The Cupcake Lines and Masturbation of New York City

In May of 2021 I saw a mom that I had not seen in many years. The many years was two fold. One, our children had moved on to different sports and activities and we no longer traveled in the same mom lane, and two I hadn't seen any mom in over a year. Not seeing any moms in over a year was two fold as well. One, we are on our fourth child and she drives so my attendance at things is no longer needed and I am also somewhat lack luster in caring about attending, and two...there had been nothing to attend. 

But that May I found myself in my closet trying to remember what people, what I, wore to functions, with this particular function being prom pictures. I am not going to lie. It seemed daunting, putting together a well thought out outfit, putting on make-up (as I was newly vaccinated and I would be outside and taking off my mask) and putting myself into a group of people. And I was going in blind. The prom was for seniors. The boyfriend was the Senior. I honestly had no idea who would be there. I was accustomed to prom pictures run by type A personality girls where I knew the moms and what I was walking in to. 

It turns out the boy moms were lovely and I knew a few. It also turns out the boys are not  type A personalities and the pictures have to be organized by a mom or dad who finally steps in because we have been standing around for awhile waiting for someone to take charge and we are ready to go home. The boys actually had no idea what pictures they wanted or what would look nice on their social media. All this made even more difficult by the fact that we were coming out of a pandemic and boys and girls hadn't been socializing together for over a year. But I digress...

At pictures was a mom I hadn't seen in many years. She asked if I had moved to New York. I was surprised by the question and just answered, "No." Later I thought about why she had asked and I took a fresh look at my social media, the only way she would really know anything about me. I was in New York a lot during the pandemic. We have two sort of adult college kids there. The pandemic was tough on two sort of adult college students living in the thick of the pandemic. And, to be honest, it was cheap to be in New York for long periods of time. So we would all test and mask up and I would spend time with them. So, in retrospect I am seeing that my many husbandless pictures in New York, could look more like, "Look at me. I'm on a new, possibly single woman, adventure in life." I wasn't. I was buying things for apartments, treating to dinners and trying to keep everyone moving in the right direction after months of solitude and some low points walking past refrigerator trucks placed on the street for bodies. 

I was also experiencing New York in ways I never would have imagined. 

I was there in March 2020 , moving one college girl home and preparing to leave another one in the eye of the storm, and watched the city shut down over three days. On a Sunday night my girls and I walked to dinner with all restaurants still open, but spaced and people were nervous, on Monday I had a drink in the hotel bar while the bartender and I watched the news in silence, on Tuesday the girls and I ordered take out from one of the few open restaurants (no one was on the streets) and on Wednesday I tipped the bellhop huge as he helped me take up the contents of a dorm room to our room. He said, "Thank you. I usually make enough money on this day to support my family for the next few months." It was St. Patrick's Day. I was the only person in the hotel and the only person tipping him. That night I looked out my window surrounded by three 30 story hotels...I was the only room with a person.   

I would move her back in August 2020. The city was still shut down. I would find my self on the subway alone. I would walk through times square and it would be me and maybe two other people. Cab rides were quick and effortless, because there was no traffic. Food was take out or outside. New Yorkers were masked. Even outside and distanced from others, they were masked, They had been through it and they were not messing around. The true grit of the city and it's people was on display. I won't lie, there were moments to be enjoyed. I rode the Staten Island ferry alone. In years past it was a crowded shoving of hundreds of tourists and locals with limited seating. That August I rode it alone. I sat on an Adirondack chair at 30 Rockefeller Center drinking a beer purchased from a loan drink and food cart overlooking the empty shops and ice skating rink, I was alone. I visited Grand Central Station and walked by all the empty food stands as I looked for a bathroom. All closed. No desserts to be bought. Magnolia bakery was not up and running.

We spent Thanksgiving there that year. Everyone testing and retesting before flight, after flight. Everyone with their own room and bathroom, no shared spaces. Masked when we were indoors together. All family activities outside and Thanksgiving dinner was take out on the outside balcony of our hotel. 

