19 April 2020: Daily

Yesterday marked the start of our 6th week at home. It feels both longer and shorter than that, as if time has changed meaning in some way, has morphed from a way to order and navigate a day towards something infinitely more nebulous. I am sorry I didn’t write yesterday, but humor seemed MIA, and in light of all the terribleness, a day of somber stun seemed in order.

Yesterday in my state, hungry citizens waited for hours in lines outside MegaMarts, hoping to secure a bag of food or $30 food voucher for their families. I spent $22 to get four bags of fresh bread delivered to my doorstep, trying to support a struggling local bakery and broaden the offerings for my perennially hungry children. When I saw the videos of the food lines, I felt like such an asshole: to live in this country of such wealth and abundance, to live in a well-resourced county of a variably well-resourced state and not think of $22 as anything but helping someone nearby and feeding my children. Which is good and all, but shit. What so many would give for four fresh loaves of bread.

thank you, sharon

Yesterday, today, in many states, tons of people gathered in sardine fashion to angrily, vehemently oppose shelter-at-home orders and to sun themselves on beaches. Alex Jones attended one protest, he the deplorable liar successfully sued by Newtown shooting victim parents for spreading conspiratorial lies about the murder of their children and invalidating and profiting off their pain at every turn. Our “president” lies constantly about everything and urges states to “LIBERATE” themselves from stay-at-home orders all while refusing to provide enough tests for our country. His bimbo press secretary, naturally a blond culled from Fox, spouts his lies and pathetic “accomplishments” as victories. “We have tested 4 million Americans!”

Well, that’s about 1% which is a pitiful drop in the bucket and matters extremely little. Iceland has tested 12%.

Today welcomed more protests for “liberation,” more lies, more death, more frontline medical overwhelm. I became so rattled while reading the newspaper that I got dressed and went to work in the yard before accompanying Oliver to his first weeding job to provide guidance, intentionally leaving my phone at home. I stayed outside, working hard, without phone, for hours. We all did. I took my new chainsaw for a whirl, weeded, and tended, Jack mowed three lawns, Ol did four hours of weeding work at two different homes, and Tom mowed and parceled felled limbs.

Today is also the first anniversary of the day my friend’s son was killed in the Sri Lanka Easter bombing. We gathered via Zoom to sit with her, and despite the horror and loss, it was lovely to be present.

This is really hard, y’all, in unexpected and expected ways. I find myself invoking perspective and privilege a lot, trying to remind the boys how good they have it while not minimizing the ways their rugs have been pulled from under them. And if you, too, feel thankful, lucky and also like a hot mess, that is TOTALLY normal, valid, and OK. We have no leadership, the economy is in free fall for most, we all miss the family and friends we treasure, we don’t know when things will feel normal again or how, and not a few of our fellow citizens are acting like spoiled brats who got sent to the time-out corner but -stamping feet- don’t wanna go. Grow up, you self-indulgent twats. Do the right thing for the collective, for the United states you profess to love so dearly.

I do feel so much better after a day in nature, working, tending, seeing others from afar. But I know that nothing is certain and that mood and kilter are transitory.

Be kind, be generous, cry and rage when you need to, laugh when you can, make something pretty. I’ll get the laugh tracks going again asap, but for now let’s all take a minute to hold all the loss in our hearts and the light, honor it all, and release some good to the world beyond.

New York and Sri Lanka

It is Sunday morning, and Mom, Dad, Jack, Ol, and I are on our way to the 9/11 museum and memorial. I lived in NY on 9/11 but have not visited the site since I moved two years later.

We are still in Brooklyn, it’s a beautiful morning, we are all happy and have had such a fun weekend. I sit with the horrific news from Sri Lanka, and suddenly it really sinks in. I have friends living there, a mother and son the boys and I know from school. She is Sri Lankan and they took a leave of absence to move to the country for two years to be with extended family, to travel, to let the boy, now a fifth grader, study in and experience a new place and school.

I message the mom: Just checking in. Are you and your family ok?

What are the odds, I think, and I turn my attention back to my family and the museum.

The incredibly thoughtful designers and curators of the tribute to 9/11 couldn’t have done a finer job. It is a weighty, moving place of course, my eyes prick with tears many times, but I never feel destroyed or frantic to leave. To an individual, the staff and volunteers are thoroughly trained, passionate, and kind. Please, if you feel overwhelmed, there are tissue kiosks and seats all around. Please don’t hesitate to let us know if we can help.

The boys take it all in, brave and respectful. And we talk about terrorism and hate but also the antidotes of love and tolerance. We talk about the lives that were horrifically taken and also the beautiful way New York came together afterwards. We talk about community and tending the ones we are part of. We talk about condemning hate and hateful actions but also about the importance of not judging groups by the behavior of the extremists within them.

After, I note that I’ve not heard back from my friend. This is odd. But it’s Easter, and I put the niggling aside to laugh with my boys and parents, to pack us up, to say goodbye.

We board the bus home and three hours in I hear the news: the boy has been killed in Colombo. The mother and grandmother are in the hospital but will be ok. They had been at breakfast together.

I gasp, and without thinking turn to the boys and tell them the horrific news. What?!

We cannot make sense of this. Jack had played chess with this boy and borrowed his hiking pants. He was a radiant, kind child of such intelligence. He was to return to DC in just weeks.

Our community is wrecked for the loss this mother has sustained. For the loss we feel, too.

Yesterday, as I drove Jack home from school, he, in uncharacteristic emotionality, said, “Mom, I don’t understand this evil. The world is shit right now.” He looked so distraught and baffled. I couldn’t disagree, but I am 43 and he is 12, and I desperately wish the world was a better place to grow up in because death and a deep awareness of the world’s ugliness and many failures is a lot to hold when you’re not even a teenager.

Please be the good. Be generous and kind and tolerant. Please offer to lend a hand, to give a hug. Please value fact and truth and honesty and character. Please fight fanaticism in every way you can, including the very real white conservative extremism, so often religiously-rooted, that harms us here in the States. Please honor this dear boy and all the others whose lives end entirely too soon. Please keep his mother in your heart and your thoughts. She needs a deep bench of love and support right now and for a long time to come. Many do.