Shelter-in-Place Day 198

Because of the Glass Fire, which started less than a week ago, the Air Quality Index for Santa Rosa and Petaluma was in the high 200s by the end of the day today. This is right now:

150 or above is a number that can cause health effects to everyone, not just those with pre-existing conditions, after 24 hours. Library branches have ceased curbside service here and there while the numbers remained high. The evacuations didn't reach downtown Santa Rosa, but they were close. Napa and Calistoga, St. Helena, and parts north and east of there are getting the worst of it. Nor is this the first fire of the season, but this one hit me harder than previous ones in terms of anxiety. Perhaps it's the combination of COVID, the state of US politics, and the post-traumatic trigger of smoke in the air, NIXLE alerts, and sirens. Could be. 2020, you just keep comin'.

On Sunday and Monday, I addressed the problem of high anxiety by organizing belongings; almost all of the previously unlabeled boxes in closets are labeled now. I know which ones have the tin-type family photos from the 1800s, which ones have my elementary school drawings, programs from the kids' performances - the whole range of what to take, what to leave is at least a little more understandable now. I've also packed something of a go-bag, and have prepped a few things so that we won't have to grab them. Water and animal food and tp already in the car. It's not only practical to do these things; it also helps me feel much less panicky. And in the process, I am able to get rid of more childhood clutter that doesn't serve me or anyone, and no only doesn't spark joy, but in some cases sparks regret and bitterness. Goodbye to that nonsense!

And it is October, my favorite month for many reasons and one in which I either write more, or at least tell myself I write more, which becomes a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy. A good time to continue the cleanup, re-set, focus, and prepare for what almost certainly will be an extremely challenging few months. There is little doubt now that forty-five won't be leaving office willingly, regardless of the outcome of the election. It makes me want to do something to prepare, but I don't know what. Stock up the pantry? Move to Canada?

Perhaps moving backups from 16 years ago from CD to three computer hard drives will help. Somehow. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 167

I have reached the end of my month of self-imposed challenges around reading, writing and submitting poetry. 

I must say I won't miss the evening pushes to get everything done before I fall asleep. But I also don't want to drop these habits completely. Submitting often (but not daily), reading a new book often (but not daily), and tweeting - sometimes, not daily - seems reasonable. I look forward to trying it.

Shelter-in-Place, Day 165

 I served penance of a sort today for all the over-consumption yesterday (primarily of sugar - donuts! and candy! and dessert! and deep dish pizza for dinner) by eating light and exercising quite a bit. Dog walk, yard work, yoga, a walk with D. With any luck, I burned off a few extra calories.

Tomorrow I have not one but two (!) social events on the calendar, so I hope I am able to sleep well and feel prepared for breakfast at a restaurant for the first time in over 6 months and then company in the courtyard for dinner. This has been good incentive to clean up around here, even if no one comes inside the house. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 164

 I overindulged on my birthday: more sugar than I've had in the last six months put together, probably, and more food than I usually have in a week. But I also hiked, and gardened, and inspected the beehives, and read, and bought socks and a jogging bra, and thereby spoiled myself in ways other than food. 

It was especially lovely to have a day alone to do those things. No commitments to do anything else with anyone else - and wonderful little birthday wishes that came in by text and voicemail and email. So all in all, a good day. And best of all: two more days without work to continue to get things done around the house and yard. 

Shelter-in-Place, Day 163

This is the last day I will be 53, although S. kindly said I was turning 32 tomorrow. She has also been known to say she thinks of me as somewhere in my "early 40s." Bless her.

I caught most of the POTUS's speech live at the RNC via the NY Times, preceding an ostentatious fireworks show and light opera. While the unmasked multitude chanted at the row of American flags, "FOUR MORE YEARS, FOUR MORE YEARS!" I thought, "GET HIM OUT. GET HIM OUT." Ire doesn't even begin to cover the level of my antipathy. He really gets my goat. 

What do I want for my birthday? I want enlightenment to visit that man. 

Shetler-in-Place, Day 162

This morning, the dog and I jogged more than walked on our daily constitutional. He does well for a 11+ year old Shepherd mix. He's especially pleased with himself any morning that he can make any dogs bark at him from behind their fences along the way. (Which is most mornings.) Troublemaker. 

The fires continue to be contained, and the weather is cooler, at least at night. Here are the sobering stats from the Press Democrat: 

54,923 / 19% Acres / Contained Walbridge Fire

303,155 / 33% Acres / Contained Hennessey Fire

1,080 Structures destroyed

2,207 Firefighters

At least as concerning, for anyone in the Gulf States, is Hurricane Laura, now considered a category 5 storm, headed strait for the coast. I read one article calling it "unsurvivable." So I am thinking of the people whose homes and cities are in its path, hoping they all have the ability to get to safe ground. Now that I look at an image, it's slightly terrifying:

Only five more books to read for the Sealey (book-a-day) challenge. I hope that after August, I will continue to read at least a poetry book a week. It keeps me disciplined, broadens my mind, and I think it betters my own work.  

Shelter-in-Place, Day 161

The air was much clearer today, and there is talk about opening up more things in the country because Covid cases aren't on the rise as much as before.

But without a vaccine, opening things back up will only bring the caseload up again. I know I can't be the only person to understand this logic. Too bad there isn't a consensus on the matter.

It's day two of the RNC. I caught part of it yesterday morning on my way to work. Nothing brings up my blood pressure quite the same way as hearing bigotry, selfishness, and hatred touted as American values.

Shelter-in-Place, Day 160

Another night where I can barely keep my eyes open to finish my Sealey Challenge read (see www.thepracticalpoet.blogspot.com), tweet, post, crawl into bed.

After work (hot, smoke-filled skies, no air conditioning, pinched nerve in my neck), a poetry workshop which made me feel much better. But still, exhausted. And after the workshop, reading most of Bastards of the Regan Era, and then the aforementioned posting. Just hope it's all coherent in the light of day tomorrow.

Shelter-in-Place, Day 159

The air is still horribly smokey, but I just heard a light patter of rain. We are hoping for moisture without lightning, without wind. The next few hours will make a difference, one way or another, to the people fighting so hard to save homes and cities from burning. The Press Democrat lists the Wallbridge Fire (in the northwest) like this:

52,068 / 5%

Acres / Contained

Sounds grim, and it kind of is. But earlier today that containment was 0%. So this feels like progress.

