Thursday, April 2, 2020

I s o l a t i o n


On the bow of our boat, we have a wide wooden deck with metal chairs and empty flower boxes. We have windows. We have trees even. We have sky and all its falls and bird flies. In our boat, we have two sinks, a toilet, and screens. Anchored by cement, beside hilly woods and a highway, we radio out often. Just as we giggle and worry and bake, brew coffee, read books, and explore this new slowness. The baby drinks from me, sleeps, and soils diapers, while the four-year-old wants a playmate, a teacher, father, and mother. I drink jar upon jar of filtered water. I drink coffee. On cloudy days, I drink a lot of coffee. Some nights, we share a can of beer. We are in hiding - in isolation from all the infections. We listen to music. We listen to the wind. We listen to the start of spring. I am trying to look less at the news. I am trying to breathe slow. We pull wet load after wet load of laundry out of the wash, push them into the dryer, and then drop them into baskets. We eat. We eat more than we probably need. We sweep. We water the plants. We dance.

As we sail on through this fog, wondering when we will dock and gather again, I list all the things we will do once the virus eventually recedes:

  • brunch - We'll drink too much coffee and eat too many blueberry pancakes.
  • book stores - We'll stroll through book stores, buying books to read in public places.
  • grocery store - We'll fill a big cart with fresh produce. Food we won't then need to wash in the sink with warm water and dish soap.
  • company - We'll have company and we'll be company. We'll stay up late and eat too much and drink too much and let the kids play too long and then we'll make plans for the morning. 
  • street festivals - We'll go and play, watch, and wander. 
  • park - We'll climb and run and slide and we won't be afraid and we won't ever say, "Don't touch that!"  

I am grateful to live in this house with its tall windows. I am grateful for the quiet forest that lies beside this house. I am grateful that I can care for my children. I am grateful that none of us need to live at the hospital. I am grateful that we have food in the cupboard, the fridge and our bellies. I am grateful that it is spring. I am grateful that one day, we will gather again.

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