I would return in January 2021, during a blizzard, with Covid numbers on the rise again. But, the girls had returned to the normalcy of work. Their swim lesson jobs had resumed so I found myself with time on my hands.  I bundled up and walked through Bryant Park. This time sitting to have a coffee and a few others would be there too. Small groups of people returning to life in the  city. I would walk to Macys and Nordstrom and have most of the store to myself. The Staten Island Ferry, despite the bitter cold, was not just me. I was there with others. New Yorkers were at restaurants, outside in the snow, casually eating as if it were not 10 degrees and snowing. A resilience I loved.

In May of 2021 I am back again. This time armed with a tennis racket for my down time. The city is different again. It is coming alive. And I realize I have come to be a part of it's life. There is no longer the rush to "see" New York in all it's tourist glory. That has been done. Now there is time to "live" New York in all it's regular glory. I head out one morning with my tennis racket to hit up a local tennis wall and get some practice in. It takes awhile. Finding tennis balls at Target doesn't happen, they are out. Finding a tennis wall takes awhile, they are crowded or there isn't one where I thought there was. I am a little discouraged and reminded that I am not the New Yorker I had fancied myself to be. But, finally after great perseverance I find a darling wall with flowers framing it in a darling park with children playing and even some discarded tennis balls on the ground for use. Shortly in to my play, an older man in a wheelchair scoots his way on to the perimeter of my court. While I hit balls he scoots his way around the entire perimeter. with the continued sounds of children playing I hit balls, careful with his each move not to hit him or disrupt his journey. 

Finally he settles himself in a shaded corner. I am high on life with the experience of playing tennis in the city I love and feeling a soft spot in my heart for this man who has worked so hard to make it to the park and enjoy the day quietly. As I hit balls I do notice he appears agitated in his process of settling in. Then I notice that his agitation seems to be becoming more pronounced. What if this man were to have a medical emergency? I tell myself I won't worry there are dads just steps away, I can yell out for help. I will monitor the situation and act when needed. It is wile monitoring the situation that I notice his agitation in "settling in" has a certain rhythm and  intensity to it and sounds have been added. It is also then that I realize I may actually be a bit of New Yorker in my decision not to be bothered by the "settling in." I do not stop hitting balls. It took forever to get here and get set up. I'm not leaving. We will share the space we both found with our own perseverance and determined need. I do stop monitoring and just focus on my tennis. 

Soon he is still and  and settled and remains so for the duration of my time there. When leaving  a dad enters with his kids on their bikes to ride on the concrete. He gives a head nod to the man in the corner. I realized there were still New York lessons to learn...my timing had been off. The dad knew what time to show up. 

The walk back to my hotel took me past Magnolia Bakery. I have it in my head to stop and get dessert for later that night. In my first trips to the city before pandemic, the Magnolia bakery drove me nuts. I am not great with lines and waiting. Magnolia Bakery is all lines and waiting. But the pandemic had provided us with lots of great cupcakes grabbed quickly and efficiently while out and about. As I near the bakery, I see it. The line. There is a long line winding around the building to get in to Magnolia Bakery. I smile. I am happy for the city I love. I walk past, sad for the loss of my convenient baked goods.

As I leave New York that trip I take a taxi to the airport. New York taxi drivers are their own breed. It's everything you see in the movies and more. I once witnessed a total taxi driver melt down over Trump after he first became president. No big political statement on the part of driver, just mad as hell about the traffic he brought with him. A combination of elated victors and angry protestors stalled the roads in the city for weeks. For two years it has been quiet and trafficless. Getting around town has been pandemic effortless. Taxi drivers are quiet. On this day in May 2021 there is a slight backup on one street as we leave my hotel. We are delayed for maybe five minutes (in a past life you can sit for 15 or 20 minutes at a time). It is the first delay of it's kind. At 30 seconds in the driver starts yelling and honking his horn and muttering under his breath about what idiots the other drivers are. And there you are, New York on it's way back.

It is May 2022. We are here for graduation. I took a red eye and fell asleep in the taxi on the way in. It was a two hour taxi ride. The subway is packed, standing room only often. I don't have Macy's or Nordstrom to my self anymore. We went to Broadway. 