It's Sunday night. Tomorrow, the library branches are likely to be open, although union members are very concerned about risks and air quality. I hope to sleep well, in spite of being worried about the weather. I spent hours outside (with a mask on) working on the yard in very high temperatures, and I'm especially tired from it. Clearly, too tired to compose a blog post. These self-imposed challenges are just silly, sometimes. 

Shelter-in-Place, Day 158

From Santa Rosa Press Democrat, Aug. 21, 2020 (Christopher Chung)

The haze in the air was worst in the afternoon, but it is now deceptively clear, even as firefighters work to keep the blaze away from the town of Healdsburg. 

When I started this COVID-19 pandemic Shelter-in-Place blog, I thought the pandemic might last a few months. And even then, I thought I was being grimly realistic. I hadn't really considered the possibility that we'd be living in much the same way we had been in April, but during "fire season." 

But here we are, and while I was weeding the yard today, the smallest voice in my head was musing that if the fire were to come to Petaluma, it wouldn't matter whether my yard was weeded. So by mid-day, when the heat was unbearable, I came inside and worked on other "prep" type activities. More clearing away things I don't need, more organizing, and then finally, I took at least a cursory series of videos/photos of the house and its contents for the purpose of documentation and insurance should worst come to worst. 

(And of course, writing that, I had to look up the phrase. Originally "worst comes to worst" - as I think of it, it later became more commonly "worse comes to worst," which suggests a progression, and now is sometimes "worse comes to worse." There's today's idiom lesson for you.) 

Shelter-in-Place, Day 157

I'm plum tuckered out, and am grateful to have made it to the weekend. This could be because I worked 10 of the last 11 days, the fires burn on, and there is now talk of another electrical storm moving in.

Regardless of D.'s certainty that we're in no immediate danger, I will feel much better after taking some time this weekend to get my evacuation ducks in a row, should it come to that.

I currently have 134 pieces pending word back from literary magazines (which is to say, 4 poems here, 5 poems there, etc., with many simultaneous submissions of the same poems) because I have submitted every day this month; I have read a book of poetry every day this month for The Sealey Challenge, and I have blogged both here and in my poetry blog, and have tweeted (heaven help me) daily. I am writing this (setting this down!) not to boast to anyone in particular but to encourage myself to keep it up for another 10 days. 

But as I say, I'm out of spoons for now.

Shelter-in-Place, Day 156

The sky was an apocalyptic, flat, ecru color today. The air quality was poor, but I think it has been worse. Some evacuations were lifted, others remained in place, and I heard from friends who were still in a bad place and who had relatives whose homes were threatened or friends whose homes have been lost. 

I still want to ready our things, just in case. D. is not concerned because the farmers in fields around town have plowed their fields, turning over the earth, so that there would be nothing to feed a fire. I see his point, and while I'm grateful we're here in this safe place, it also makes me question my longing to live in the country to the northwest, which at the moment is closer to trouble.

There were over 300 fires in the state reported yesterday, two dozen of which are larger and significant. 

But the news on another front is better; Biden/Harris seem to be getting a good level of support so far, and there is hope for a change in November, if voting by mail succeeds and if the election isn't postponed or the results questioned. Given the passion the president has for being in office, I can't imagine he'll leave easily. I wanted to write, in fact wrote and deleted, a less charitable sentence. But I have censored myself lest any of the non-existent readers of this blog take offense. 

Shelter-in-Place, Day 155

The fires are worse, and the air this morning was full of small flakes of ash raining like snow on cars and sidewalk. Not quite as bad as 2017 or even 2019 in our town, but it's reminiscent and many people are feeling triggered. This is especially true for those further north. 

The heat means that we have opened the windows and back door tonight to let the cool air in, but it's bringing the smoke as well. Many, many evacuations in West County and Napa, and Vacaville has been impacted too. 

The fires are exacerbating the stress that people have barely kept at bay over the current POTUS, racial injustice, a pandemic and a heat wave right over the edge. No swarm of locusts yet, but it's a good time to be prepared and to take care of oneself and one another. 

Shelter-in-Place, Day 154: Fire Season has Begun

The headline for the Press Democrat online currently reads, "Five Napa County fires burn 32,000 acres, displace at least 5,700 people."  

There's nothing too close, but I'm starting to think about gathering a pile of things to take should we have to evacuate, in the same way we prepared in 2017 and 2019. 

There are nearly 5.5 million active COVD-19 cases in the US, and Sonoma County is still trending in the wrong direction. But, as can happen in the middle of a crisis of indeterminate duration, it's a question of taking things one day at a time. 

And as if it weren't exciting enough around here, I'm reading The Fifth Season.   which is a fantastic book, but may be sparking apocalyptic survival thoughts in my busy little brain.

Shelter-in-Place, Day 153

Tonight was the first night of the Democratic National Convention. I missed it, as I have missed all such events on media or television. I hope it went well. I hope that November brings some positive changes.

Instead of following tonight's events, I worked on poetry. Edited poems. Sent out poems. Read As One Fire Consumes Another by John Sibley Williams. Astonishing work. All of the poets I have been reading seem to be giving me the same message: see this? this is poetry. up your game.  

Shelter-in-Place, Day 152

There was such a massive lightning storm this morning, starting around 4:30, we got up and went out to the shed to try to prop up covering from inside in case the roof, with it's thinning tarp, started to leak. I stayed awake for over an hour after that, watching the show.  

(photo not my own, but from public domain...)

It is supposed to pick up again tomorrow morning, after having been dry and muggy all day. It felt like Hawaii. D. put another tarp over the shed roof, so we won't have that worry. But the wind and lightning cause anxiety about fires. Quelle année!

Shelter-in-Place, Day 151

 Swelteringly hot again today, and there is more talk of rolling blackouts in California. Residents are asked to conserve energy. I worry about our usage and am making sure we keep lights turned off when not needed, etc. We don't have air conditioning; just two gamers (on the TV screen & a computer), and me with my blog posts for an audience of one and tweets that fall into the abyss of social media. 

Although, having said that, a tweet about reading Leila Chatti's book from Copper Canyon Press has now had 1,680 views and a couple of shares. Which is a little odd, and a little exciting, and really, in the world of social media, means nothing. (Okay, admittedly, part of me thinks social media in general means nothing. No offense to those 1,680 people.)

Tomorrow I will have a one-day weekend before a change in schedule puts me back at work. I am not sure how I'll squeeze two days of weekend into one, but I'm sure whatever outdoor work I might do will have to happen before 10am. More time indoors to read and write and perhaps watch a movie and clean out paperwork. I know what you're thinking, gentle reader: what an exhilarating life she leads!

