SOLSC 2022 #24 - Tea for one

 

It is March 2022 and time for the

 15th Annual Slice of Life Story Challenge  

Every single day, for all thirty-one days of March,

writers will share stories.

Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for creating this supportive community 

of teacher-writers!

It's Thursday, meaning that this week's two days of babysitting are past, and my five day weekend begins - the joys of retirement. I offer this poem -

Thursday mornings

My Thursdays mornings have become 

Saturday mornings

when

I feel the warmth of my ceramic mug in my hand,

radiating throughout my palm and fingers,

this soft caressing comforting heat, 

when

I smell the subtle earthy waft of my green tea, and

indulge in sips of tea at its finest temperature,

an impossible treat in the midst of children

now my morning's delicacy 

when

I hear the delightful echo of yesterday

with each sip

their young chatter laughter hurts joys movement

remembering 

these precious moments

when

I settle deeper into my chair 

holding

the cup in one hand

the pen in the other 

the journal open on my lap

when

my body is still calm relaxed

at peace

how I love 

the unfazed day ahead that

Thursday morning brings.

SOLSC 2022 #5 - Russian remembrances

 

It is March 2022 and time for the

 15th Annual Slice of Life Story Challenge  

Every single day, for all thirty-one days of March,

writers will share stories.

Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for creating this supportive community 

of teacher-writers!

The Russian invasion of Ukraine is beyond horrific; the news is so despairing. Why? Why? Why? 

What brings a 'leader' to destroy people and homelands in search of more...more what? 

What is this depravity about? 

In Summer 1981, I visited what was then "The Soviet Union," spending a week in Moscow and followed by a summer language institute in Leningrad (now St. Petersburg). I was a Russian and Politics double major in college. I loved Russian literature especially - Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Turgenev, Chekhov, Pushkin, and more. These past days, I am flooded with memories, snippets, wisps of moments of my visit to Russia, as I struggle to process the tragedy unfolding in Ukraine.

Let me share ten of these fleeting images -

- солдат  (soldier)

We took a train from Finland to Moscow; as soon as we crossed the border into Russia, the train came to an immediate stop. Soldiers dressed in full military gear and carrying large guns surrounded the train, inspecting. They were instantaneously everywhere - I heard footsteps running/pounding on top of the train cars, others seen from my cabin window positioned alongside the train, a good number of soldiers came onto the train itself, and opened cabin doors, demanding to check our passports. I felt instantaneously so very alone and far from home. Terrifying.

- отвертка  (screwdriver)

I learned this Russian word that summer but didn't retain it, hahaha - I had to look it up for this post. We were in Moscow, having arrived a day or two before; we were spending one week in a hotel here before our summer institute in Leningrad. A classmate and I were searching for a way to open up a battery case for a radio. (Many of us had brought short-wave radios with us.) We realized we needed a screwdriver (and he, unlike me, knew the word in Russian); we wandered down the hall of the hotel, knocked and simultaneously opened a door, which we thought was the custodian/support. (What was the word on this door? Why did we think we could/should do this?) What a sight we saw/discovered: there was a whole line of folks wearing headphones sitting at switchboards. One person rushed up to us, clearly displeased by our presence, speaking rapid-fire in Russian, demanding to know what we wanted; my friend stammered - "otbeptka?" and pointed to the broken radio he was holding. The man found a screwdriver, helped him open it/fix the problem, and we both hurried away, not looking at one another, processing the entire situation together but alone - realizing, in all likelihood, they were listening in on all the rooms in the hotel. 

- Мaринa  (Maureen)

What is your name? I was stopped and asked this, on city streets, in both Moscow and Leningrad. He spoke in halting English, with a Russian accent. The exact same man, in both places. Moscow and Leningrad are more than 400 miles apart; to be stopped on the street by the same gentleman is to be made aware in very clear terms: I was being followed. I replied earnestly the first time and trepidatiously the second, "Maureen." To which he continued, both times, "ahhh - Marine? U.S. Marine?" You see, my father was an Admiral in the United States Navy when I visited the USSR in 1981... although I was simply a naive, innocent 21 year old college student, enamored with learning the language and seeing the sights, the Russians kept tabs on me during my visit. I have nightmares still about this gentleman on the city street and his question, realizing immediately and always - I was being watched, I was being tailed, I was being told - subtly? - to behave myself while visiting.

