Routines: they help you, they irritate you, they set your mornings for you. Mine are the same. Every day, regardless of the season, regardless of what the calendar tells me I need to pay attention to. Get up, get dressed, attend to the animals. Two cats, fed in the farmhouse, one cat fed on the porch. Six chickens, counted, called over to the barn, where I give them their grub: two cups of chicken feed and one or two cups of cracked corn. Water filled where needed. Then three more cats -- fed in the sheep shed. In December, add to it the daily watering of the Christmas tree. Every day, same thing. Rain or shine.
On most mornings I then prepare bowls of fruit for everyone who passes through this way in the course of the day. Today -- it'll be Snowdrop and Sparrow, and of course, Ed and me.
It never changes, even as my head swirls with different stories as I work my way through this checklist. Today, for example, I'm still stuck with thoughts of the school shooting. Shame on us for thinking this is inevitable, that this can't be helped, that we will move on, get over it, that we shouldn't blame those who are elected to keep us safe.
The morning then moves in a slightly different direction: I have a breakfast date with my friend Bee. Sure, it's over Zoom and she can't possibly be eating breakfast, as it's 4 p.m. where she lives, but still, I am on board with my granola and my cut-up fruit. And milky coffee.
It feels so good to let go of those morning thoughts, spinning endlessly about the tragedy that hit my home town yesterday. Inevitably we talk about our kids and grandkids, but, too, about our plans for this week, next week, next month, next year. Bee and I are less than four months apart in age and we suffer a friendship that has to be lived across an ocean, but I've come to understand that this actually does provide some opportunities. At least right now, while we're still "young!" We can plan with great care our next meeting (how often do you spend hours imagining where and when to have a coffee with your friend?). We make sure to fit in time for lengthy zooms (do you give your friend lots of time to talk about anything and everything when you get together?). We don't only half listen. We soak in every story. And when the Zoom call is done, I walk away deeply satisfied. And I look forward to the next one.
The day is cold again. Not yet Arctic cold, but cold enough for me to not give much thought to going out. In these pre-Christmas days, I have plenty to do at home! (The cumbersome wrapping heads the list. I start on it this morning, because I will do anything to keep the kids happy when they come here after school today. They get excited if a package appears under the tree with a tag that has their name on it!)
And then it's time to pick up the two.
I have some trepidation: we spend twenty minutes in the car on the ride from school. Longer if we do drive up for their weekly Culver's treat. In that amount of time, both Sparrow and Snowdrop are very tuned to what the other is saying. Can I give either of them time to talk about yesterday's awful news? Has it come up in school? Should I ask?
Snowdrop knows a hell of a lot more about it. But Sparrow, too, is at a super sensitive stage in his development (or perhaps he will always be this way). He's easily scared, even by things that are clearly fiction and honestly -- rather tame. So how do I deal with this period of twenty plus minutes, where each one has fears and needs but there is little overlap in what they are able to process or accept as a safe reality?
It turns out that Sparrow's classmates knew nothing or said nothing about the school shooting. Not a surprise. They're six! And Snowdrop? Well, I give her teacher credit: he bent over backwards to get the kids excited about school this week, with promises of treats and activities they would have before winter break. The girl burst out of school excited and happy. Imagine, they can even bring stuffies to class on Friday! And drink hot chocolate! And watch a movie!
It was a fantastic distraction.
And speaking of distractions, I gave them the holiday light necklaces and hats this evening. Total joy, over a few blinking lights. Kids!
Snowdrop has Girl Scouts tonight and I'm sure this is a good thing. Being with friends at her age is important and comforting too. They get each other in ways that are unique and specific to their time and place in history. Grownups can disappoint a child with their inability to undo their worries. But friends aren't asked to do that. Instead, they give you permission to laugh over ridiculous things. The girl tells me that at the last meeting, they spent some time throwing around a piece of watermelon. Gaga, it was the funniest thing!
At the end of the day, I think Sparrow has processed very little of what happened (and that's a huge relief) and Snowdrop is very ready to move on. The school flag is at half-mast the whole week, but I don't think either child knows the importance of that small gesture. If they're focused on Christmas break -- that's great. I'm all for it!
Me, I run a few evening errands and then come home. To leftover soup. To Ed. Always so happy to be with him. For an evening on the couch.
with love...