Shelter-in-Place, Day 150

I'm having a very difficult time staying awake enough to post anything, and in fact, fell asleep a few poems shy of finishing today's Sealey Challenge book. But I woke again long enough to check all those little items off the list. Tweet. Post. Earlier I submitted poems.

It was over 102 degrees today and is still in the 70s at nearly 11pm. Rolling blackouts from PG&E in Rohnert Park, power outages in Santa Rosa, apparently.

D. says we've become a 3rd world country: blackouts, police brutality, corrupt government. 

I think yes and no. Yes, it's worse. But then I remember Deaf Republic, and think maybe this is a 1st-world kind of 3rd-world-ness. My most immediate problem at the moment is the army of rats that roam our backyard in the dark and eat the tomatoes just as they're turning. Tonight I enclosed the plants in wire mesh (hardware cloth) as though they're living reliquaries. Get through that, rodents.  

Shelter-in-Place, Day 149

I understand there is a need for Unions, and I truly appreciate everything that our Union provides for library employees. SEIU is an important organization, and our reps are really great people.

But I do not know whether I can stomach many more zoom union meetings. There are a few especially vocal members who are so very aggrieved and indignant and disgruntled. About almost everything. Almost all of the time. Sort of as a way-of-existing in this world. Please, God, keep me from being so sour and toxic. Except: how sour and toxic of me to write this/! Argh! Struck down again by my own hypocrisy!

Shelter-in-Place Day 148

Every day, I wonder how I'll fit it all in. And every day I do it. Perhaps it's because I forego binging on Netflix or PBS videos. But I don't need that kind of thing, with a steady diet of great poetry to devour instead. I feel as though my ability to read poems is improving with every new collection, so it's easier. Not quicker, and not more superficial. In fact, I think I appreciate the good poems that much more.

And, as promised, here's a chipper little diverting video instead of just "Words, words, words." (Shakespeare™)

Yesterday, Mr. Darcy (he has Fitzwilliam's elegance and Bingley's simple-minded charm) decided that Tango, the Dog of Eternal Patience, was good for a moment of entertainment:

Shelter-in-Place Day 147

On the home front: N. is feeling much better after a full night's sleep and did not get tested after all, my little sister is now 52 (!), and I made it through another day of working from home while tackling The Sealey Challenge and my self-imposed ("let's-add-more-pressure!") submitting & blogging daily goal.

In local news, Sonoma County has reached 50 deaths and 3,753 cases. On a zoom call with friends today, we talked about what feels like the inevitability of contracting the virus before a vaccine is available.

Nationally, Biden has named Kamela Harris as his running-mate.
Over 5 million cases, more than 164,000 deaths.

Internationally, Beirut may not recover for years from last week's horrible explosion, and the Russians have some kind of rushed vaccine that other nations distrust because of the rapidity of rollout.

I feel like I'm channeling a washed-down, nearly-bed-time version of a New York Times briefing. Lite. Perhaps I'll have something wittier and more uplifting to say tomorrow. With inspirational pictures. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 146

The meeting of tonight's poetry critique group meant a later-than-lately start to submissions, reading and blogging. But I did manage to send out a few things, making a total of 85 pieces in a "pending" status. Again, many are duplicates. But it helps me sustain disbelief, because that's 85 pieces that haven't been rejected yet.

On the COVID-19 front, we've reached 20,000,000 + cases worldwide. N. texted tonight to say she has fever, chills and nausea and that she'll be tested tomorrow. No lung issues, which is good. But it's very hard not to be very worried indeed, especially when she is on the other side of the map. I'm hoping and praying it's a bug, but not that bug, and that she'll feel better soon. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 145

 It was truly a day off, today. It's fine to have a day now and then to indulge in as much as I want of reading/audiobook listening, weeding, exercising, napping and eating sweets. Not necessarily in that order. Tomorrow, I'll do more of the same (sans sugar) and work on paperwork and more poetry, as well. 

So I suppose this is another "tea with the Smiths" entry. Ah, well. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 144

 Another day where I wasn't sure how I would push through and do "all the things," and yet, I have worked my 8 hours and submitted poems, I have blogged and read a full-length collection of poetry (see The Practical Poet blog for more details). I have tweeted and I have revised poems and I have continued work on a new poem. And it's not even 9:30. 

So now I must decide whether to read more, listen to an audiobook, chill in front of some British show on Netflix or Amazon or watch one of the many DVDs I've brought home or some or all or none of the above...

Shelter-in-Place Day 143

 It is Friday, but really more like Thursday, because I work tomorrow. I look forward to gardening (read: weeding) and going through file cabinet drawers (read:weeding) on Saturday and Sunday. And I greatly look forward to the possibility of sleeping past 7:15 Sunday. 

These are inane things to write, but once again, I find myself quite tired, and having spent most of my evening researching literary journals for my poems and reading a chapbook for The Sealey Challenge, I find I have little more to say. For now. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 142

 Having reached 11pm on the evening before what will undoubtedly be a very busy day at work, I am cheating a little and copying my Practical Poet blog entry here. Day 6 of the Sealey Challenge. A 95 page collection.

 

I'd heard Morgan Parker interviewed on Commonplace, and I think because of that, I felt like I could hear her voice especially clearly in these poems. A very smart voice with a unique way of using language, but most importantly, so bold and clear and passionate. I wish I hadn't had to read this in one day for the challenge. It would be better savored, a little at a time - and I hope to do that with this book, after the challenge is over.

Shelter-in-Place Day 141

I suppose it's time for another note regarding the latest COVID-19 numbers.

Global Cases: 18,752,917

Global Deaths: 706,761

US Deaths: 158,249

California Deaths: 9,808

Sonoma County Deaths: 42

While I am well and my family is well, as are the people I know (friends, coworkers, relatives), people I know are one step removed from people with the coronavirus. And last week, my work schedule was shuffled as two different teams had to step away from work pending results - although HIPAA (Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act) acts as a gag order for supervisors and management alike, so no one can really talk about anything and we're left to speculate and draw conclusions and piece things together from diplomatic hints.

