Buddha, Blueberries and Bubbles — Meditations on Covid Coping Part Five
It’s August, 2020 we have been in some sort of life molasses for more than five months, and there is no end in sight. In fact, it seems worse… only in America, and I’m not sure the countdown to election day will have tremendous resonance. We may not know the results for days (let’s hope it’s a blow out, so I am wrong) and then what? Then there is the weird ‘lame duck’ time, when IMPOTUS could refuse to leave or leave a purposeful mess, wrecking more institutions and faith in government. IF there is a peaceful change of administration in January, it will be a slog to right this ship and get our country back in gear. Those are the optimistic options, because some kind of armed Civil War is too frightening to contemplate. The various possibilities are definitely being worked through in some kind of war games/ cosplay scenario by experts, academics and military types; I’m not terribly comforted.
OK enough of all that — election day is some 80 days away, so I figure, hunker down, try to keep my family fed, bills paid and off major mood management assistance, and hope that someone has a plan to both vanquish this virus and unite this country.
Meanwhile, I stay busy… it’s a mixed bag: I have some time for odd tasks like marrying three tubs of blueberries, by removing the moldy suspects with chopsticks, and a bathroom miracle. The most bizarre DIY home cleaning task ever was accomplished this week. We have skylights that lever up for air, and it has been super windy in Northern California, as the summer fog rolls in. I was in the bathroom and looked up at the light fixture and saw this gray furry mass on top and screamed. I thought it was either a dead mouse or a giant mushroom; it was neither. Apparently, this bizarre dryer lint-like layer — of who knows what — had accumulated inside the skylight, rendering the bathroom somewhat dim on the brightest days. Because of the high winds, gross flaps were now flying off. I do not feel so confident on a ladder or standing on the sink (which I learned after was not such a great idea when my husband and our contractor friend who put it in scolded me) — I could do it, but not wanting to risk an ER visit, I asked my college kid to do it. He used a kitchen spatula and cursed the chore. The things you learn with home ownership; I grew up in an apartment and am still flummoxed by these sorts of things, as growing up my life was way more One Day at a Time than Home Improvement (not that I ever watched the latter).
Yesterday, in a burst of motherly love, I wanted to ask — said 21 year old— if he wanted me to make him an omelette for breakfast. I leapt up and headed for his room where I heard the din of a soccer game on his laptop. I had an itch, so somehow in my haste, I reached to scratch it and banged into the door jam with my elbow at top speed. I mention it only because it was pathetic, and I must’ve hit my funny bone because I immediately broke a sweat and felt woozy and like I was gonna throw up. I put some Papa & Barkley CBD relief balm and ice on it. Later, a glass jar with floating radishes (something I remember my BFF’s mom doing in the 70’s to keep radishes crisp and fresh) exploded out of the fridge — broken glass everywhere; just what I needed after an hour and half zoom work call when I was starving and making lunch. A large number of friends have spoken of similar home accidents and mishaps, and certainly many have also shared that appliances are malfunctioning at an alarming rate, and home repairs seem to come into relief in a desperate way with all this sheltering in place. The newly cleaned screen in the bathroom, revealed a cracked window on our skylight — YAY.
Besides having a dream about desperately searching for a rogue sloth, and nearly having a breakdown trying to get a reusable bag back into its pouch, I am working hard trying not to lose my sh*t. When my 16yo emerges from his lair at noon to make a breakfast burrito with onions and scrambled eggs and a flurry of dishes — after having spent 45 minutes cleaning the kitchen — I try very hard not to squeal and demand he clean up his debris immediately. Oh, and I had to order a new pair of ‘house slippers’. I seem to have worn through the new pair I bought in March. I think that is most illustrative of this time — although I do wear them in the garden and out on the street occasionally, but worn through in 5 months!! Those are the most recent minor indignities, or signs this pandemic is taking a toll on my sanity and well being, but there have also been some upbeat moments.
Simple pleasures like painting my toes yellow, (I did a poor job) and after more than 25 more years together, finding out my husband ‘prefers’ foaming hand soap to liquid soap were both moderately amusing moments; low bar. I happened to get some frou frou expensive foaming hand soap at groc out, (as he calls it) and he casually let me know this important pandemic preference… it seemed like a secret and personal revelation. I know it sounds stupid, but if you knew him it would make you chuckle. AND then there was driving up over a hilly Van Ness Avenue — like a roller coaster — fancying myself in The Streets of San Francisco. I was listening to the endless anxiety producing news — driving a bit too fast. The hill crested, and not only did I see the beautiful Bay and Alcatraz on a bluebird sky day, but bubbles, hundreds of bubbles. I couldn’t help but smile, and it really turned my frown upside down — well at least for a moment.