I think of all times I listened to the doom and gloom from people about how New York would never rebound. It bounded. New York is thriving once again. It is a city I love. It holds my heart. When the mom asked if I had moved to New York, I should have answered, "Yes! Well, in my crazy mind I have for sure." But, I wasn't quick enough to be funny. It was my first social outing out after over a year. It had taken all my energy to put the outfit together. 

Welcome Back New York. I never doubted you for a minute!

 

The Sober Reality of Marriage and 9/11 Twenty Years Later

My brother is sober. He has been sober for 7 years now. If you know anything about sobriety, he's beaten some pretty good odds to get here. My brother is also my best friend and favorite person on earth. No one can make me laugh more than my brother. He was this great gift given to me three days after my tenth birthday. An only child of a less than happy marriage, I treasured him. Everything about him was perfection to me. 

When he got sober there was quick family chatter about "what would we say?" Antiquated, stupid chatter that one falls back on when trying to decide how to handle situations socially when you forget briefly that you don't really care what other people think about you. I remember thinking I would speak proudly about it. And I do, speak proudly, whenever the subject comes up. He has done this remarkable thing with such dignity and grace and given us, his family, this amazing gift of him being present and with us every day. I also remember my brother saying, "Well, I'm pretty sure everyone was talking about my drinking, I'm not sure why we wouldn't want to talk about me NOT drinking."

Before the dignity and grace of sobriety, there was a rehab. Rehab is his story and he should write it someday, because it is poignant and hard and funny. But the story he told right when he got home stays with me and comes to mind often. I won't attempt to do it justice, but basically it is a pee yourself laughing story of his "exit" plan from rehab on the second night when he realized this was going to take some deep digging and serious attention to getting sober. The story involves a plan for him to walk for miles, penny-less, in the heat of the dessert with a Harrah's card and a money wire as his savior once he arrived at civilization. He stayed at rehab until the light of morning and realized there were some holes in his exit plan. Then he stayed another 30 days. And now he's  7 years sober. We still say often, "you have to have an exit plan" when things get frustrating in my life.

I think of it often because I mostly like to deal with things in the black and white of it all. There is very little gray in my world. Although a 27 year marriage, four children (all girls), 9/11, and 2 bouts of breast cancer and a pandemic have added a little gray. I both curse and applaud God for really sticking with me in  instilling the lesson of blurred lines and gray areas. When you are someone who likes to live the in the black and white clearness of life, you find yourself coming up with exit plans often. 

Marriage, long marriage, a 27 year marriage, a marriage your are going to go the distance with...has a tremendous amount of gray area. So, in my marriage, my very real marriage, I am occasionally coming up with an exit plan. Not being listened to...exit plan. Didn't do your agreed upon chores...exit plan. Watching Family Guy episode for the 80th time...exit plan. Forgot the lunch you asked for and I made and reminded you about...exit plan. But also in my marriage, my very real marriage, much like rehab you stay until the light of morning, realize there are holes in the plan and then you stay 30 more days and then you are 27 years married.  

September 11th it will be twenty years. In the 20 years since that first year, each year has it's own nuance. The beginning years were always both sentimental and a little draining. There were milestone years like 5 and 10 where the remembrance seemed large and theatrical. There were quiet years appreciated and spent with just our immediate family, and there were  years where it went fairly unrecognized by the world as a whole, and us, as normal every day life took precedence over the memory of a historic day.

I wrote one year out from September 11th about my perspective of the day. I wrote ten years out from September 11th about my perspective of my life since. Today I look back on 20 years. 

Twenty years shares the same difficulty that the day after, one year later, and ten years later had...we are still blessed and grateful for a day that was sad and traumatic for so many who shared my husband's circumstances. 

In 20 years...we have sent three girls to college and are getting a fourth ready to so, we added two dogs, we down sized to a latch key condo, Corey started a successful business he loves, I quit a career, we took everyone to Europe, we got an amazing son in law. we enjoyed New York on many trips, we dealt with some health issues, and the list goes on. And at every step along the way...there were exit plans once in a while. Some loud and thundering and some just quietly stupid.