I am back to making the absolute most of every day, as I did in April with the poetry submissions and blogging. The Sealey Challenge has helped. Today's book: Crow Mind by Tobey Hiller. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 140

I had thought I would be too tired to post. I was up until after 12:30 this morning doing what I love most - genealogical research. I have paid the price today, and the lack of sleep and hot weather had such a soporific effect on me. Still, I made it through without napping, worked from home all day, sent out poems, read more for The Sealey Challenge (Pith & Piffle by Jim Gronvold), wrote, and did my yoga workout. Now I'm going to go collapse and sleep at least eight hours. Lord willing, and the creeks don't rise. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 139

Today I was able to spend a day at home, alone, listening to Commonplace podcasts while I watered, weeded, and folded laundry.

I also opened a filing cabinet drawer and started to look at the paperwork inside, to see what I might discard.

It was a revelatory experience. 

I can see now, as though reading the biography of someone I used to hear about, or knew by reputation, somewhere in my memory, that for many years, I was a writer. That is to say, I wrote short stories and snippets and scenes and poems and drafts of novellas and novels. I attended classes and workshops and readings. I was apparently serious enough about all of this that I wrote hundreds and hundreds of pages, and kept the drafts and the feedback for decades.

Seeing all that paperwork - much of it printed on still-attached perforated pages recycled from computer-generated reports in the early nineties - has given rise to such a mix of strong emotions, I am compelled to try to articulate them somewhere. And this blog seems as good as place as any. It's quicker than a journal, anyway. Quicker to type than to write something longhand. 

Here are some of the things I'm feeling:

• What happened? Where did that earnest (oh, so earnest) writer go? Because although I now have an MFA in poetry and have been writing poetry, to have created so much prose content points to an ambition that seems alien now. So I'm disappointed that I let it all drop so completely. As though I abandoned a dream that had, at one point, been primary.
• What's with my memory? It's not just the ambition I don't remember. I'd forgotten about fifty percent of the stories. A few I don't remember even after skimming them, although clearly they're my creation. Fascinating. 
• I wrote a lot of crap. I mean, it was really young, naive, clever but superficial work. Nothing with much staying power, and I can see from my current perspective - thanks to, what? age? lived experience? - that most of what I wrote was tidy but avoided emotional honesty. Or only dealt with the trappings of an emotional sincerity. Perhaps it's a little bit of Jo March pre-Professor. So I'm embarrassed for my past-self, embarrassed and maybe even a little ashamed that she thought what she was doing was good enough to submit to top publications. I was just too young.
• But I was not only young, I was stunted. I'm writing this now with as much self-love as possible, but I can see that I was not available emotionally to myself or, I believe, to other people. I was not living in the moment at all. I was high-strung, intense, even driven. Or I was almost melodramatically dreamy and reflective. Untethered, either way. Broken. It's almost as though I had an early childhood self, who was bright and happy and energetic, judging from family lore and photos and home movies. And then I was a mostly neurotic idealistic stinted and blinkered self for two or three decades. Decades. And then, what? Life, I guess. Life and some major life events, and the blessing of influence from some people, all helped work a transformation that, if continued, represents a completely different self, and perhaps my only opportunity to write anything real. Anything worth keeping. Or, even if I don't write at all, represents a self worth being. 

At any rate, those are my current thoughts on the subject. Having spent the rest of the day working on a submission, attending a poetry reading and part of the Library Commission meeting, reading Dan Bellm's Practice, doing yoga and cleaning the house - not necessarily in that order - I'm just about ready to throw in the towel. It will be tomorrow soon!

Shelter-in-Place Day 138

Day two of August. Walked the dog as usual, then met a friend at an East Bay Regional Park and walked around for a while, catching up. Then came back home and tore down most of a tool shed (of sorts) next to a larger shed (S's writing studio, at the moment). The demolition took a couple of hours, even with help from D., but now the space is less likely to be the hideout for rats that it has been for years. We also threw a lot of junk away. Yay, us!

In the evening, D. and I drove to the next town north to look at an area where a house is on the market. Just to look and keep the dream alive. I made ratatouille with garden veggies for dinner but didn't feel like eating it. I'm feeling beat, but I did manage to read my second book in The Sealey Challenge, and I did submit poems to another journal, and blog. So yay, me! 

That is all. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 137. Welcome to August

As is evident, I did not blog for a month. 

I worked in the branch and from home. I weeded, saw a few friends in a socially-distant way, wrote drafts of poems, critiqued other's poems, practiced yoga, walked the dog, cleaned the house. Rinse. Repeat.

But August 1st is a good day to start something new, and I've decided to try what's known as The Sealey Challenge, an idea first floated by the poet Nicole Sealey to read 31 books of poetry in 31 days. It's a more do-able challenge because they can be, and often are, chapbooks. 

More about the concept can be found in this Lithub article. I also plan to submit poetry again daily in August, blog daily in August, and (since I started, I'll probably continue) even tweet - heaven forfend! - the titles I read.

I am sure I have bitten off more than I can easily chew. But I shall endeavor to succeed in my goals, regardless. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 104

More than two weeks ago, my father-in-law died. I can't quite believe I haven't blogged since then, but there it is. 

It was a Saturday night, the 13th, the day which would have been my mother's 84th birthday. My father-in-law would have been 90 next month. This has colored the last couple of weeks, of course. Even though by all accounts he died peacefully, and because of dementia, we felt in some ways that we had lost him years ago, it is still very sad, and the end of an era, and we say goodbye to a remarkable man. 

Here's what I wrote in a social media post about him, just after a post about a poem I'd had published:

I need to share that Saturday night, my father-in-law passed away. The publication of a poem is swell, but really, all I can think about is the man who was like a (disciplined, French-speaking) father to me for 37 years. My heart is with his children, his family and friends, and the loving staff at the memory care facility where he'd been living. I will always be inspired by his daring escape as a teenager from communist Romania to pursue a dream of living in the United States. He worked and studied tirelessly for decades, and in some ways, he was one of the most serious people I've ever met. But he was also amazingly gregarious, and his Santa-like laughter at his own "dad" jokes will never leave my memory. Rest in peace, beau-père.

Grief can't be scheduled. It side-swipes you. It makes you tired, makes you forget to breathe normally. D's sister is making most of the arrangements (such as can be arranged right now), and the two of them have been talking about everything. Apart from driving D. to the memory care facility the night of his father's death, late at night, to meet his sister there, I have tried to stay out of the picture. My sister-in-law's hurtful accusations in a surprise email, years ago, claiming we were stealing their father's money - entirely untrue, and never apologized for - has kept me very cautious in terms of any contact with her. I can't trust her not to go suffer some other sudden delusions at some point. I'm wary. 

