Four Years Later

COVID:2 Collage 

Four years ago today we all came home for the lock down. Middle school classes conducted by zoom on the deck, college courses attended in childhood bedrooms, a corner of the living room as my office away from office. It is a blurry and fraught memory, those days. We made the best of it (cue Shizazz Time) but they are fraught and blurry nonetheless. 

 It was very shortly after we were working from home that I began to collage. A few times a week I was required to attend zoom meetings, but I was able to listen and cut out pictures and words and suddenly I had an enormous collection of options. I began doing one collage a day and filled journal after journal. I began buying glue sticks in bulk.

Throughout the pages I can trace the ups and downs of COVID days, witness my growing anxiety and frustration with my job, and see the freedom that came from choosing a different line of work. There's silliness, pep talks and attempts at inspiration.

I have always loved the idea of art journaling, but when I attempted to fill pages with sketches and paintings, I found it weirdly stressful. It poked at my perfectionistic dark side, and I would end up tabling the creative outlet almost before I got started. Collage is different. It is like a breath of fresh air of creativity. There is no plan, no expectations. I just grab a stack of images, pour out a pile of words and wait for something to emerge. 

It always does. And there is something incredibly relaxing and invigorating about the process. Remember, the early days of filling these journals were lock down days. Life was all about doing without. There was something extra sweet about finding creativity within limits and it continues to be so.

I've kept my collages pretty close to my chest, sharing only with my small, safe inner circle. But slowly but surely I am venturing out. I recently created a grid of them to display in our living room, and they make me ridiculously happy every day to see them on the wall.  I enjoy seeing what resonates for people, how some see the pictures and others grab onto the words. Some pages make folks laugh and others reach deeper. 

I'm going to start sharing some of my favorites here. I hope you enjoy.

Bruised and broken

Sad Di awaiting her turn in the E.R.

We got away to Chico in December. It’s an annual tradition to celebrate John’s birthday and have an extended weekend to enjoy Chico State basketball. We knew there would be no basketball this year (merci, COVID-19), but little did we know what was ahead. We headed out to play pickle ball first thing Friday morning, and five minutes into our warm-ups I tripped and fell on my right wrist, breaking a bone for the first time in my life. I instantly felt myself going into this weird clear-thinking mode: No, we don’t need urgent care, we need the hospital. This is broken. How did I know? When our daughter Claire was seven, she broke her tibia and fibula. She announced to John that her leg felt “jellyish.” That is precisely how my wrist felt.  

No extra persons are allowed in the E.R., so I sat alone in serious pain. When they called me back and asked what my pain level was, I answered, “More than labor, less than a kidney stone.” Pretty bad then, eh? Yep. Pretty bad.

X-rays revealed that it was broken in two places, and they had the option of surgery to set it or they could yank it back into place. As someone with an astronomical deductible, and who was once rolled into a CAT scan for a kidney stone and ended up paying $5,000 out of pocket, I was bizarrely practical and said, “Yank it.”

 

The initial splint allowed for swelling to do its thing

While I waited, I texted with my kids. I needed to apologize for my lack of empathy for their broken bones and other injuries.  I was suddenly aware of how incredibly insensitive I had been. Plenty of texts went back and forth, lots of kindness from the offspring, and a fantastic bunch of ER folks to keep me distracted and relaxed. When the crew came in to set the bone and put it in a temporary splint, I opted for the suffer in silence mode, squeezing the circulation out of an assistant with my left hand while they poked, pulled and placed the bone on my right. Wowzer. Bright lights flashing kind of pain, but over quickly.

 

This is actually the second, shorter cast that allowed me to return to work.

As someone very reluctant to use pain meds, and someone fully devoted to her dominant hand, December 4^th was only the beginning of the challenge. But the fact is: I was very well cared for by my husband and friends, we still had a great visit with our Chico son and celebrated John’s birthday, and the E.R. staff at Enloe Medical Center were amazing and skilled and kind. It was the beginning of a dark time for me, but today I am no longer in a cast and I am typing with both hands. Hallelujah. It’s so good to be on this far along in healing.