As I finish this article, on a night  we gave an interview to the paper, I can hear my husband taking out the garbage to our curb. I said in year one that 9/11 changed my perspective of marriage and life and quite honestly...how and when the garbage is taken out . And it did. I still get frustrated about the garbage and the little irritants of life. I still make an exit plan when things aren't going my way. But I stay until the light of day, see the holes in the exit plan, and I stay. Without 9/11 I don't think I would have had the perspective to stay. I thank God I was given the perspective to stay.

On Saturday, I will enjoy the sober reality of my marriage and 9/11, 20 years later, in Tahoe, because you know...the house didn't burn down (that God he really never let's me forget that there is no black and white). 

I am blessed. Corey and I are blessed. My family is blessed. The sober reality is...we are blessed.

This quote was Corey's at ten years. It's still good...

A quote from Corey, my husband: “Never forget September 11th. Never forget those months that followed. Months filled with nationalism, patriotism, volunteerism, bipartisanship, God’s love, giving and unity that galvanized us as one nation. Those qualities are still in each and every one of us today.”

The Art of Being Uninformed and Opinionless

If you have read the title and want to tell me there is no such word as opinionless, I already know. Or at least spell check has been rather forceful in pointing it out to me. But, I have tried other "grammar correct" versions and none of them resonate with me in the the same satisfying way opinionless does. So, I'm leaving it. My spell check doesn't like Fuckery either and we all know that's a word, so there is precedent. 

I learned a lot about myself this year. Some days too much, and many days too little I'm sure. But I did learn who I was. In all the good and bad ways, I learned who I was. And more importantly I learned who I was not. 

I learned that I have a great capacity for empathy, but struggle often with sympathy. I learned that the difference between those two is both a fine line and a great divide. I learned that most people don't understand the difference. They should, we should, it would make a profound difference in our country. I am working on the sympathy. I know I need to fix this.

We are headed toward the normal everyone has so desperately  craved for 13 months, or we aren't depending on who you are, what you believe and what normal even meant to begin with. None of the normal or moving on means much if you don't take the lessons from this last year and do something with them. Not an original idea, it's stolen from the recently disgraced Andrew Cuomo (And yes. I am aware we are like one news cycle out from finding out he kills baby kittens in his basement and steals from the elderly at church. Lesson learned. I am nothing if not self reflective. I do enjoy that he has surpassed the sadness and shame I was holding on to over supporting John Edward's and his eventual total lack of moral character, but this is an article for another day). 

The lesson that I am going to take and move forward is this...there is an art to being uniformed and less opinionated. And I realized that I am at an age where I can thrive in this art.

I have recently taken up tennis. I am older than the women in my group lesson. They are women who are finding that their children are a little less demanding then they used to be and they, in turn, are finding a little time for themselves. But the children are all still school age. After a recent lesson the talk turned to pandemic school fuckery and they all had strong opinions and everyone was worked up in her own way, as they should be it has been a long year. I had opinions too, but stayed quiet. Eventually someone asked me something. I paused, I was quiet and slow to answer (that poor Joe Biden gets a bad rap for this, but a little pause and thought can go a long way ) and then I said something fairly vague and short. 

And in that moment I realized that I didn't need to have an opinion here. Even as a former school teacher and mother of four, I did not need to have an opinion here. On the car ride home I realized it was the beauty of where I was in life. It was the beauty of what I had learned about who I was and who I was not over this last year. I did not need to have an opinion. Well, I needed to have an opinion, maybe more correctly put I did not need to SHARE my opinion. I could be opinionless in this situation.

This was a huge revelation of freedom for me. Really not one woman in that moment needed to hear my opinion on this. Not one. And my opinion, while incredibly amazing and informed and relevant, was not necessary for any of these women to go forth with their day and lives.  

And that is my quest for the next year, this post pandemic year. I am going to move toward and settle into the art of being uninformed and opinionless  (spoken out loud opinions) in more group settings. I'm going to  take the long slow breath and be brief and vague when answering. My opinions can come when I write and people can choose to read them, or not. Or with good friends and family once in awhile, but they aren't needed in every social situation or group setting.  

