Sunday - 9th

In one of his story telling moments (they don't come often), Ed tells me about a place in Florida where you can park your boat for the season without too much worry about hurricane damage. (His friend is sailing toward it as we speak, eager to park his boat and return home.) There is a beautiful orange grove right by it -- he tells me, recalling his own travels there. With watch peacocks roaming the premises. And then : do you think we should get a pair of peacocks?

I look at him, trying to determine if he is serious. You can never really be sure.
They're aggressive! -- I remind him.
But so beautiful!.
Eh... once you've seen them roaming the parks (as they do in Warsaw), you've had your fill.

I don't know why spring puts us in the mood for this kind of talk. Last week he seriously suggested that we let one of the chickens hatch an egg. Happy has been chasing the girls a lot lately. Their eggs are likely to be all fertilized.

I said no.

Breakfast is very late. Our mornings are so full! Made fuller by increased time online, by reading, by writing to friends.





I clear the front street facing flower bed in the afternoon. In working there, I notice not a small number of cars going by (about two or three each minute, which is a lot for a rural road). Perhaps coming back from shopping trips? Maybe from a hike in the forest? You have to wonder how people's Sundays have changed...

Our Sunday, however, stays shockingly the same right now, which may well be a sing of how self contained we really are even in normal times. Outside work done, I come in to fix dinner for the young family. They are still in total isolation and so are we (I have to insert this repeatedly, for those readers who do not track Ocean daily: I don't want anyone to think that I support gatherings of any kind. I do not. Ours works only because both our households have cut off physical contact with the outside world).

Dinner is always very kid centered and that's a good thing! We can talk about their issues (no, Sparrow, you cannot have more cheese puffs before dinner), and only occasionally revert back to our issues.

(plate in hand, ready to eat...)
















After dinner, we go out for a little stroll in the yard.






It's cold. Everyone feels that nip in the air.





Still, it's good to be outside. We talk about building an obstacle course (Snowdrop's idea) when the weather warms up. About making a "tree house." About the fruits that may someday grow on the young orchard trees.


The young family leaves. I clear the kitchen and think how much I miss my other young family. And how grateful I am that we have good ways to talk, even though I wish so much we could talk in person.