He'll be cremated once they process the death certificate, but they're behind by 3 weeks in the county. Then he'd wanted to have his ashes scattered off of the side of the WWII ship for which he'd volunteered, but that won't be happening any time soon. It's okay. I know from experience that cremains keep. It took my siblings and me five years to get together to scatter my own father's ashes, along with his mother's. 

These are pictures that capture the best of my F-I-L's spirit:

 

In pandemic news, Dr. Fauci spoke the other day during the first press conference of the Corona Virus White House Task Force team in moths: "...we are all in it together. And the only way we’re going to end it is by ending it together." The reported death toll from covid19 for the world just passed 504,000, and in the US, in many states, the numbers continue to rise. There are over 10 million reported cases worldwide. But in Arizona and Florida and Texas and parts of California, people gather to eat and drink and shop without masks or social distancing. It really is as though many people have just decided they're tired of staying home, of wearing masks, of considering how their actions combined with the common asymptomatic nature of the virus might affect those people around them who might be at risk.

The president continues to say stupid things and continues to fail to provide any real leadership. It's one debacle after another. I just hope things change for the better with the next election. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 85

Today makes the end of a second abbreviated work week: 3 x 8.5 hours in the library building, fielding inquiries and helping satisfy requests for curbside pickups. It's nice to feel as though I'm doing something helpful again, and although it's somehow tiring to wear a mask all day and wash one's hands that often, the most challenging aspect to this experience has been seeing among a colleague or two a much more lax attitude regarding PPE. Put your mask on! Keep it on! 

That is all.

I've felt twinges of guilt and a sense of unfinished business having abandoned this blog for nine days. But I am also aware that more than anything, I am writing these entries for a non-existent audience, and that means, fortunately, no one will be disappointed by my lack of contributions.

Shelter-in-Place orders are still, sort of, in effect. But there are some restrictions that have, at the moment, been loosened. Hair salons can open. Bookstores. Nurseries. Restaurants, I think, if seating is separate enough. 

But I do not intend to visit a hair salon or restaurant or bookstore, anyway. I am wary. There is still too little we now abut this virus.  And I just looked at the count for the first time in days: we've just topped 2,000,000 cases in the US, over 7,360,000 cases world-wide. 416,201 deaths. Dr. Anthony Fauci (hero for many) warns that this isn't over yet. 

In the streets, in cities in every state in this country, people are protesting the racism that is still with us - still! - and a culture of brutality, especially racists brutality, in law enforcement. There are calls to dismantle entire police departments. Will it be enough to make real, lasting changes happen? I think of Rodney King. Those protests didn't do enough, if we're here, still. Again and still. 

I am a white woman writing from within a place of privilege. I am not a racist. But am I sufficiently anti-racist? That's the more pertinent question. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 76

Is it a coincidence that I went back to work today and had my first glass of wine in weeks tonight? 

Maybe not.

And it's clear I probably shouldn't have gone there, because after drinking that one and only glass, when the neighbors who lived behind us started up with their daily foul-mouthed abuse of their kids and dogs, which includes the sounds of the dogs yelping as though they're being hurt, and whining, and curses ("Get your f*cking ass out there and pick up the f*cking dog sh*t!") - and tonight the added bonus of something being thrown - I found myself slamming the screen door into our own backyard, knocking sharply on the door to the shed where S. was hanging out, loudly asking her if she was okay (so the neighbors could hear the question), then throwing, on my own part, a plastic watering can across our yard before slamming the screen door again on my way back in. I'm a bit ashamed of my own temper tantrum, which alarmed both S. and D. - but I think the message got across/through the fence because I could then hear the very unconvincing sound of the man of the house saying, "bad dog, bad dog" in a reasonable tone and volume, no doubt for my benefit. I've already called CPS about the situation once in the past. And this is, I think, the third set of dogs they've gone through in the last four years. (I don't know what happened to the others.) It's kind of exhausting, and apparently something I just am not willing to tolerate gracefully when I've had an alcohol.

It might also have been a contributing factor that at that moment in a live video stream on my screen, the Sonoma County Library Commission was rather genially approving a 2020-2021 budget that would include excessive cuts to staffing while maintaining most of the services and outreach. Not sure who they'll have providing those services and outreach if we're that short-staffed. And I'm sure the Union will put up a fight. Again, exhausting. And all this after a day when curbside pickup was rolled out at five branches with a big marketing campaign (emails, newspapers, website) before we'd had a chance to do a small trial run. Over 225 requests before 3pm today for our branch alone, and 9 people to satisfy them while the phones rang off the hook. 

Tomorrow, as they say, will be better. And I have warned myself away from the pinot. It actually doesn't help anything. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 75

I'd neglected to mention the highlight of yesterday - D. and I watched NASA/SpaceX launch the Dragon capsule, on its way to intercept the International Space Station, with "Bob and Doug" onboard. Not this Bob & Doug:

This Bob and Doug:

It was a very emotional moment for both of us. D. and I both got very choked up. The launch went so well - just beautiful. 

But what really got to me? When they showed the men and women seated at their stations in ground control, wearing face masks. I just cannot describe how surreal and strange and moving that image was. Maybe you had to be there. I'll never forget it, though. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 74

Protests all over the country after the recent death of George Floyd in Minnesota, a black man who was pinned to the ground by a police officer with his knee on Floyd's neck. For nine minutes. The incident (I hate that these things still happening) reminded residents of the county of the death of a young hispanic boy, shot by police several years ago, and so there was a big gathering in downtown Santa Rosa - 100 to 200 people -  a couple of blocks from the library.  As darkness fell, things grew violent. There was vandalism and a pepper spray response from the police. Similar crowds elsewhere earlier in the week prompted the POTUS to tweet incendiary remarks, which started a feud between Twitter and the President. The country falls apart due to a pandemic and resulting economic collapse and he plays golf. Twitter tags his posts for fact check and inciting violence, and he signs and executive order trying to restrict social media. 

I have much to say, and yet I am at a loss for words. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 73 Back to Work

Today, ten of us had an in-house day of training as one of two teams that will be offering curb-side service for patrons at our location - one of five branches in phase one of this limited re-commencing of services for the community. I was happy to be back, especially among the stacks, and to see some of my colleagues. But it was interesting how tired I felt by the end of the day. I've grown soft!

Shelter-in-Place Day 72 (Back-to-Work Eve)

Tomorrow I go in for training, prior to the opening of curbside pickup for patrons on Monday. I just attended a 2 hour zoom union meeting; the reopening, even of this limited service for limited hours and with strict precautions and training, is a hot topic. 