- квартира  (apartment)

I was really curious about how ordinary Russians lived. One of my pals from the summer institute had visited Leningrad a time or two before, and he introduced several of us to a young Russian couple, who invited us to visit their apartment. We traveled a few stops on the metro and walked a block or two towards a 'sea' of high rise buildings, these nondescript concrete block buildings with no ornamentation or greenery - very cold and austere. We walked up a stairwell to the fifth floor, I think. I remember the apartment was small and dark, and home to an extended family - the couple/our new 'friends', a younger sibling (maybe 15 years old), and parents. The parents had a small bedroom; the couple and the sibling slept on simple beds/couches, really, in the living room. There was a tiny bathroom. The space reminded me of my college dorm room, with basically no privacy for anyone. Depressing. We had tea and biscuit crackers together, crowded around a small table in the kitchen - I remember them introducing us to the custom of swirling a spoonful of sweet jam into the hot tea. That was pretty much the extent of the adventure; it was exciting for me to see how 'ordinary Russians' lived. (In retrospect, this was the single most risky thing I did in Russia; we had all been advised by our tour leader to not befriend any Russians - in fact, to be suspicious of any overtures by supposed 'ordinary Russians'; we were there as tourists primarily, learning and practicing the language, visiting museums, etc. Yet, at the time, it felt so innocent - and, again, I was 21, an age of risk-taking. I dared to go. Thankfully, there were no negative repercussions.)

- гриб  (mushroom)

This fleeting memory came to me as I chopped mushrooms for pizza last night...I remember this one day when my Russian teacher in Leningrad, a middle-aged thick-set woman who was typically very reserved and unsmiling, returned late to class after our lunch break. She was breathless with excitement, quickly explaining that she and another teacher had been in the woods behind the school, where they had found fresh ripe mushrooms - fabulous mushrooms, just ripe for picking, for eating. She was gushing with this news, full of exuberant accolades for these plump juicy treasures - and all of us burst into big smiles of supportive delight, we could not ignore her enthusiasm. I knew not how to pick a mushroom, I knew not that there were rare mushrooms, I knew not that mushrooms were some sort of gourmet delight. I only knew that class was late, mushrooms had been found, our teacher was giddy. Let's all be excited for her!

- дефицит  (shortage)

I remember being surprised by the long lines for food throughout Moscow and Leningrad, that seemed to pop up out of nowhere. As a tourist, we were not subject to these shortages - we had a 'meal plan' included with our summer program. However, when I would go out on my daily walks, I saw people lined up outside a variety of small shops, hoping to purchase bread, fruit, meat. This was new for me - I had never experienced limits on food, that one might have to queue up to buy what they wanted. Worse yet, being in line did not mean that you were going to be able to purchase what you wanted - the food often ran out before those at the end of the line got close to the register, and the crowd would disperse. There were two exceptions to these shortages ...

- мороженое  (ice cream) and  конфеты  (candy)

Delicious, creamy, inexpensive ice cream was available everywhere I walked. There were these adorable ice cream carts/vendors on street corners, selling the most decadent frozen delight. Chocolate and vanilla...melt in your mouth, savor, devour. Equally delightful were the penny candies - I remember so many stores and vendors selling candy, all individually wrapped in these varied, bright, colorful papers. I bought bags of these treats as souvenir gifts to share with family and friends when I returned home.

- бабушки (grandmothers) I liked to go out for a walk in the surrounding neighborhood before class each day. Early morning on the city streets, I would see anonymous babushkas outside sweeping. Their heads covered in kerchiefs, wearing simple dowdy house dresses, knee socks, and old flat shoes, working with these simple straw brooms, they would sweep the steps and the walkways. Did someone ask this of them? Was this a job? 

- Фото  (photo)

The photo was gone. My touring pals - all of us from U.S. colleges - were invited to visit the U.S. Embassy, for an evening meal and respite from all the 'rules' and 'confines' of day-to-day Russia; I remember someone taking a Polaroid photo of myself and my roommate with this adorable Marine; we were given the photo as a keepsake. We fell asleep with the photo on the bedside table between our two beds, and we woke up to it being no longer there. Seriously. There was only one understanding - someone had entered our room during the night, unbeknownst to both of us, and taken the photo. Again - a less then subtle warning - you are being watched.