As we come to the other side of what I once called the quiet chaos of pandemic life, I am left with this feeling of gratitude. I made decisions early for myself and my family about how I would handle things, what I would do, what was important for us and hoped I (we) came out the other side as the person I wanted to be and the family I wanted to raise. I dug deep. It's a work in progress, but I feel gratitude for where we are.

My high schooler goes back to school in a week. I have no opinion on this. I hope its a great end to Junior year for her. College girls will go back in the fall. I am grateful to see them return to in person class in a safe environment. In July we will go to see our oldest get her White Coat for PA school rotations. 

We are vaccinated. Mostly vaccinated. I have one who just qualified and one who has to wait awhile after a positive Covid test. Some people will get vaccinated, some will not. I guess it depends on what your opinion is and how you want to handle it. 

We were masked this year. I am suffering the effects of some very bad "maskme (mask acne)" after a long travel day of double masking as we speak. This year I wasn't sick at all and as a lifetime severe allergy sufferer, I had no allergy attacks. It was wonderful and I didn't realize how bad those attacks are until I went without them for a year. So, honestly, I will be masked in certain situations from here forth. People can do with that what they want. 

I gave up Facebook for lent. I was an over poster. I was bored during the pandemic and on way too much. I was bothered by people and their opinions and lack of empathy and sympathy. I would flip flop between  trying to engage people in thoughtful discussions and then giving my opinion where it wasn't needed. I was reading peoples strong opinions on things and getting irritated. I was an extreme Facebook moron really.

I'm not sure what my relationship with Facebook is moving forward. But, I learned that my frustration with it was all on me and how I behaved. So, I'm hoping to take my new journey with the Art of Being Uninformed and Opionless and apply it to Facebook in whatever I way I chose to return. 

Tomorrow is Easter Sunday. We will be outdoors at our church and then it will just be what I call The Lodi 3. Always strange for me to think about such a small celebration. Tonight Corey and I will watch Moses on TV for the 27th year in a row. I will not be sharing this article with him immediately as I am not very far in my journey of uninformed and opinionless in my marriage. But I'm going to try harder. 

I wish you all an after pandemic year of less information and fewer opinions! 

 

Finding My Pandemic Pluck

I started the below in October and stopped...

I'm working on our holidays. Thanksgiving and Christmas loom. I remember planning Easter. Well, I remember planning Easter twice. The first plan was made in my head in June. Brunch at the country club after church. Just Corey, Mary and me. First Easter with not very many home. I had checked all  school schedules and the New York ones didn't match up. I knew it would be the three of us and while I was  a tiny melancholy at the thought of our family dynamic changed, I was also prepared for it mentally and was kind of excited. A beautiful brunch, no cooking or planning by me. I had purchased one bunny type basket bag for Mary the year before on sale and had planned to send cards with gift cards to the rest. 

Then Covid. There was no fancy country club brunch, country club was closed. Suddenly I was planning a meal. I had to scramble for Easter baskets for those home and for what to put in them, we were on lock down. Easter was the pre game to the whole family being home in April and May. 

I was plucky back then. Full of resolve to make it all happen. Full of tenacity to make sure we all remember the holiday as special even though it would be different. 

Now, it is October. And the dial hasn't moved. In fact, it is going backwards. And here I am again, trying to figure out the pandemic holidays with my bi-coastal family. 

Now it is January and the holidays have passed. It all worked out. We defied all the odds and traveled to New York, Covid free, for Thanksgiving. The six of us for one last "original 6" holiday (my son in law was in Brazil with his mother). Masked, outdoor eating and activities, all in separate living spaces, testing...but we did it and it was wonderful.

Christmas came and was happy. We were 5 enjoying amazing local take out food and sister gifts over facetime. Our oldest had her first big girl Christmas across the country with her husband and dog. I was prepared. It was her time. 