Too soon, too rushed, not enough training, not safe, according to most people, many of whom are vocal and even defiant. I am a little blown away by the degree of fear and the harshness of the criticism. I too have become rather wary of some of the administration's decisions - but I think they're rolling this out with not a little forethought and care, especially because of feedback from union reps and branch managers. But it would seem that the library employees, on the whole, are fairly terrified of all of the many "what-ifs." Maybe because I live with two people who have been going to work since the SIP started, I believe that we can only live in isolation for so long. Maybe I'm wrong, and we've only been very lucky. But I also don't want to be controlled by fear. Tempered, sure. Not controlled. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 71

I seem to have whatever disease it is that plagues biographers and genealogists. Nor do I want to be cured. I only intend to manage the paper and ephemera-hoarding symptoms to save my children, at least a little, from this process of sorting in the future. 

I lost myself today in boxes of my grandmother and mother's paperwork, which I had still not properly consolidated/discarded since the former died in 1996 and the latter in 2006. The task is made a bit more daunting because my grandmother had kept paperwork from her husband (who died in 1970) and her father (who died in 1963). 

My great-grandfather was fairly wealthy, and he left an estate that my grandmother drew from until her death. There were hundreds of stock dividend receipts, tax returns going back to the 1930s, medical bills, receipts from pharmacy trips 50+ years ago, postcards from trips my grandmother took in the 1920s...the list is extensive.

 

A lot of it I can finally recycle. There's a bag of papers I will remove SSNs from then recycle, and some I will scan then recycle. Still other items, I'll keep. Because so much of it is fascinating. 

My grandfather's family owned the first livery-stable in Leesburg, Virginia. When he married my grandmother, an upper-class Connecticut Yankee, his gaggle of sisters was appalled. After my mother was born, the little family moved to Colorado and tried their hand at ranching. Knowing that background, how ill-suited they were for life in the West, somehow makes me especially touched by facts like their list of 1953 expenses including $20 for "milk for lambs."

Shelter-in-Place Day 70

It was a blisteringly hot day today, so I did what I could to stay inside after walking for over an hour home from D's work - having dropped off his car. By Thursday, I should have my vehicle back from N., who has been borrowing it for weeks, because I really haven't needed it. But it does appear that I'll be returning to work in the near(ish) future, at least three days a week, and although I am a supporter of public transportation in general, I'm less keen than usual under the current conditions to be on a bus for an hour to and then from work. 

On the pandemic front: Sweden's experiment with keeping things open to enable herd immunity seems to have failed. 

There is, apparently, a growing belief in conspiracy theories related to the virus, none of which I feel up to dignifying with a description at ten at night, but which are related to billionaires, power and control versus freedom. Why are the people most fired up about being "free" to not wear masks or get vaccinated also the loudest? (I guess I answered my own question.) I am not a fan of paranoia or trolls.

We are nearing 100,000 deaths in the US, a figure Dr. Anthony Fauci described early on as possible, although he'd hoped it wouldn't get to that point. Internationally, the figure is above 5.5 million. 

I hate to finish this post on that note, but all of the other sentences I just wrote, and then deleted, were trite or poorly-phrased. I did find a stack of stories I penned when I was 8 and 9, all of which have drama, conflict (sometimes even death) and "happily ever after" wrap-ups, so apparently I've been practicing "cheerful-if-contrived" endings for years. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 69: Memorial Day

A heat wave has just started. After watering the flowers and veggies, I stayed inside where it was cooler. Then, having succumbed yet again to the siren song of genealogy, I did not post this entry (or enter this post, if you will) until, technically, the 70th day of sheltering in place. However, with the magic of the forgiving "Published on" feature, I am able to pretend that didn't happen, and that instead I once again made some inane observations before going to bed for the night. 

Seriously, though, I could explore census pages and digital graveyards for hours and hours and hours without breaking for food or sleep. I am also working on a friend's family history, and I keep running into very interesting tidbits. But can I just say that as cool as it is to learn that two brothers married two sisters from another family, it can also be very confusing that they proceeded to name their sons after the child's uncle. John names his son Frederick and Frederick names his son John. Yo. Think of the future complexities for genealogists! :)

Shelter-in-Place Day 68

Some shots from yesterday's visit to the Mt. Tamalpais Cemetery in San Rafael:

              

I'm so grateful that my friend (who regularly visits and photographs cemeteries) suggested the socially-distant outing. I am coming to love cemeteries for their peaceful atmosphere and all of the human stories they contain. Every stone represents at least one life, and I think about those lives as I read the names and dates, the endearments and snippets of poetry and little quotes. There's the added bonus of bird watching; we saw or heard crows, finches, a grey heron, turkeys, deer and lizards during our stroll. I was also able to visit the grave of one of D's friends, who died in 2002. Jane, you are still missed. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 67

Lovely cemetery walk today with a friend, and am in the throes of genealogy now - minutes before midnight - so I am only posting those two little tidbits, plus news about returning to work. Tomorrow, I shall flesh out some of the details and post photos from the cemetery visit. As one does. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 66

As of tomorrow, Sonoma County will open up to allow another set of businesses, including curb-side pick up for libraries. However, the library does not yet have a plan - or if it does, it has not received agreement from the union for rolling it out.

Regardless, I can now see that if I am called back to work, even for part-time, I could in theory stop this "shelter-in-place" day count. Except that so much else will still be shut down, it feels like it would be inaccurate to say the crisis is over just because my particular job will be back in some capacity.

Unemployment in the county is now at 15.2%, which is apparently the highest it's been in 80 years. I'm so grateful to have work, and I'm looking forward to being back in whatever capacity is safely possible. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 65

Although some businesses have opened up in the county, most have not. The SIP continues. I heard during tonight's SEIU (union) zoom meeting that there have been nearly two dozen new confirmed covid19 cases in the county for the last three days in a row. The local paper indicates that there were 96 total new cases in the last week, while it took a month to reach that same count early in the outbreak. While the library discusses how to implement curb-side pick up of materials, it is doubtful that this can happen before June at the earliest. So my time at home continues, with the only breaks being grocery trips every 10 days or so. But Monday, S. goes back to work after a 3-week vacation; and since hasn't spent the time trying to get her permit, let alone her license, I'll be back to playing taxi.  