- солдат  (soldier)

We took a train from Leningrad back to Finland. All our luggage and souvenirs packed tightly into our cabins. Right before the border, the train came to a full stop and soldiers paraded on from all directions, it seemed. I remember I was wearing a skirt, which seemed innocuous until the soldier entered our cabin to inspect our belongings. We were lounging on the train cots, and he demanded we stand. I jumped up, which flipped up my skirt, in this breezy "Marilyn Monroe" way, displaying for the briefest of moments my underwear. Both of us reddened, our eyes meeting at this very moment. He nodded, and left. No inspection at all. Terrifying. Later, crossing into Finland, my cabin-mate, my friend from the summer institute shared - "Wow, that was great that the soldier didn't look into our things. I snuck something out of the country in my luggage, given to me by a friend I made in Russia." Say, WHAT?!!!!

We teach each other always

 

New to me in 2022, I am joining a community of writers who offer a little window into their spiritual lives on the first Thursday of every month. (Thank you, Denise Krebs, for connecting me with this writing circle.) Margaret Simon kicks off this year of writing with a post about 'one little word' that will guide her in the days to come; her post provides links to other writers' words. Here's my post this first Thursday of January 2022 . . .

Today finds me lost in thought, with one small yet wonderful 'trigger' memory; let me share:

Mom took one look at the bland-looking, soft, pureed pile of novelty that I had set out on an appetizer tray with some crackers and vegetables, and wrinkled her nose a bit, as if debating whether or not to try it. She saw me glance her way and then quietly commented, "Well, if Maureen put it out, then it must be good, so I'll try it."

This was circa 1990, when my mother dared to taste hummus for the first time, at a get-together at my house. I don't recall whether she liked it - it certainly wasn't anything she purchased at the grocery store ever, even once, but I do remember being so amused by her self-talk that day. As if I had ever convinced her of anything! I figured she was trying to "save face" in front of her young grandchildren, to do the right thing - eat what was served.

What did I teach my parents? Seriously, I wonder. 

When I was teaching, I learned amazing things from the children. 

Those preschoolers - oh my, they taught me 

all about having confidence and how good it is to take risks, 

how dancing makes you feel better, 

how if you are feeling it so strongly, then let your feelings out!

When I am with my granddaughters, I have a new lens on their father, my son. It makes me smile to see how they are changing him, in both subtle and clear ways. I'm not surprised to see him pitch in, to be a true partner in the work of raising children - he always likes to be busy, to do stuff, to get things done. He's always been very organized. I think I'm surprised by how the children bring him out of his quiet reverie. He's a very introspective person; yet, with the girls, he is laughing and chatting, seemingly at their beck and call. To see him be so present, to be playful and to guide them, honestly this is not the little guy I raised. He was the center of our universe (for 2 1/2 years, before the universe expanded, hahaha) and we did our best to be 'present' with him, but not necessarily vice versa. When he was growing up, he was always lost in thought, thinking about other things, 'on a mission' to figure something out. Those girls are changing him, I have no doubt - they are his mission now.

I think about how my boys changed me. 

I think they helped me to speak up in times of conflict. I learned to do it under their watch, because speaking up was not a welcome trait when I was growing up. I most certainly did not debate or argue with my parents. With my boys, I wanted a different style of parenting - and they certainly gave me lots of practice on resolving conflicts with more of a give and take, both parties discussing the problem. They most definitely kept me playful. They taught me to see things more broadly, more diversely - three kids, a spouse, oh my, there were always at least SIX perspectives, right? One more than the number we were?

They definitely taught me to treasure my quiet alone time. (I'm a lot like my son, I like to have time to be lost in thought every day.)

I don't know what made me think of this today. I hope my Mom learned about more than hummus from me - ha! I wonder what my Dad learned from me? 

I know learning is often presented as something the younger, less experienced person receives from the older, more experienced. Teachers know it doesn't always work that way. We are always learning from our students. We know - we learn -  the more challenging the student, the more eye-opening the learning. 

We affect each other, all the time. 

Every moment. Every word. Every step. 

What are people teaching me today?