And now, it is almost time to plan for Easter again. I am planning on a maybe, possibly masked and outdoor church service. I am thinking a maybe, possibly masked and outdoor family meal with my brother's family. Please note the absolute lack of certainty in all planning and my refusal to commit to anything. I am mentally prepared to scrap it all and eat take out at home.

I like my use of the word "plucky" from my writing in October. Because I was, plucky, oh so very plucky and determined. I won't say that the pluck has been completely wiped out of me, but it has been diminished. In all honesty I am in need of some pluck as we head into the second year of Covid and the political/social crazy that surrounds it. 

Looking for the pluck deep within has been challenging. It is just a long series of starts and stops. It has been a constant pendulum swing of  "I got this, we are all doing amazing!" and then all the way back to "fetal position in the closet hiding from everyone." The truth lies somewhere in the middle I'm sure.

I was careful with myself not to jump on the bandwagon that was...I can't wait for 2020 to be over or I can't wait for 2021 or please let this year end or...you get the picture. My realist head and heart had already told me 2021 wasn't going to bring much change from what was problematic in 2020. That the normal of 2019 wasn't returning to us. I am trying, desperately, to learn what I need to from this past year (and what could possibly be another year) of pandemic lessons.

This is what I know. I'm still married, and most days even happily so. My children have all done better than anyone should have ever expected of them. Picking up groceries behind Raleys instead of shopping in a store is lovely. I like wearing a mask for vanity and makeup reasons, I leave my house with very little attention to my face. I finally have long hair, maybe not in the manner I had always pictured it, but I have it. I miss pedicures and facials, I know they are not important, but I miss them. Not sure I will ever cook much again, eating in restaurants isn't that important to me, but I am a supporter of local restaurants and take out is our norm now. Getting my eyebrows waxed is a necessity not so much a luxury. Getting botox is a luxury not so much a necessity. Everyone has their own fine line on what mandates necessity vs. luxury. My family is the most important thing in the world, none of the rest matters...at all.

Pluck: /noun/ spirited and determined courage

I decided to look it up. Pluck is even better now that I have read the actual  Webster's Dictionary definition of it, not just whatever one was floating in my mind. 

I am looking forward to having a very Plucky 2021. 

 

 

SJP and the Pedicure-less Me

I met Sarah Jessica Parker today. And by "met" I mean I wandered into her store and she was there and she welcomed me. And by "wandered" I mean I saw on Instagram that she would be there and walked 20 blocks to check out the situation. Anyway, despite the details, I feel certain we are now best friends. 

Upon meeting her I had decided I was going to prolong the meeting by buying a pair of shoes. Shoes that were going to cost more than my two week stay hotel bill (it's cheap to stay in New York these days), but there was paparazzi outside, I didn't want to let anyone down and I was committed. 

I stalked the store for a pair of affordable (take the word affordable with a grain of salt as it pertains to the story) flats, held them admiringly, thought of my trips to...well I go no where during covid in my small town, but my trips to say Big Lots, where I am possibly already the most fashionably dressed, were looking even better with the addition of the expensive SJP flats bought from her as she was actually waiting on customers. But she was also actually having the customers TRY the shoes on. And this is where things come to a screeching halt.  

I was surrounded by wealthy, possibly famous (no way to say for sure as we are all masked and the paparazzi was shooting everyone going  in and out just in case) New Yorkers who were trying on the shoes. I felt certain these women had access to a little thing called a pedicure. As someone who lives in the central valley of California where the swinging door of "are they open are they closed?" rocks back and forth in a head spinning frenzy, pedicures can be hard to come by. And recently the door swinging has stood in the way of my pedicures. Long gone was the pedicure cherished in a brief opening in early October.

I had only recently scraped off the last remains of the fall like embers hanging on to the middle of my toenails for dear life. The toes were a mess, awful. So while clutching (caressing) the life changing flats while SJP smiled at me, I returned them to their spot and pretended to browse more as if those shoes, were not the shoes for me, but maybe the $2,000 sparkling gold healed boots were, and to be clear they also would have looked stunning at Big Lots. 