In contrast to two nights ago, when I was up until 1:30am doing genealogy, I'm hitting the sack before 11 tonight; tomorrow is one of the afore-mentioned shopping days, and I'll be borrowing the car. Which means taking D. to work early. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 64

The Covid virus dashboard at Johns Hopkins just reached five million confirmed cases worldwide. There are, undoubtedly, many more that have not been confirmed. I am writing this as a way of anchoring myself, however grimly, in the broader present moment. 

While I start my third knitting project since learning the skill, which is to say my third "maybe this time there's enough yarn to make an actual scarf" since the SIP order, and while I power-watch The Office episode after episode, millions of people are fighting, suffering, dying, and continuing to spread a virus that is still not easy to prevent or contain. 

I feel as though this pandemic has brought out both the most trivial and the most noble within us as a species. People are battling against time to find vaccines, better testing, better tracking of the virus at an international level. As individuals, we're learning that it's all right to live more slowly, to buy less, to connect with our own families, plant our gardens, notice the natural world around us. But on the other hand, some people are finding ways to profit from the ennui that many are experiencing. Or they're turning to conspiracy theories or are finding fault with what we did or didn't do. I suppose this is just how the world operates anyway, writ large because we're in a kind of crucible. And I know that I'm not saying anything profound that hasn't been said in a thousand other places. Nor do I need to be, I suppose. 

I am just recording a sliver of my own view from this place, in this moment. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 63

Today would have been my paternal grandmother's 106th birthday. This fact is strongly in my mind because I am deep in genealogy work, and because I just reconnected with her sister Hazel's grand-daughter, a woman who (as I mentioned previously) saved my life when we were both preschoolers.

The story goes like this: I had gone into the pool in her back yard - I might have been two years old - and she'd come inside to tell our mothers, who had been chatting. According to the family legend, she'd whispered, "Becky's in the pool," so very quietly, they'd asked her repeat the sentence a few times before they finally understood what she was saying.  My mother ran outside, saw me floating, and jumped in to the pool and pulled me out. One might think this would have left me afraid of water, but on the contrary, I like to be underwater, and I have a memory - whether imposed by the retelling of the story or otherwise - of being at peace that other world. My mother never once spoke of this dramatic episode without adding, "And I had a brand new pair of tennis shoes which I ruined by jumping into that pool to save you." Usually, the comment was accompanied by a rueful head shake.

Somehow, that story made me think of this photo. My mother and I had a great relationship, and she was a fantastic mother. But I think there were moments when she felt more than a little exasperation at my...shall we say, "lack of focus"?

Shelter-in-Place Day 62

Well, it was bound to happen. Because the library has offered access to genealogy databases outside of the library buildings, I knew I would follow the siren song of research eventually.

So tonight I've been digging through Ancestry to find out whatever-became-of a few second (3rd?) cousins. There's more to the story than this, but it may need to wait until after tomorrow, when I send old family photos to the person with whom I just reconnected. Cryptic, I know. But not because I mean to convey mystery, but rather because it is late and I'm hip-deep in looking up 1960s High School Yearbook photos, marriage and birth and divorce and death records, FB profiles, obituaries. 

This is honestly more dangerous than jigsaw puzzles for me. In a few hours, someone will have to remind me to sleep. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 61

At the library, when you weed books, it's a process of going through the collection to discard those items that are stained, torn, have broken spines or contain dated (and in some cases such as medical books ,not just dated but inaccurate and potentially life-threatening) content, or have not been borrowed by patrons for years. In our branch, most everything circulates at least once every couple of years. For new fiction, multiple copies of the same title will circulate multiple times a month. I miss weeding. Because I miss handling the collection and being surrounded by all those books, and all their potential, whether it is wasted or not.

At home, while sheltering in place, I have been weeding our collection of things. Not everything and not in a completely systematic way, but chunks at a time. Today I finished sorting doll clothes and Barbie™ clothes, and more people clothes, too. Maintained: a few items of Barbie™clothing from the early seventies, most of the American Girl doll items from S.'s "Sammy," and in its own special collection in navy bins, more of D's old t-shirts and baseball caps. The man has easily over a hundred old well-worn tees and hoodies, logo'd with the names of films and departments within the film industry and NASA and the San Francisco School of Mortuary Science and the like. Discarded: a yellowed t-shirt from the 1989 London production of the musical Metropolis and the green t-shirt I bought on my 16th birthday at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival that time my mother and I went when my grandmother couldn't (shingles), and it was a senior citizen trip and we had absolutely no money at all but my mother let me get that shirt. I tested it, and you could still see through it if it was folded in half, that's how worn out it was. Goodbye t-shirt. Hello again, still-abiding memory.  

                                                                                                                     

I'm reading the eBook edition of Educated by Tara Westover and am listening to the audiobook What is the Grass? by Mark Doty. Both very good reads thus far. especially because both of them keep poking at me at a deep level, over different topics and for different reasons. Westover's father reminds me only a little of my own - in particular, in the way in which he could not be trusted to parent. Doty's examination of Whitman makes me want to re-think my own opinion of the man. I had thought him egotistical, blowsy and a blow-hard. I did not think he had anything to say to me. But now I admit that his more mystical and cryptic lines appeal to me, and if nothing else, the certainty he seems to have that his poems will be read, and the way in which he leans toward an inclusive view, can teach me something. It doesn't change what seems to be a rather narrow view he presents of the role of women as anything other than procreating beings. But in so many other ways he was so ahead of his time, I can mostly forgive him for it. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 60

Started the day with a zoom meeting with local beekeepers, and this evening, joined in on a zoom 25th wedding anniversary vow renewal. Truly a sign of the times. In between, I did house and yard work; I will be paying for it tomorrow. But it's a good kind of ache. 

The local paper printed a story about the library reopening for curb-side service. We (by which I mean the administration) is working with the county health officials, but we're not there yet. 

I just looked at the national and international news to see what I might want to tag on to the end of this post to provide a sense of the pulse of the world; but it all seems too sad or grim to repeat. That may be because it's late, I'm tired, and I don't have the energy to spin it or write from a philosophical distance. Thank goodness (Lord willing and the creeks don't rise), tomorrow will offer a fresher perspective. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 59

Calling it a day early, without the zoning out in front of Netflix that has become all too common during this SIP. I spent more time reading today instead, and borrowed the car to run errands (empty mineral water bottles to the recycling center, a feed store stop, chiropractic appointment, etc.). I also did my daily exercise routine, called a friend, and checked the queenless hive. Spotted two emergent queen cells, so we shall see if they are successful. The two crows I feed came closer to me today than they have before. I don't really think I can get them to eat from my hand, but I'm glad they are more relaxed around me now.