I’m jonesing for fresh air and new environments, and I venture to say I am not alone. I like my home, garden, neighborhood, city and family, but I am used to traveling quite a bit, even if it’s often just a camping trip or day hike. If I’ve stayed home, worked from home all week, I feel like I need at least one day out, something to look forward to. This month I booked a room in Soquel, near Santa Cruz, ostensibly to cater to my eldest who insisted he needed to go down and get dibs on an off campus room in a house early, before his other roommates. Much back and forth — my friend and I had initially wanted to head out into the wilderness and camp — and trying to accommodate his needs, I booked this AirBnB without too much research. Generation Z being how they are, he somehow got a virtual tour of the new house and suddenly didn’t need to go. I kept the reservation and my BFF and I made a weekend out of it. It was a lovely surprise and we became fast friends with the lady who owned the house; a recently divorced mom of a 12 and three year old who kept surprising us with life details. Her backstory was dramatic, she had traumatically lost her home in the big Santa Rosa Tubbs Fire in 2017, and later let on that a step father had invented the smooshed decorated penny machines you see at many tourist spots. There were other things, but besides a lovely home, impeccable taste and a lively spirit, we had two fun/ magical moments with her. She took us on a little walk around the neighborhood to stretch our legs after our long drive. I had shockingly left my entire purse /bag at home, including my driver’s license and reading glasses — something I’ve never done and can only chalk up to pandemic malaise — so my wing lady had to drive and I had to wear my Rx sunglasses night and day. Anyway, this brief jaunt to see the view of the ocean also promised some wood scavenging for her newly purchased mini outdoor fire pit. We passed this disastrously strewn mess of logs that looked like they had been there since the tree had fallen and been cut up a decade ago. There were a few ‘no trespassing signs’ but surely this ramshackle non-pile couldn’t belong to anyone? We each took a log, I should have plopped one into my backpack, but no sooner did we turn around, then a car came up the hill and a nasty lady jumped out to scold us, saying that it was her wood and didn’t WE see the signs. It was kind of a ‘Karen’ moment, although I really am getting to hate that meme. Ugh, we just wanted to make a fire, 3 mamas, alone for the weekend in a pandemic, trying to avoid a trip to the store to get a duraflame log. We scavenged other twigs and it was fine. The other unusual outing was at midnight, to see the bioluminescent ocean; apparently a natural phenomenon was occurring and best seen in the wee hours of the night. This would have been fun any time, but it was greatly appreciated given the endless lockdown and sad trajectory of this health crisis. I think we brought as much joy to our host as she did to us.
That weekend we boogie boarded and cooked in her fancy kitchen — with a 6 burner Viking stove, marble island and chic turquoise Italian stools — did yoga on her deck and enjoyed the fabulous linens and tricked out showers inside and out. My college kid had recommended a hike at this Buddhist Retreat and it turned out to be only a few miles from the rental. We took a lovely 7 mile hike amidst shrines, redwoods and some poison oak. It was extra special to be able to jump in the ocean after, to rinse off and eat some of our yummy leftovers before returning to the city. Despite interactions with our host — at a distance — it was pretty safe, all things considered.
Another day trip to the Russian River to meet my cousin and her four year old twins was a little more daunting, until we found a more secluded area. Only about 50% of river visitors wore masks and the gigantic blow up floaties and crowds were very off putting. Still, it is always great to get away and I miss those two nuggets so much! They shared that mangoes are their new favorite fruit and there were 5 baby bison and a baby baboon born at the Oakland Zoo! Moses, the fruitarian, picked blackberries on the path to the river and ate a plum, some strawberries, a nectarine and the aforementioned mango — oh and some chickpea puffs!
So all in all, the CrawMeads are hanging tough. Three of us had professional haircuts in our garden this morning, which felt novel and yet normal, in these novel and abnormal times. And then yesterday Biden chose Kamala, and for the first times in months I felt an unfamiliar feeling of hope. I’m holding tight to that feeling for a while… 82 days, 82 days and hopefully we can #restorethesoulofthenation