But, I couldn't do it. I couldn't try on the shoes with my pedicureless covid toes in front of Sarah Jessica Parker. I just couldn't do it. We had a final laugh together as I left and she knocked over all her display shoes and broke a shoe stand in the front window while the paparazzi clicked away and then I slunk out onto the street where, by now, the paparazzi was onto me and didn't feel, even masked, that I could be somebody worth his time.

I am in New York. Spending time with the college girls. Grateful. Trying to reinvent...well, everything. Yes, trying to just reinvent all of it. Family with adult children, family with college children during a pandemic, family with a married daughter, family with high schooler at home for a year, family with a husband working from home more often than not, family with all the changes. So, yes, just trying to reinvent it all.

Family with a mom who doesn't have a career anymore. The career is just being a mom. It would have been a weird adjustment for me without a pandemic, but the pandemic really highlighted it all. The dream career would be writing, but the pandemic has somewhat clouded that and left me unmotivated.

Anyway, today I am writing. I have been starting and stopping writing things for months. But today I am writing. Today I promised myself I would just write and finish something. And this is it. Written and about to be finished.

I met Sarah Jessica Parker today, we are best friends. I can't wait until she finds out we are!

In the Quiet Time of Covid Chaos

School starts tomorrow. Pushed back a week amidst the Corona virus rumblings between district and teachers. Well, district rumblings, teachers are just trying to survive.  

This  week my facebook memories are flooded with past first day of school pictures. I love first day of school pictures. I always have. The idea of a fresh new year, bright and hopeful ahead of everyone has always made me feel content.

High school Junior will be home for school. Until October the district says. I think that's optimistic. We walked out the door in March, I think we will walk back in the door in March. I am hoping for January, we shall see. 

After I get distance learning up and running here I will head to New York with college Sophomore, where we will quarantine for 14 days before moving her into an apartment. No dorms. The school pulled the plug on them two weeks ago. We pivoted into an apartment. She will join our college Senior (give or take a few units) who just moved herself across town and pivoted to adulthood with no help from us. Well, no physical help, there was some financial help. 

The irony of New York requiring me to quarantine for 14 days, to keep their declining numbers and low positivity rate is not lost on me. I was last there in March and watched them shut the city down. They had little hope. They stayed the course. I remember being grateful to fly out. Six months later I am grateful to fly in. They have plenty of hope now. 

Our oldest finished her summer session for PA school in Florida. All virtually. She has a two week break after non stop studying. I often cannot believe my girls are mine. They have qualities and a strength of character I cannot always find in myself. Watching her tackle school these last three months has been humbling. If you need a doctor in two years, find the one she is a PA for, because she is unreal in her commitment and dedication to this profession.

I have black hair, on any given day my marriage is hanging by a thread, also my marriage is stronger in ways I am beyond grateful for, I miss pedicures, I like ordering my groceries online and just picking them up behind the store, binging all kinds of TV has lost its luster, I haven't made a single decision in 5 months that I haven't second, third and fourth guessed only to have to change it by force anyway...there is a flip flopping between despair and silver linings that happens here at break necking speed. 

I share all this because I know I am not alone. I know that many will read this and nod your heads vigorously and say to yourselves, "yes, yes, me too, me too." 

In this quiet time of Covid Chaos I am trying to sit still and speak to myself. I am trying to  dig deep and find the deeper meaning. I am working hard to let go of things that weren't meant to be and reach for the things that were. It turns out when I sit still, the things I let go of weren't that important and the things I have manged to grab and move to the forefront were really the ones that mattered.

We had some peripheral life and death in our world this week. Several deaths in the lives of friends. One death that had been nearing and one that was sudden. One I had to guide myself through as an adult, and one I had to guide a daughter through. Both seemed surreal and hard and unfair. We also had life. My niece had a baby. There were some complications. All is fine now and mother and daughter are home and well. 

The pictures of mom and baby, with mom masked. The deaths being handled with masks and no opportunity to mourn with others. All happening while my face was breaking out from my minimal mask wearing and I was complaining and thinking,"If only I could have a facial again." Perspective is always handed to me in the most dramatic fashions. I would really like God to know that I am open to a dose of perspective with just a soft whisper, it does not always need to be loud.