Shelter-in-Place Day 58

An uneventful day that ended with a two-hour Union zoom meeting to discuss ongoing negotiations with the library administration over budget considerations and whether/how employee salary might be affected in the next four weeks and next fiscal year. I found it interesting but not surprising that the people with the most strongly (and repeatedly) voiced opinions were less likely to consider perspectives other than their own. And I guess that's all I want to say about that.

Equally sobering, but in a different way entirely, was the episode I then watched of Cyswllt (Mewn COVID), an almost-real-time drama in Welsh about the pandemic, starring very well-respected Welsh actors who have filmed most of the series from their own homes. I am so sucked in by compelling acting and good scripts, and easily influenced by what I watch. So now I feel on edge. It's just as well I gave up on Game of Thrones. 

4,443,793 confirmed covid19 cases worldwide; 302,462 deaths - 85,906 in the US and 27,641 of those in New York. 

Next week, D. goes back to work his usual schedule, and the week after that, S. goes back as well after her vacation, although she's feeling burned out with retail after a year of it, and is trying to think of ways she could make a living doing something she loves (art, writing). First step might be getting her driver's license....

Shelter-in-Place Day 57

Although I don't think I anticipated spending nearly two months sheltering-in-place, I admit that when we left the office that last day, I took with me the photo of my daughters and artwork they had given me, which I'd had posted around my desk. Just in case it's a long time before we return, I thought. 

And while I can now start to envision a day when I will return to work at the library, I know this will always be a time apart. Maybe the first time apart of several. Or many. That's the thing with the unexpected. Once it happens, you can perceive it happening again - you start to expect the unexpected. 

There is probably a comparison between this kind of thinking and PSTD or a the results of a history of childhood abuse. And if it were not so late at night, I might dive deeper into exploring this. But as it is, ten minutes ago, I didn't think I could manage to post anything at all in this blog. I was wondering why I was keeping track of anything in this way. 

But if posting daily has taught me anything, it's that I don't have to disappointment myself if I choose not to. More and more often these days, with the space and time and quiet possible in this situation, I am showing up for myself and doing what is healthiest for me. And the more I do so, the stronger those muscles get. Hallelujah, amen. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 56

I do not know that I have anything worth saying in a blog post today.  I am tempted to not write anything, but one might as well admit that an extended shelter-in-place during a pandemic includes days that have no huge significance, apart from gratitude that the family remains safe and well. So here's the dull (but safe and well) rundown, without even the details that I might have mustered had I more umph and gumption. As though the two things were distinct.

We had more rain, which was nice. 

After I put umbrellas up to cover the hives I looked again at the incoming bees at new one where I had seen them ball the queen on Sunday, and I saw foragers bringing in pollen. Which means brood is coming. I'll know more when it's hotter, but this is a good sign.

I cleaned. I worked out as part of a new yoga/tabata routine I'm doing. I read a few chapters of an Arthurian novel. I wrote a little draft of a poem, and called my computer-less, cell phone-less coworker to catch up.  N. came by to make rose petal jelly and we chatted. I planted potatoes. I did a sugar run to Safeway at 9pm with S. (Thereby negating the workout.) I watched some of season 7 of The Office. 

And finally, I managed to make a mundane blog entry, and I forgave myself for what I did and did not do, and I told myself I would make more of tomorrow than I did of today. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 55

Tonight in my local poetry workshop (via zoom, of course), a few poets shared prose poems or poems that reminded us all of journal entries. They were solid pieces - I don't mean to belittle them in any way by making the comparison. But it was interesting. 

It was also interesting how many common themes or images we, as a group, seem to be presenting. I've seen this happen before in other poetry groups, and it feels like a sort of collective consciousness at work. This week, there are dogs in the poems. That week, crows. Now the branches of trees. Now cars, now playing with time. With music. Who knows how synchronicity works? I find it fascinating, regardless.  

We had rain today, and yesterday, another death in the county, bringing the total to four and, I think, pushing out the return-to-normal (or whatever "normal" will be) timeline that much further. The Johns Hopkins site lists 4.1 million reported cases, over 80,000 deaths in the U.S. More worrisome, to me, are the cases of children showing symptoms of something like Kawasaki diseases related to covid19. That kind of thing - side effects, mutations - could really launch one into a panic. On the other hand, more and more people seem to be wanting to congregate. What? Why? asks the introvert who read post-apocalyptic fiction as a child...

On a completely different note, although related to Mother's Day, I recently started to go through a box of old toys and dolls from my childhood, D's childhood, and from the recently-departed childhood of our own kids. One of the things I found, in triplicate, was a stuffed dog with jingle bells in its ears that was my first stuffed animal, whom I called "ba-ba." Maybe it was a dog and I thought it was a lamb. But then again, the greyhound and whippet-type strays we owned when I was little were called "Rabbit" and "Bambi," so it might not be surprising if I was a little confused about which animals were which. This photo shows the horrifying progression of decay from what must have been the first iteration (unless this was something my mother or brothers owned) to the last (which was undoubtedly my sister's but not as well...loved...by her as it must have been by me). The note on the red edition was penned by my mother. 

 

I documented them with the camera and thanked them and let them go. Perhaps when my poetry group meets next, skin horses will appear in the stanzas. 

Shelter-in-Place Day 54 - Mother's Day

I was blessed to be able to spend most of the day with the kids, hanging out. We didn't do anything special; it was just a nice day. I did check one of the hives - only to find workers dispatching a queen, which tells me she wasn't a good layer, or there's another queen in the joint, or both. I'll have to check back in a few days when the weather's better to see what I can see.  And I started a new fitness regimen which left me surprisingly tired and sore for such a short workout.  

In honor of Mother's Day, here's to my two moms - the one who raised me, and who still visits my dreams at least once a week, fourteen years after her death:

Allison, 1936-2006

Diane, 1948-2015

...and the one who gave birth to me as a teenager, and whom I still miss after nearly five years without her.  I was doubly blessed. I can still hear their laughter without much effort. Such great women. It's just a weird coincidence that the pictures I found to best represent them here are shots in hats. 

I am grateful that they're not having to live through this pandemic, mostly because they both faced health challenges, and the fear of the virus would have been frightening and stressful. 

But then again, I can't help but wish they were here. 

Grief comes with its own brand of selfishness.