A Simple Smattering of Memories and Moods

Bang trims, watercolors, mango slices.

Musical recitals in the sunroom, his stage. He wants to learn taekwondo, needs to learn piano first, asks me to play ‘Road Race Rally’ on repeat.

For a bit, I say, sliding the door shut.

 

He remembers candy and legos from last winter, and our tradition begins. Yesterday, we signed him up at Master Kim's.

Already? Martin says.

Already.

—

We have had two dinner parties in two weeks. The first, pizza with our favorite kids – leisurely, loud, lovely – the second, more quiet with foam in the beer. The child seated at the piano performs well: just the one song, thanks.

At our first family dinner, we talk about the future and other people. The second, we talk about now and ourselves. Many of my doubts, much of his sureties.

But you’ve always said… 
I know…

At home, we laugh in the kitchen, a jealous dog left at Max's.

A gift from Divy: five sheets of paper stapled together, presented to his father. It’s a book, he says.

—

The boys want a ball or two, or many. When they are done playing softball outside they're thirsty, he makes the sound of a caveman; a grunt, or a mouthwash gurgle. He has been doing better with his group time, already in the dorm phase. 

How is Morgen doing? someone asks me last week.

But he already is on his own.

A gift from my mother: a Ziploc bursting with puzzles. For Divy, she says.

—

A quote in my journal: “I love you forever’ really means ‘Just trust me for now,’ which is all it ever means, and we just hope to keep renewing the “now,” year after year.” -Adam Gopnik

Rosy Thoughts

In my journal:
When you push your stroller past a group of elderly women, you’ll see in the turning gladness of their bodies a glimpse of the children they had been, turning toward the tin music of the ice cream van.

This is the time of year in which I am reminded that all people have goodness, and quite a lot of it. It’s the time of year in which businessmen driving BMWs, coffee-clutching mothers in minivans, school buses and garbage trucks and helmet-clad riders on triathlon bikes all come to a screeching halt, a total stand still, and wait patiently as a meek mother goose and her docile gaggle of eight amble across the road to safety.

I will never tire of the sight; an entire civilization making way for another. Ceasing business as usual to usher in an everyday miracle.

Aria has been hard at work in her latest humanitarian efforts to save the world. There are no-selfish roots in the quest, let the admission stand, as she’s intent only on gathering enough to feed the world for her just-now-finished play writing. 

They can have my written word! she says, before scampering off to the garden, and I’m left thinking of this odd spinning sphere and its twisty ways.

All else is all else: yardwork and wheelbarrows, painting finger-nails, blackberry chai. Ordering stacked vats of Chinese food and flinging the front door open, calling it a dinner party. Linen dresses coming out of storage, the faint familiarity of must and memories.

Rose dryer sheets for the old dress; rosy thoughts for the old wearer.

Hibernation

And so, it’s been Hibernation Station in these parts for something like six weeks? Bedhead, house shoes, clementines for breakfast. I was on vacation for a week, and I’m not certain Martin and I left the house for anything other than a milk run on a random Friday. It’s been lovely, really, and yet, Quarantine has this tired way of sucking you dry. The clouds hang low; the color drains from the world. It’s unsaturated, quiet, semi-maddening.

Luckily, it's beautiful right here. 

The fires are a delight, and I saved just enough room in my weekend for Divy’s stuffed panda and a pair of sneakers (he’s been into tumbling this week and let it be said for posterity: this is not a phase I should be encouraging, but really, you should see the panda’s transformative back flips. Stunn-ing.)

Now

Things I have been saying:
In a sec.
Pancakes or bread?
Careful!
Shoes.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
Now.
 

My COVID Experience

Three Good Things I Did Today...

1. I lived another day. 

This is not pessimistic but grateful thinking. I woke up healthy, breathed fresh air, enjoyed working, driving, cooking, smiling, talking, watching friends post about their adventures during the COVID pandemic. 

2. I improved myself. 

I didn't just do what I needed to do, but I made steps to embrace what is possibly the hardest time in most of our lives. I didn't break down, instead I worked towards improving the situation. I spent time reading, planning things, preparing for finals, signing up for fall classes, and learned a few new things. 

3. I made differences to people. 

In my own small ways. Figured out a way to help our immunocompromised patient's feel safer with masks and private rooms for waiting, called my family on Group FaceTime and shared my care, spoke to my near and dearest, and worked on a couple of blog posts. 

I do a lot of things everyday, but what's the most important ones among them? All may be trivial and taken for granted, however, I'm grateful to live them, and to find strength to keep moving even during such a difficult time. 

See Markus' COVID Experience here...

Currently

The sun is shining, a side yard lilac bush is in bloom. When its Lilliputian flowers dance over to my back stoop, I can’t help but sense they’re carrying an early conception of chimera. As it stands, every idea I’ve pursued at length – plans snared to homes built to projects born to school proposed – has been hatched in the spring.

Generous lilacs, they are.

Really, it’s just that my brain is as seasonal as they come. Last winter, and every winter before, the pattern emerges: I cannot bake, I want to quit, I have nothing to make, not another cake.

Wait until April, Martin says while we are soaking in the tub, and he is always right.

 

In April, what with the remote work and home schooling, it is difficult to shut up.

For You

I have never believed in love at first sight, that we are able to give our hearts away upon one view or that after just one glance we are in love. But I do believe that the second I saw your eyes, I loved them. And the moment I saw your smile I loved it. And the instant I heard you laugh I fell in love with the sound.  

I have never believed in love at first sight, but I believe that after one glance in your direction, I have belonged to you. Completely. 

 

Great Magic

 Madeleine L’Engle once wrote about the great gift of love, the great cosmic pairing of two, and she said this:

“It’s a strange thing, how you can love somebody, how you can be all eaten up inside with needing them–and they simply don’t need you. That’s all there is to it, and neither of you can do anything about it. And they’ll be the same way with someone else, and someone else will be the same way about you and it goes on and on–this desperate need–and only once in a rare million do the same two people need each other.”

And when we do find that same one, that same one who needs us as we need them, it is great magic. It is great love.

Heaven

Later, he makes me a replacement cake – a special concoction with homemade icing, black currant jam, an ingredient sworn to secrecy. There’s some currants in there, he whispers, and I will myself to not devour the whole heavenly thing down.

Delicious, I tell him, because some times the grand scheme of things absolutely warrants pretense.

Yesterday, we colored Easter eggs and drank coffee in the kitchen and a pool of caffeine drains to my heart. Are you sad? Martin asks when he brings paper towels.

I want to tell him that I am not, that a global pandemic is no big deal in the grand scheme of things, but I notice that’s precisely what I feel, sad, and that sometimes, often, the scheme of things aren’t grand enough for pretense.

I say yes, and that I also feel happy to have someone here who understands.

Morgen is Morgen, which is to say that I’ve taken to him sending me selfies to disguise a smattering of bite marks, pink crescent moons of love and chagrin. He’ll kick the habit by summer, I think wishfully, for vanity sake alone. (I never was one for enforcing rules.)