I think you'll admit that even after a prolonged period of distancing, or, as in our case -- isolation, nothing about it seems normal. The mind resists accepting the new reality because it just does not fit into the framework of who we are.
It's not just the distancing, the cutting off of physical contact with family, friends. It's the fact that if we do leave our homes, we do it with anxiety. It's a bizarre way to live: on the one hand, there is this internal push to want to be out, to be spending time with our children and grandchildren, to be pausing at a coffee shop, taking in the activity all around us. On the other hand, only at home do you feel yourself to be out of danger. Push to be engaged, hastily stifled by a need to stay safe.
Weird. So weird that I am not surprised to read that people are analogizing all this to feeling sick all the time, even when there is nothing physically wrong with them.
For us of course, the days are far less stressful than for those who have to go out and engage the world for whatever reason (at the same time, because of our demographic, that venture out, should it be needed, has heightened anxiety). We stay at the farmette, moving now only down that long corridor leading to my daughter's home, to return a child or two.
It is, of course, a good season to be stuck at the farmette. Spring time is crazy busy planting time. And there is never a shortage of maintenance work. Weeding, for example. Today, I do a lot of weeding.
But first, animals and breakfast. In that order.
Ed takes up the project of fixing the water faucet outside. I work the flower beds, getting them ready for new plantings. It's a very pretty day, albeit cool.
Still, I want to get things done. Next week is going to be downright cold! Unforgivably so! Right now, we're just enjoying the emerging daffodils.
It will be a while before anything else dares to pop out with a blooming face!
I take a brief pause to have lunch with Primrose. She is in Chicago of course, but still, there's lots you can do over lunch with a two year old. And the more you do it over time, the sweeter it gets. It's no secret that a two year old will love repetition. And she wont disclose your goofiness to anyone: you, going on a snake hunt, for instance, will be just between you and her.
Afterwards, Ed and I embark on another gardening project. I say "Ed and I," even as my contribution consists of giving approval and figuring placement. It has to do with trying to squeeze in a gardener's path within the Big Bed. Since we dug out the hydrangea in the middle, I figured this would be a good time to reconfigure the bed a little. A snaky path through the middle would be lovely -- for the kids, for me. I always retain great optimism for new garden designs in spring. By late summer, I throw up my hands, but right now, I'm thinking -- it's all doable!
We toss around ideas for it. Stones? No, don't have nearly enough. Wood chips? Not good either. The path would merge with the beds. This afternoon, Ed proposes flat discs of wood, sawed from some of the trunks he'd cut down last year.
We'll try it!
Also in the afternoon, Snowdrop is with us. We spend a little time outside, digging worms for the cheepers and admiring the daffodils...
But the cool air was a bit much. My hands are cold! -- she tells me.
In we go. Fresh air makes for a voracious appetite. Bowls of mango, oranges, and of course, Ed's cookies.
Ahah, you make the best dough ever!
Suck up! -- he says, with a smile.
And in the evening? Reheated chili! I admit it -- one of the best things about cooking up a pot of chili is that it offers copious leftovers!
Afterwards, we're out again, working on laying the newly sawed disks into place. Dusk is a beautiful time at the farmette. It's the moment when you let go of the tightness in your soul. Your thoughts inevitably will stray to those who have to live with worry 24/7. Those who deliver our foods, those who rush us to get the care we need, caregivers of course -- so many people!
There isn't a good way to say thank you. Except perhaps to say it again and again and again.
With love.
It's not just the distancing, the cutting off of physical contact with family, friends. It's the fact that if we do leave our homes, we do it with anxiety. It's a bizarre way to live: on the one hand, there is this internal push to want to be out, to be spending time with our children and grandchildren, to be pausing at a coffee shop, taking in the activity all around us. On the other hand, only at home do you feel yourself to be out of danger. Push to be engaged, hastily stifled by a need to stay safe.
Weird. So weird that I am not surprised to read that people are analogizing all this to feeling sick all the time, even when there is nothing physically wrong with them.
For us of course, the days are far less stressful than for those who have to go out and engage the world for whatever reason (at the same time, because of our demographic, that venture out, should it be needed, has heightened anxiety). We stay at the farmette, moving now only down that long corridor leading to my daughter's home, to return a child or two.
It is, of course, a good season to be stuck at the farmette. Spring time is crazy busy planting time. And there is never a shortage of maintenance work. Weeding, for example. Today, I do a lot of weeding.
But first, animals and breakfast. In that order.
Ed takes up the project of fixing the water faucet outside. I work the flower beds, getting them ready for new plantings. It's a very pretty day, albeit cool.
Still, I want to get things done. Next week is going to be downright cold! Unforgivably so! Right now, we're just enjoying the emerging daffodils.
It will be a while before anything else dares to pop out with a blooming face!
I take a brief pause to have lunch with Primrose. She is in Chicago of course, but still, there's lots you can do over lunch with a two year old. And the more you do it over time, the sweeter it gets. It's no secret that a two year old will love repetition. And she wont disclose your goofiness to anyone: you, going on a snake hunt, for instance, will be just between you and her.
Afterwards, Ed and I embark on another gardening project. I say "Ed and I," even as my contribution consists of giving approval and figuring placement. It has to do with trying to squeeze in a gardener's path within the Big Bed. Since we dug out the hydrangea in the middle, I figured this would be a good time to reconfigure the bed a little. A snaky path through the middle would be lovely -- for the kids, for me. I always retain great optimism for new garden designs in spring. By late summer, I throw up my hands, but right now, I'm thinking -- it's all doable!
We toss around ideas for it. Stones? No, don't have nearly enough. Wood chips? Not good either. The path would merge with the beds. This afternoon, Ed proposes flat discs of wood, sawed from some of the trunks he'd cut down last year.
We'll try it!
Also in the afternoon, Snowdrop is with us. We spend a little time outside, digging worms for the cheepers and admiring the daffodils...
But the cool air was a bit much. My hands are cold! -- she tells me.
In we go. Fresh air makes for a voracious appetite. Bowls of mango, oranges, and of course, Ed's cookies.
Ahah, you make the best dough ever!
Suck up! -- he says, with a smile.
And in the evening? Reheated chili! I admit it -- one of the best things about cooking up a pot of chili is that it offers copious leftovers!
Afterwards, we're out again, working on laying the newly sawed disks into place. Dusk is a beautiful time at the farmette. It's the moment when you let go of the tightness in your soul. Your thoughts inevitably will stray to those who have to live with worry 24/7. Those who deliver our foods, those who rush us to get the care we need, caregivers of course -- so many people!
There isn't a good way to say thank you. Except perhaps to say it again and again and again.
With love.
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