My back hurts. It's from leaning over a computer for way too many hours in the morning doing work. Normally, I'm in the library, gliding between the shelves returning books, pulling things for displays, working at the computer but doing so from a standing position behind my desk.
Now, I'm on the couch, and I'm feeling it, even with doing yoga on an almost daily basis. It's been a lot of screen time for everyone, and all I wanted to do was get outside today. We made good on that, taking a walk on opposite sides of the street with my mother-in-law and aunt-in-law (all of us clad in our masks). It was the first nice day in what feels like forever- here's to hoping warm weather is here to stay.
We wanted to spend some quality time "together", but the girls started whining about how much they just wanted to hug their aunt and grammy, and the tears began almost immediately. It's so difficult, because on the one hand, we want to see our families. But every time we do, it seems to make it a little harder, because of how not normal these interactions are. It reminds me of when I had E., and every time R. came to the hospital to see us, she would burst into tears because she couldn't climb onto me to snuggle (after a c-section, having a squirming one and a half year old on your abdomen is not a good idea). After two visits, we decided it would be better for Jeff to go home to see her, and me to just wait until I got home, because it seemed too traumatizing. So after a couple of loops around Grammy's condo complex, we decided it would be better for me to take the kids home.
They were pretty good on the drive back, and then R. realized she needed to complete some schoolwork she hadn't finished earlier (something about getting distracted by her Calvin and Hobbes book). She scurried inside, and brought out her Chromebook, settling in on the swingset to do her research. E. was excited to show me Mr. Groundhog (an apt name) her new "pet" who she has found in the far back of the yard, where he was trying to figure out how to get out of the fence. She dragged me by the hand, excitedly pointing and tiptoeing as we got closer, so as not to frighten him. He scratched at the chainlink, scurrying this way and that, and eventually figured out that his hole went underneath the shed, and out the other side, but not before we snapped a few photos of him. E. then heard her friend calling her name from a house away, and practically flew across the yard as I yelled "Be careful to look both ways at the driveways!" She headed down to the creek to talk to her friend L., and I could see them from my vantage point by the groundhog hole. They stood about 25 feet away from each other, E. balancing on a fallen tree, and L. climbing one across from her. I shook my head- they are definitely going to be good friends.I sauntered back to my book, and had just finished the chapter about the 1939 World Series when I spotted a cardinal fly across the lawn. I put down the book, checked my phone, and it opened to Instagram, where Emily from The Indigo Girls was doing some sort of #showushowyourpractise (sic) challenge. Just hearing her strumming her guitar reminded me of a few things. First, how much I always wanted to learn to play guitar. I tried in college, briefly, and even learned to play the chords to "Wonderful Tonight" at one point, but then got distracted by other things, and never continued. Perhaps that would be a worthwhile challenge to take up.
The second was how much I enjoy listening to the Indigo Girls. It always puts me in a place of sparkling creativity, where I want to write or sing or paint. So I decided to "just be", tapped into the resource that is the internet, and started to play Mystery. As the first strums of the guitar began, I listened to the breeze in the trees, noting the birds that flitted from bough to bough, and closed my eyes to better feel the sun's waning rays against my skin. I sang along to the familiar lyrics, belting out the chorus "I could go crazy on a night like tonight/Summer's beginning to give up her fight/And every thought's a possibility." My neighbors may think I'm nuts, but since we're all stuck in this together, I think we're all a little mad. The song transports me back so quickly- it's remarkable how a lyric or a melody can do that. It's warm and heavy at the same time, like the summer nights from so many years ago when everything was possible. I continued on to listen to "Tangled Up In Blue" and headed inside to make dinner while the strains of Bob Dylan's classic (as sung by Amy and Emily) melded with my own voice.
I dance around the kitchen, singing and sautéing asparagus while the music played and the Cuisinart turned chickpeas, garlic, lemon juice and olive oil into hummus. I made chicken for the first time in ages, since it's something we could get from Abma's Farm (a local place that delivers delicious produce, and treats their animals humanely- something I look for since I'm a vegetarian, but my kids still eat chicken). When we get to dinner, this conversation happens:
Jeff: Where did you get the chicken?
Me: Abma's. Popum got a delivery.
R. (horrified): But... but... Abma's kills their animals? They have a farm! (composes herself). Do they die of natural causes?
Jeff: If you consider not having a head anymore a natural cause, then yes.
This is how you end up with vegetarian children.
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