COVID Strategy: Shizzazz

COVID:226

That number signifies that we have been marking our days since March 13. That was when we came home to work remotely. That was when the Division II Basketball Tournament in San Diego, featuring our beloved Chico State Wildcats, was canceled

We have children in Chicago, New York and France, and they had already starting living the new normal, but for those of us in California, March 13 was Day 1. 

When our Chico son finally made his way home on Saturday, we settled in to four of us zooming away from various corners of the house.  Some of us are more change averse than others, but it is not an exaggeration to say that it was not a great week for any of us. By Saturday, our oldest and youngest kids, fellow COVID Pod Dwellers that they had become, took matters into their own hands. They planned the weekend down to the last detail. A picnic to the mountains to enjoy the snow in solitude, watching Hawaii 5-0, playing speed scrabble, to name a few.

But the real inspiration hit on Sunday's schedule: Shizzazz Time. For March 22nd that meant an elegant homecooked meal and dressing up for dinner. But since that time we have continued the Shizzazz tradition as a COVID coping mechanism that has improved many a cranky, claustrophobic day. 

We have watched Hamilton. We have sipped chilled rose on the deck as the sun set. We have talked about all sorts of things. We have sat quietly. And it has been lovely.

We all adore each other, but let's be honest here. Our house is small. We have been living separately for the last few years, with the parents having rather seamlessly adjusted to empty nesting. And suddenly we are adults living together, but also parents and offspring living together. And it was not what any of us expected or wanted.

So, THANK GOD (truly, literally) for the inspiration that is Shizzazz time. It's a great message: STOP what you are doing or thinking or feeling, and take some time to celebrate, to settle down, to become a nice person again.

So when the COVID togetherness hangover hits, schedule some Shizzazz time. Make a great meal (and if you need some inspiration, I recommend subscribing to the New York Times Cooking emails. Great ideas and some really lovely writing), pour a glass of your favorite beverage (we love  New Clairvaux wines), and gather your pod dwellers around the table. 

I would also say that watching the sun set and being able to see the stars appear does a whole lot to bring perspective. If it was a rough day, seeing the sunset can, frankly, be a relief. But the stars? They remind us that there is a whole lot going on that we can't always see. They can make us feel small, in the best possible way. And maybe, just maybe, that perspective can make us brave enough, determined enough, to love others, share space, and wait this thing out.

Here's to a lifetime of Shizzazz, even when we can finally look at COVID in the rear-view mirror.

Clear:2020

 

My word for 2020 is CLEAR. It seems a bit ironic now, but I am confident it was the right word.

At the end of 2019 I had zero idea of what 2020's word would be. I was sitting in the car one day in December, wondering what to choose, when...and I kid you not...I literally HEARD, "The word for the year is CLEAR." I am not a "I heard the voice of God" person, I don't use language like "I was led" or "I was told." Not saying that is good, just saying that is me. And I am very serious when I tell you I heard a voice tell me the word was CLEAR. I was a little shaken, but I went with it. Not really any choice in the matter at that point, right?

And now it is October and 2020 has been a wild ride. Or is that too much of an understatement? It seems that murky would have been a great word. Chaos. How about Confusion? Or dissention? Cacophony? 

Why Clear?

Maybe I needed to remember that some things are not conditional. Even in the midst of all the nonsense, maybe there can be clarity. 20-20 vision lets us really see things, see people, see  circumstances for what they really are. This is not an easy pursuit, but it is a good one.

When I scribbled out all the ways I can live out the word CLEAR, I came up with:

- CLEAR hillsides (we live in fire danger territory)

- CLEAR thinking, especially about my physical health. My personal work for almost three years has been to get rigorously honest about my food choices, motivation, exercise. I allowed the pandemic to push me back. No more! Honesty requires clear thinking. That's my pursuit.

- CLEAR vision, especially for retirement. Pandemic education has made both of us think about when my husband can retire from public school teaching. Turns out he can at the end of 2023. That Is Soon. Clear vision needed.

- CLEAR focus: relationships that matter, projects that keep me moving in the right direction, new creative pursuits that keep my inner fire burning.