What are others learning from me?

this little tree of ours

 

We spent no more than 10 minutes at the tree lot. The day was bitter cold, inviting us to shop quickly. We know what we like and we keep it simple - Fraser fir, about 7 feet high. This one looked perfect, laying at the top of a small stack of trees at our regular pop-up sales site in a nearby parking lot. We didn't even ask the vendor to untie the tree; as I said, it was dang cold, but honestly it is more because we are easily pleased - the two of us subscribe a bit to the "Charlie Brown Christmas tree" school of thought, in that we trust we can beautify whatever tree awaits. We will love it. 'Tis the season to be content, to be joyful. 

The vendor lifted the tree from the stack and lots of needles rained down. Here's where we really are a goofy twosome, Tony and I - we immediately assumed that those dropped needles had fallen from some other tree that had been stacked on top of ours, during its journey in the truck from who knows where (Canada?), and basically littering our tree. Our tree was just shaking these loose, now that it was able to stand up and apart, right? The vendor didn't dispel or challenge our thinking. They say humans can rationalize pretty much anything they want to believe; I suspect this is all the more true when questioning your beliefs means you must suffer out in the cold for longer.

As Tony paid the vendor, I pointed out the praying mantis egg sac on the tree, thinking this was a good luck sign; but my admiration wasn't understood by the dear vendor, who immediately grabbed the sac and hurled it out of the lot, apologizing. "Oh no! I thought it was good luck," I said, "Certainly, it's a sign that the tree was growing happily and healthily." The vendor looked at me with some confusion, and then helped us tie the tree onto the roof of our car.

Fast forward, 
this little tree of ours
is set up in our living room and it is seriously one of the most beautiful trees we have ever had! 

It is so full - truly, chubby, yes, a chubby tree,

taking up lots of space in this small room. 

There was the tiniest soft downy bird feather within its branches - 

another sign of how loved this tree was as it grew. 

Fast forward, 
this little tree of ours
is decorated with lights and all our sentimental ornaments, collected through the years. 

I just smile smile smile at this tree. 

It is lovely.

Fast forward,

this little tree of ours,
it sheds needles. 

Loads of needles.

Fistfuls of needles.

Full dustpans of needles
Every. Single. Day. 

The first couple of days, it drank so much water. Then, it just stopped drinking. These trees - are they not a lesson in death? My goodness.

As each day passes, I see the tree hollowing out, from within - though it remains bright happy green, at a glance. Let me share a photo of the "inside" - today:

Yes, it is hollowing.

We will just barely make it to Christmas, this Saturday. 

Four more days, little tree, just four more days!

Each morning as I sweep the needles, I feel nothing but tenderness and understanding for this tree. Honestly, I totally empathize. 

I ask, could there be a more perfect tree for 2021? 

I appreciate its attempt to reach out wide, fully, as if giving us a big jolly happy hug, 

mesmerizing us with its girth, 

I feel it commending us for living through yet another long, hard year, 

for doing our best in these challenging times, and 

I appreciate how, like a good friend might also do, it just cries cries cries alongside us.  

A tree of solace. 

Happy Solstice, everyone! 

Redbuds and memories

It's Tuesday and I am participating in the

 Slice of Life.  

Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for nurturing teacher-writers!

This past Friday, April 9th, was a spectacular spring day to be outside. Tony and I worked together in the yard, trying to eradicate those endless weeds and spotlight the spring flowers. I had a writer's notebook at the ready, trying to capture "live action" words for writing haiku, which was that day's poetry prompt with Dr. Sarah Donovan's Ethical ELA #VerseLove, where I am writing poetry every day in April.

We worked quietly, slowly, trowels in hand, moving the dirt, tossing the weeds, enjoying the day. We were already aware of the date and then noticed our redbud in peak bloom, always a beautiful sight. Both of us immediately got a little misty-eyed, and began to talk about its meaning. 

You see, we planted it to commemorate Tony's father, who died April 9, 1995. Twenty-six years ago. Wow. 

How can this time be, at once, both so long ago and yet so current, so right there, at the ready?

 

Are you finding yourself so much more raw and accessible, big emotions right there on your sleeve, during this time of pandemic? I find myself thinking back, reflecting frequently, on those I've loved who have died. 

Is it simply because I'm getting older? 

Is it spending sweet time with my granddaughters, seeing 'the passage of time'? 

Is it the loss of my father, earlier this year, after losing my mother two years ago, and this realization that I'm the older generation now?

Is it being retired, spending more time writing and reflecting?