My pastor told me today, and by me I mean he said this to everyone in his online sermon, that we can move past the things that bother us, or hurt us, or the things we said that bothered someone or hurt them. I am paraphrasing and he may read this and say, "No, no that wasn't the whole message." But, this is what I heard and this was the message I chose to pivot on and make myself feel better as I head into the fall and school year of 2020.

Tomorrow I will post our first day of school pictures. I hope everyone else does too. It is still a new year, bright and hopeful no matter what perspective had to be handed to you, or what the pivot was to get us here. 

Pivoting like a Mother F@#$*ing Whirling Dervish

My hair is brown. I paid big bucks for blonde hair  before all this went down. I loved it. But the writing is on the wall, my hair stylist isn't coming back to me any time soon, so for the price of $14.99 I now have Corona hair. It is what it is. I don't hate it.

Early on my best friend posted an article about the need to "Pivot" during this time. The need to embrace a new normal and accept what you could. I liked that a lot. I like all the P words...perseverance, perspective, pride, popcorn...you name it I like a P word. So Pivot seemed amazing to add to the list. Only now I am pivoting like a mother fucking whirling dervish right into the ground.

We currently have 8 adults and teens and three dogs living here. We won't get into the fact that I downsized two years ago and sent most of these adults and teens on their way, that was pivoted through a few weeks ago. Six of the eight of us are in some kind of school. I had to make a ZOOM chart for the house and post quiet hours. Trust me when I tell you I was mocking others for this kind of behavior and thought I was past this stage in life and over chart making shenanigans. It turns out I was not.

I'm also long term subbing for first grade. At the beginning of March I walked out the classroom door for a two week spring break like a bad ass who was going to collect easy vacation money for the last quarter of school with all lesson plans done for the year. By March 20th I was trying to get 6 and 7 year olds onto google classroom and do all work digitally from a corner in my bedroom. I'm not sure what people understand a ZOOM lesson with 6 year olds to look like, but whatever you are picturing...add more chaos and disinterest and you still won't be close. Today Steven (the names have been changed to protect the innocent) cried because I didn't "call on him" to share about Mother's Day. Well Steven, you do participate in Zoom in your bed under your covers, but, yes I will try to be better next time with spotting your raised hand under your bedspread.

The politics of it all is ridiculous and could fill a hundred blogs. The common sense that runs deep in my veins screams loud at the hypocrisy of it all. It all being people. But I have learned to pivot past that. Just quietly tending to me and my people. Focused on my own house. It's a lesson many could pivot on.

Some days I find my silver linings and I'm thriving with our big family dinners and watching the kids laugh and spend time together, other days I'm stepping over shoes not put away and wiping down the kitchen counter while muttering bad words under my breath. Some days I thrive on the silver lining of everyone is healthy and employed and functioning, other days I can't get into my first grade Zoom with ease and I am almost crying when I finally start the class. Some days I am in love with wearing joggers and black V neck T-shirts by day and jammies by night (and by "night" I mean 4pm) other days I am buying beauty products from Tori Spelling off of instagram and searching for when my botox lady might be deemed essential. Some days I have real errands to leave the house for like an online  grocery pick up or meat market purchase, other days I leave and the errands are pretend. I have no where to go but McDonald's for a large diet coke and then a quick sit in the homeless park parking lot while I catch up on the podcasts I used to listen to in the car when driving to dance and school for drop off and pick ups. 

Anyway here we are all. My story is your story, we are all pivoting, we are all trying to make it through to the other side...only really no one can see the other side.  Two months ago 38 people were dead from this thing, Today 82,000 and climbing. Projections of 147,00 by August. Irregardless we have opened the country, I mean we really have, we are, without following the guidelines originally laid out for us from CDC and then repeated by our President.. Good, bad or indifferent we are opening. Honestly? I am without an opinion on this. I see all the sides. Again, I can only do my own house, because my own house is a lot all on it's own.

So, pivot how you need to. I know some days it is graceful and other days? Like a mother Fucking whirling dervish into the ground...with your brown Corona hair flying around you.