More than ever, it is time for Nana and Pa to show up, and help our two grandkids run off energy and frustration, connect with nature, and find moments of joy in the great outdoors, abundant here in Portland.
I had a blog post all ready to go, but it was full of blue sky and soft sea breezes, crashing waves and soaring pelicans. I just can't bring myself to post it amidst this unsettling, almost apocalyptic scenario laid out before me, with so much suffering, loss, discomfort, and confusion all around.
I'm at a restaurant a thousand miles from home, seated closely around a table with ten beloved family-in-law members. We are eating, drinking, chatting, unmasked, and I'm thinking, how the hell did I get here? Alarm bells clang in my head.
... I got caught up in wondering what people wondered about. What are the burning questions of our time? Google knew.
The sun glistens on the water, wild daisies shimmer in the breeze near my feet, and the warmth from the rock seeps into my hips. Tiny waves lap on the rocky shore. A stand-up paddler passes, barely a wake behind her, and I wonder in this quiet, do I really want this quarantine to end?
Adaptation comes little by little, accepting what I must, embracing what I can, trying to not tip over. I can do this, I can do this. I have no choice.
What will be my Quarantine Story, what tales will I tell in five years, or 10 or 20? Will it be a story of victory or sadness, revelation or survival, entertainment or boredom, or even joy? Which stories will last, and which will be of the moment?