All the things around me seem to be a messy disaster. I just got an email from the high school my son will enter in the fall asking for donations and help fundraising to put a film on the windows to slow bullets. Not baseball uniforms or computers or books, but bullet protection. It’s emotional enough to send a child off to high school, never mind the ever growing worry they may be shot in algebra class.
As my tea kettle started to whistle, I grabbed my favorite over-sized Wonder Woman mug to hold this magical, healing concoction. The size and weight was perfect and always gave me a sense of strength and nostalgia at the same time.
Today is our 19th wedding anniversary. We got hitched just three short days before 9-11-01, launching into wedded bliss as the world changed forever. However, this is not the most interesting thing about our wedding.
I grew up in Grant’s Lick, Kentucky on a property my mom lovingly named Rocky Top Farm. I spent my childhood hoeing in the garden, throwing hay bales, collecting eggs from the chicken coop, canning green beans, shoveling cow manure, and picking up rocks. Lots and lots of rocks. My dad taught me to drive on his Case tractor and our 1949 Willy’s Army Jeep.
As the quarantine wears on, I’ve been looking for new ways to entertain the boys. As I was cleaning my bookshelf I came across the box set of my favorite books from 4th grade, Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House series. I managed to convince my boys to let me read a couple chapters to them every evening before bed rather than watching another lame YouTube video.
A year ago, I decided to launch this blog. I thought it would be an opportunity to flex my writing muscle while working through my midlife challenges.
When all this started a month ago, I had a can-do attitude. I was getting things accomplished. I rallied the troops at work while memorizing the CDC website. I lectured my parents and in-laws to get them on board with social distancing.
This afternoon, Andrea Bocelli gave a solo performance from the Duomo cathedral of Milan with a message of love, hope and healing to Italy and the rest of the world.
I went to Kroger this morning for the first time in four weeks. The grocery store used to be my happy place—used to.
I’m told today is siblings day. I suspect my brother, Jeremy, made this “holiday” up just to mess with me, but I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt and play along. I’ll start by saying I am blessed to have a brother who is generous, hard-working, and fun who has taken care of me for my entire life.
Every year on Good Friday my mom and I make the pilgrimage to Holy Cross-Immaculata Church in Mt. Adams to pray the steps at midnight. We’ve been doing this for probably 20 years.
For some time I’ve had a work station in our basement. I’ve never worked from home for more than a day or two at a time, so being in the basement gave me the opportunity to cave in and focus. After 3+ weeks, what used to be a quiet refuge has devolved into a dark, musty, dungeon.
