For the young family, it's a question of waiting out the remaining days of a mild but perniciously infectious virus. Both of the older kids need a negative test result and/or the requisite number of days to pass before they can return to school. Sandpiper, the youngest, is probably happy to have them around. Virus / no virus -- this has no meaning for him. Brother and sister are home. Yay. As for me, well, the farmhouse remains off limits to them all for now, and even ice skating with Snowdrop is put on hold. I'm also counting days and/or waiting for better test results. But I will permit myself an outside meetup with the young family, at a distance, me in a super duper mask (which probably is a fake, even as it has proper markings... I mean, what's to stop someone from putting on fake "proper" markings? Such a challenge it is to pick out colorful masks that are authentically what they claim to be!).
In terms of the bigger picture (the one beyond just our immediate back yard), we are all also waiting: waiting for this surge to pass, for our hospitals to empty out covid wards, for schools to reduce the number of Covid alerts (which no longer scare the daylights out of me, since Omicron cannot do even more harm to my Madison grandkids).
Staying patient is not a skill that is rock solid within me, but the following things help:
I can say honestly that I am done with living in total diffuse fear. Ed asked me today what scared me more during the pandemic -- our own infection or passing the virus to the young families? A regular Sophie's choice type question, don't you think? I told him honestly, it kept changing. Them, us, us, them, the pregnant moms, us again, the kids, the babes! But since yesterday, when the last child here got infected, I (mostly) quit worrying. Even in Chicago, we are moving past the weeks of having a newborn in the house. The vulnerabilities diminish. [And I say this knowing that other families are still in danger. Immuno-compromised, or with underlying conditions, and of course, the anti vaxxers who stubbornly would rather crowd the hospitals and infect the babes and the vulnerable among us, than get that protective shot.]
The other thing that helps is reading less about the horrors of Covid and more about what post-pandemic life should look like. It brings me that much closer to the idea that we actually may well be approaching a post pandemic life. (No, do not tap me on the shoulder here and tell me about all the variants that can still mess with us. I do not believe in living with imagined and not yet real or likely dangers.)
So, that's where I am now: (a tad) less scared for my family, for us, and happily diving into really ambitious plans of how I might behave once we are done with being in crisis mode. Ed said to me, as if realizing that this pandemic may indeed be on the wane -- from my vantage point, it's been really great to be hunkered here with you. I share that feeling. We had one pandemic crisis moment just before Christmas (call it the "excessive clutter" moment), but it passed rather quickly and with no damage to anyone. Otherwise, we really, really like being under the same roof together for extensive periods of time.
But I do miss the occasional trip. One that takes me far and has me wake up in distant lands. The pandemic has taught me to not love grocery shopping. And restaurants are fine, but I can live without them. Big parties? Loud music happenings? That's never been me. But waking up and starting the day with breakfast in a place where people speak a different language, or at least a version of English that sounds like it couldn't possibly be English -- that is where I grow and learn best. And I miss it.
Okay, a few particulars.
It's the third time this month when we woke to a beautiful day with temps just over the freezing point. It would have been perfect for skating with Snowdrop, but as I said, that's on hold. Instead, I drive over to my daughter's house and set up an outdoor snack for the three older kids stuck at home (the third is a daughter of the babysitter. She's finishing up her Covid run as well). I've baked some muffins, cut up some fruits and warmed up a thermos of hot chocolate.
The kids play and I mostly concentrate on keeping my distance.
(Snowdrop and playmate for the day)
(Sparrow, recovering)
It's a little hard when Sparrow wants so much to be pushed on the swing, or one child wants help with a boot, but I am very good at not breathing for a few seconds as I attend to these trivial demands.
Mostly though, they saunter and take in the sun, and when the two younger guys go in, Snowdrop and I linger by the swings and she says in her reflective voice -- gaga, do you realize that every second is a moment in your life? Yes it is, little girl. Yes it is.
And after my visit, I swing by the farmhouse and pick up Ed and we head out for a walk -- a now late afternoon walk along a more distant segment of the Nature Conservancy. And the light is once again stunning!
After, I have an errand to run at the UPS store and Ed tags along with me, which I like to pretend is sort of like traveling together to distant places only without the inconvenience of long flights.
The sun has set by the time I'm done. Ed suggests we go back to the pond by the Montessori school where Snowdrop first stepped on ice wearing skates. You should skate today -- he tells me. I keep the skates in the car these days and I like the idea of just swinging by our local rink (or is it pond?) and putting in a few laps. The ice is beautiful tonight. Just a few lumps and bumps, but otherwise perfectly refreshed and cleared of any snow.
It still surprises me how far I am from my skating of some decades ago. Oh, I'm fine, I'm confident, I'm plenty smooth. But I dont have the command I once did. I feel like a grandma on ice. An experienced grandma, to be sure, but no one could say I'm showing off. I have become modestly ambitious. And that, perhaps is a good thing!
With love....