Perhaps all of these play a role, but I think it mostly has to do with this time of grief we are all living through. This world in grief.

Without a doubt, I am so much more aware of the brevity of life. 

Tony and I, we remembered how, when we received word that Papaw had died, we immediately packed up the kids and the car and drove the long drive south from Maryland to Atlanta to be with family, to be in mourning. All along the long, long drive, spring flowers were blooming, and what was especially beautiful were these gorgeous purple blossoms that seemed to burst through the greenery of the trees - redbud trees. All along the way, purple, purple, purple. 

My father-in-law died at age 87, a couple months before our youngest son was born. He was a truly good and kind soul and it's always made me sad that I only knew him for maybe seven-eight years, that I had not had more time with him. We lost three of Tony's family in 1995; in addition to his father, who died of cancer, he lost two older brothers, one to a heart attack and one to cancer. It was a brutal year for us, in our young marriage, grieving all this loss. 

Lots has happened in those twenty-six years. Our youngest child is an adult now, and he never even got to meet this grandfather. His whole memory of Papaw and his uncles is through our family stories, memories shared. Even our older sons were short-changed in their time with these loved ones, being only 6 and 3 years of age. 

I do believe we have done a pretty good job of sharing memories with them, through the years. 

But that is the way life works, yes? We live and we die. If we are lucky, we get to love and be loved. Yes, for me, this awareness of the tenderness, the fleetingness, the fragility of life is felt more profoundly during this time of pandemic, with so many abbreviated lives all around. 

Let me close with some haikus about these redbud reflections - Tony and I actually wrote the fifth one together, which was very sweet.

day in the garden
turning over the soil
memories flowing

we planted a redbud
to bloom each year at this time
in your memory

when the redbud blooms 
we remember when you died
and sent us kisses 

flashes of purple
amongst the bright greenery
throughout the mountains

flowering redbuds
reassurances from you
all the long drive south

SOL21 Slice 5: Distilling advice

 

I am participating in the

 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL21).  

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

 every day for the month of March 2021.

Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for nurturing teacher-writers!

My two-year-old granddaughter ("Frog") was fascinated that I was making a new cup of tea for myself and pouring out the old, because the tea bag had broken. 

"Show me the cup broke," she said. 

I chuckled, "It's not the cup that broke, it's the tea bag." 

"Show me broke."

"Yes, yes, of course," I said, and I showed her the remnants of my drink, pointing out the tea leaves that were swirling in the cup. I absolutely adore preschoolers' curiosity and questions, I love their 'whys,' I love how there is nothing too small to learn more about. I'm always game to explore alongside. 

I continued, "Do you see those little bits in the tea, floating and swirling? Those are the tea leaves. I don't like to drink the leaves, I like to drink just the liquid. The tea bag is supposed to stayed closed, keeping the tea leaves within, while the tea is . . . while the tea is . . . while the tea is . . ." 

I just kept stammering. Frog looked at me with expectancy. She was sure I had more to say. 

I was sure I had more to say, I just couldn't quite get my brain around it. 

I got out the scissors and cut open the old tea bag, to show her its insides, pouring more water over it. We watched the tea leaves float all about. (Frog was delighted by this, and I made a mental note to put my tea bags up on a higher shelf and make sure the scissors are not accessible.) I explained the process again, explaining how the tea bag had broken open, and, for a second time, I was slammed back into my mental jam, trying to continue, 

"...straining, while the tea is straining"

Frog watched the swirling tea leaves in the cup and echoed, as if imbibing my wisdom, "straining"

"Well, no, that's not the word really, it's like filtering"

Frog looked at me, and questioned-echoed "filtering?"  

Oh my, two-year-old parroting is illuminating!! That's not the dang word.

I tried again, "Well, distilling..."

When she echoed "distilling," I realized I had to stop talking. I just smiled at her, weakly. This mini-lesson was going down the drain. Yikes. Maybe she wouldn't tell her folks we were distilling today. 

Word salad.

Word scramble.

Word scurry. 

Frog went back to playing at the sink of faux-dirty dishes and bubbles. There I stood, perfectly still, stuck, holding an empty mug with remnants of tea leaves, thinking through various synonyms, no longer saying them out loud, walking myself through the process of making tea, searching for the illusive word,

residue

percolating

like with coffee grounds

this is tea leaves

It wasn't as easy for me to move on. I simply could not find the word. Wait, how is tea made? What is the word for making tea? I couldn't speak, the word or words escaped me, my tongue was tied. 

decant

pour off

pour away

let sit for awhile

Goodness! It was like I was playing charades with myself.  

