I Miss Everyone

 Yesterday, I took my youngest four to a makeshift Drive-in Movie put on at our parish.  

They enjoyed it but what I discovered is, nine months of quarantine have made me jumpy.  Every time someone came by the car to see if we wnated to buy popcorn or just say, "Hi." because people do that, and it used to be ordinary, I'd feel anxious afterwards.   Not because I thought I'd get Covid-19, but because being isolated this long, warps the spirit, and I hadn't realized how warped my own had become. 

I do worry about Covid-19 though, because there is so much that needs doing in this family, for my husband and me.  We can wipe things down and limit our going out, but there's just the reality, it's a scary thing.  It sounds cowardly to be frightened of life, I've never been before and I don't want to be now.  Every cough makes everyone worry.  Every symptom other than fine, alarms.  We've become triggered to worry, to presume the worst, and to view everything as a potential threat.  I hate it.  It's wrong. 

I am tired of this damn quarantine.  I am tired of not seeing people's full faces. I am not advocating being dumb, but I am admitting, I am tired.   I need the more of Everyone.   I miss the more of everyone.  My mom, my brothers and sister, my inlaws, friends from across the country, all the ordinary contact that came within the course of a year, hasn't happened this year.   Busyness kept that from being too keen an ache most of the time, but when they'd come to visit, or we'd go there, I'd be reminded, this is more what should be happening.  

Now even those reminders are missing, and it is like food without salt, dull and missing what should be full of flavor.   Now even being busy doesn't prevent the missing --and I know that is a good thing.  I am grateful for all this stollen time with my husband and my adult children who otherwise would be off being busy themselves.   We wouldn't notice the time passing or the distance being created but it would be there.   So there are gifts with this time of trial, even here. 

It's just, I miss everyone. I'm wanting something of normal of being able to connect to return --and hoping with that return, we'll return to something better than what was normal; that we won't leave kind words unsaid, or put off lunches or visits or letters or phone calls; that we'll check in on each other willfully, because we love them, rather than just at holidays or when we're not busy.   I hope we'll learn, I'll learn, to not let things that shouldn't consume whole swaths of time, take over, that we as a whole, and I in particular, will cease being anxious about many things and choose the better portion with all time we've been alloted.  

I know this much, we'll be at the next Drive-in Movie offered, to remind myself not to forget. 

Party Magic

Twenty-five years ago, I had insomnia.  It was the night before our wedding and I tossed and turned until my mother was summoned.  She stroked my head.  I started sobbing because I would look tired for our wedding.  She said I wouldn't, "Bridal magic." and that little phrase was sufficient for whatever demons were gnawing at my brain and preventing sleep.

Today, we've spent two months preparing for a party. It is tonight.  It is five o'clock, and I've had fitful sleep at best.  I've told myself the story but I think today's bout of non sleeping is due to thinking about all the details.   There have been other nights, when thoughts crowd out sleep. It's part of why I turned to writing, to pull out all the random elements from my brain, so the rest of it could function.   I turned off my blog to prepare for the party, so I wouldn't be haunted by the need of upkeep, instead I'm haunted by all the stuff that didn't get out.

"Sherry, Sherry, you are anxious about many things." I could hear.  I thought about the feast to come, and how I'd love to have "that moment" with every one of my guests, all the friends and family that have driven, flew, struggled and still come.   How I'd want to spend the whole evening with each of them, with only them, and how I'd want the evening to never end so I could be that present with each of them and only them and the pain of knowing the time will ebb as the tide.   That's the point of a feast, to remind us that we long for an eternal one.  So it is no wonder I pine before the party starts about how little time there is to spend here, on any given day, enjoying each others company.

I'm telling myself, I must chose the better portion, even as we work through the final stuff, present, present, present.   The very thought of being present is like a warm bath, a cool breeze, It is both. The anxieties spool away.  Yes we will still need to lay out the tables, put up the lights, make the salads and ice the drinks.  I could add to the list but it would stir up the wrong sensibilities in me.

Besides, I wrote them down already.    So what were the moments today?  Getting to hug the people who came through the door.  Watching my nieces watch Wreck-it Ralph on our bed.  Seeing my mom and her sister talking in our living room.  Having them here even if I was busy trying to figure out how to put a tent together and failing miserably. Talking under the successfully set up tents, watching my 19 year old dance with my nine year old while we tested the sound.  A thousand little moments crammed in between the weed wacking, dishwashing and cooking.  Those moments were magic.   Party magic.  I yawn.  The thinking onto the page worked.  I'm going back to bed.

So I'm going to believe today in "Party Magic" and press forward.  When I wake up, the day awaits.

Not Ready for Anything Beyond Today

Somehow, a three day weekend threw me off royally.  This Tuesday reminds me of when one of my children goes to a friend's home for a night, my rhythm the next morning is missing.  The void of that presence, even if they're normally not up early in the day seems to color everything else around me, as I can think of 1000 things I'd do with the one child that's missing.   Likewise, if I'm out with only some of my children, my arms keep reaching out and my eyes keep darting about worrying that I'm missing someone.  It's some how harder to keep count when there are less than the full ten at my side. 

Getting ready for graduation and one child moving on into the beginning of the adult world, my brain starts to swim with all the changes that will come once September rolls around.  Paul will be in a pre-school somewhere but we're still in the process of going through placement.  Five will be in elementary/middle school,  one in high school and that leaves a four year old who should go to pre-school but I'm waiting to figure out what the fall schedule will be before I can act, and the baby.   The juggling of three schools plus college threatens to overwhelm me even before we start.     

And then the immediate needs of my family snap me to my senses. The girls want a snack, Paul needs a change and the baby wants a bottle.  I have to take care of today.  That's it.  When today is in September, I will take care of that day, but right now, we're finishing May and I just have to work with these 24 hours and understand that I can grow anxiety any time I want, but it won't help with the tasks at hand now or then, so I should just weed those strangling vines of thought out of my head, pulling them for as long as they snare until there is nothing left.  

Today we have a driver's test and I have to reschedule an annual physical for two of my children; the older ones have band and I need to pay the bills and water the garden as it is 89 degrees outside.  I have two chickens and some potatoes to cook for dinner that should start in the oven around 4, and three thank you notes to write.   Plenty to manage in one day, no need to borrow from a tomorrow ninety days away. 

Time can crush the spirit if we allow the clock to rule the mind; measuring every moment like a commodity to be used, frittered, drained, wasted.  The day becomes a dreadful manifest of what we don't get to or don't finish. My to do list likes to nag that way; complaining every moment I'm on task and all the time I'm not.  Fortunately I have one daughter who makes the whole sun and a car out of construction paper and another girl who attacking the paper with a confidence despite not knowing what her drawing will be.  My baby plays with my nose and tries to hold her bottle while keeping her eyes locked on mine.  Her face flowers into a wide smile and my son creates his own world with a toy truck, giraffe, tiger, zebra and farmer at the table.  It's hard to get worked up about all that needs to be done when so much is happening in these slow unscheduled minutes.  

So I am not ready for anything beyond today, but thankfully, I have been reminded, that's all I have to be ready to do.