing 
 every day for the month of March 2020.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

Early morning, Saturday, day two of this national emergency, with all of us isolated in our homes. The day is cool and bright, here in Maryland. I sit outside on my side porch; I just returned the cushions here, yesterday, when I realized that winter really isn't going to appear and we now are fully into spring. The porch is a little treasure, in the midst of this nuttiness world-wide. I can sit quite happily in the sweet air and the silence. 

It is silent, all around. 

No one is up and about but me. 

Oh, the birds are up. One, a house sparrow, flies right up next to me, bonking its head on my house window, wings fluttering against the pane, and then it quickly recovers and flies away, before I have even stopped shuttering from the surprise.

I settle back into my quiet, and I hear another bird's repetitive, "hey! hey! hey!" I am smiling to notice this...I start to realize that it's not quiet at all. The birds are fully alive and noisy in the early morning. I open my journal and listen in, having fun with the birds. Here's what the birds seemed to say:

You! You! You! You! You!

Right, right? Oh dear, dear, dear.

You! You! You!

Let's see. It's me.

You! You! You! You!

Silence?

Now, now, now, now, yup, yup, yup.

So funny, funnieeeeee, hee, hee.

Me?

Me?

Me?

Oh no, no.

Silence?

We, we, we.

Just then, my neighbor steps out of the back door of his house, to dispose of some recycling and I call out to him with a big "Hey there! Good morning!" He quips, "Stay right there! Keep your distance! Three feet, at least, right?" We share a driveway, and we joke that this driveway is the perfect distance for getting together yet isolating. He suggests - "Maybe we can have a pizza party, each bring our own, and sit across the driveway from one another."

Strange times. You'd almost say, it's for the birds.

SOL20 Slice #13: Pandemic

I am participating in the
 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL20).  
All participants are sharing stories about moments in their lives, writing 
 every day for the month of March 2020.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

Upside down, inside out, topsy turvy, whoa!

Just yesterday, everything seemed almost normal. Yes, the coronavirus was a huge topic of conversation, yet it still felt somewhat removed from my life. Everything seemed to be going on as normal. This morning, that changed. My D.C. school is closed until (at least) April 1st. All the schools in my state (Maryland) are closed until then, too. Smithsonian museums are closed. Theater performances are cancelled. My church is hosting a "virtual" service on the next several Sundays.

I am hard at work trying to create a "Virtual Learning Showcase," because our big school event has been cancelled and we want families to be able to see what their children have been doing at school.  

Surreal.

In some ways, as I prepare myself mentally for this unexpected time, I think it is not unlike being home due to a blizzard or hurricane. There's less likelihood of a power outage with this crisis. There's no snow to shovel, no flooded basements or roof leaks with which to deal, no high winds circling around the house. 

I have this amazing quantity of found time for reading, cooking, writing, exercise...anything I want to do at home. I should accomplish great things, right? Slicers, this could be the easiest March writing challenge EVER, with so much time available each day, right?!

Right now, we're all healthy.

We slipped over to visit with our granddaughter this morning - what a pleasure, on a Friday morning. A gift, really.

Right now, we're all solvent.

Everyone in my immediate family has steady income during this crisis.

A gift, for sure.

This is SO strange.

There is this ominous feeling that the worse is yet to come. 

Who will get sick first? Will my son with an auto-immune disease escape this insidious virus? Am I carrying it right now, from all the sick children I've been around at school?

This beautiful world around me - how will it change? 

We are certainly being tested. This pandemic illustrates how interconnected we are. There are no real borders, there are no walls to stop this from spreading. There are no security forces or police to prevent it from getting us. There's just us, beautiful us, taking care of us, in the most basic ways - taking time and care to wash our hands thoroughly. 

Truly, bizarre.

What if this is a time of great learning for us?

We see - what kind of a leader we need as President.

We see - how important it is to have news and information that is trustworthy.

We see - what kind of health care and access everyone deserves to have.

We see - what kind of job security and sick leave everyone deserves to have.

We see - how everyone deserves to have a place to call home.

We see - how important it is to be welcoming and caring to all.

We see - how essential it is to have support services when people are stressed.

Be well, one and all, be well.