This situation was the inverse of one of my regular writing problems, where I find the ordinary word and cannot think of any better words. I've turned into a very contrary thesaurus, one with giant, gaping holes. Can you imagine if I were teaching this right now (wait, why would I be teaching about tea?) . . . imagine, if I were being observed, what the heck would the assessor think of me? 

Nothing.

Got nothing.

So frustrating!!

Later, I shared the story of Frog and "the cup broke" with my husband, asking "What's the word for making tea?"

He looked at me, incredulous - "What? Are you talking about brewing? steeping?" 

Oh, I was so excited to hear this! "Yes! Yes! I am! Oh, thank you! Both of those words are AWESOME. That was driving me nuts."

He laughed, and added - "Welcome to old age! It has a way of sneaking up on you."

Oh, geez.

Unexpectedly, I have continued a theme from yesterday - fearful signs of aging! Ha! It was never my intention for this to be the focus of my blogging this month, but when a parallel weird experience happens, how can I not write into it? Clearly, these are slices of my life this March! 

A woman is like a tea bag - you can't tell how strong she is until you put her in hot water.

- Eleanor Roosevelt

SOL21 Slice 4: Connecting pieces

 

I am participating in the

 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL21).  

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

 every day for the month of March 2021.

Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for nurturing teacher-writers!

I figured out how to make a 1000 piece puzzle even more challenging! Spill a cup of tea on it. This lifts the whole picture right up, off of the individual pieces; in fact, it immediately separates each piece into 4-5 layers of super thin cardboard. (If you are game, you are now free to make multiple puzzles.)

Our picture puzzles give us a chance to 'travel' to new places during the pandemic, and we typically have one in process, sprawled out on one end of the dining room table. This one is/was a National Geographic image of Ushguli, Georgia. I received it as a gift at Christmas. When I dropped my tea cup all over it, I was instantaneously moved from serene, calm puzzle-maker into crisis mode: quick, stand up the cup! grab a towel! where are the towels?! quick! wipe the table! save the table! dry the wood! blot the puzzle! oh that doesn't work! it's seeped under! hmm. get out your blow dryer! - oh my goodness! 

are those puzzle 

fragments

flying 

all about? 

yikes.

I am not a good first responder for a puzzle disaster. 

Throw away the puzzle. 

Pause and reflect. 

Dropping my cup of tea mid-process was the most unexpected, surreal, bizarre thing to happen to me - physically - in quite some time. I was holding the cup in my left hand, steady, I believed; using my dominant hand to connect the pieces I had discovered. I have combined tea and puzzles for years, with nary a problem. Both my hands are pretty dang strong. I've never had any issues with wrists giving way, or one hand feeling a little feeble. I wasn't tired, I wasn't rushing about. What the heck?

These things happen.

Hey, I am human - I've caused plenty of spills. Knocked things over. Slipped while holding something. Fallen. However, I've noticed that the older I get, these simple 'accident moments' have layers of extra weight and meaning when they happen. 

I immediately wonder: is this an aging issue? 

Will I one day look back on this moment and say, oh - that was when [.......] began? 

Puzzling!!

Think I'll sit with a cup of tea, and write for a bit . . . .

Tea! Bless ordinary afternoon tea!

- Agatha Christie

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.

SOL20 Slice #3: Reflections on politics

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 have to admit,
I'm really sad that Amy Klobuchar dropped out.
Yes, 
I know,
she didn't have any chance at all.
To me, 
she represented
sensibility,
reasonableness,
balance.
I found that very hopeful.

I just want to be calm again.

I thought she might take us away from the constant hysteria.
The incompetence.
The disrespect.
The hate.

The extremes.
The ugliness.

The ALL CAPS.

I fear that Elizabeth Warren is going to be dropping out, too.
I'm losing faith.
Ugh.
I don't like this process.
How can a party that represents so many others
still churn out old white guys?
I really wanted a female candidate.
I believe in women,
women as leaders.
The election
is likely to be
one old white guy against one old white guy.
Nevertheless,
it will still be,
SANITY versus INSANITY.
I know who I want.
Yes, I will vote.