Even though in many ways this is a red shirt year for our plans, I am beginning to understand the reason for CLEAR:2020. With the skies of California filled with smoke, with the news making me weep or cuss or want to kick something, with anxiety rising and hard decisions being made, I want to see clearly, think clearly, choose clearly. The world is not going to stop jolting around to give me time to get my head screwed on straight; I have to find a way to tighten the screws even as I am on the wild ride of 2020. That much is clear. 

Grateful, even for this.

Mama and Claire

My beautiful mother

Ready to ride, but lipstick on point. Movie star beauty with a no-nonsense expression. She was a mother to be proud of. 

I wish I could have seen her ride. I know it gave her so much joy, but she left that part of her life behind when she moved to California and started a family. Every now and then, these pictures would surface and she would get that far away smile that told me she was reliving memories of freedom, of dusty Colorado trails, of the wind in her auburn curls.

It is now seven years since Mom's death. I usually do very well with the day-to-day missing, but right now we are preparing for Claire to head out on another adventure, and I cannot help but think how much she would love to watch the flurry of leaving and to be here to cheer her on. They really understood each other, Mom and Claire.  

Claire lives in the granny flat now, and she has made it her own version of beautiful. But now her eyes are looking elsewhere, as she leaves Saturday for three months in Europe. She plans to write and see new places and meet up with old friends. I will miss her, but I have known for a long time that she was going to travel as much as the realities of life would allow. As one who has wallpapered her bedroom with maps, she longs to see the world, to live in France, to GO! 

So my heart stretches from Madelaine in Nova Scotia, to Zack in Washington, Rex in Sacramento, Claire in France, and Brennan in Chico. Stretched in the best possible ways. All those years of us smooshed in our little house, schooling, and living and always, always cooking and cleaning, have brought us to this season. I want to live this one well, too.

Bon Voyage, beautiful Claire. I know your lipstick will be spot on. I know you will take your no-nonsense expression into cafes and churches and homes, bringing your joie de vivre to those you meet and reunite with. You are deeply loved. See you soon.

Almighty God, we entrust all who are dear to us to thy

never-failing care and love, for this life and the life to come,

knowing that thou art doing for them better things than we

can desire or pray for; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

~ Book of Common Prayer ~

Kindred spirits in 2009

Confessions of a hover mother

It was the end of a lovely five-week visit from our college freshman. He was home during basketball season because he is red-shirting this year and also recovering from a knee injury. It was great to have him here, especially because chances are we won't have long stretches of time with him during the holidays for the next few years. I hear they get "a few hours to go home for Thanksgiving dinner, and a few days for Christmas."  So we soaked in the five weeks.  He worked hard on our property, and the clean hillsides, the absence of dump piles and the rearranged bookcases are evidence that it was not all Netflix and parties over break. But suddenly he was confronted with something he missed: a scholarship deadline.

Bren's athletic scholarship covers tuition and fees at this point, so he is in need of housing/food/personal expense funding. His generous Nana set up a college account for each of her grandchildren, and that is helping. But it will not last long at this rate. The athletic scholarship could change, but we have to look at financial plans based on what is and not what could be. One of the ways he can get additional funding is through the school's general scholarship application, open for applying starting in January. He and I had one of those, "UH OH" conversations last weekend, thinking that it was the scholarship deadline. He could have done his writing and submitted his portion,  but there are letters of recommendation required. Was it too late to ask for letters? Brennan thought it was.

Enter Hover Mother. I came home and started working magic with my google searches. I discovered that the due date was actually three weeks away, and if he acted quickly he could request letters of recommendation without begging and apologizing for the urgent time frame.  If I had just texted him that fact, all would have been great. It was VERY welcome news for him.

But no.

I had to go to full Charlie Brown Teacher "WAH WAH WAH" mode in my email. Lists of what the scholarship providers are looking for, why, and how the future of the human race is dependent upon worthy recipients. It was a full-blown Hover Mother Moment.

And so I get an email response the next morning. He was REMARKABLE in his kindness and admirable in his firmness. The basic message: thanks so much for finding out about the due date and for your suggestions for letters of recommendation. But, Mom! Context!! Not the best method for the message. And the future of the human race? Really?

His response was spot on.

He didn't just go dark (and I would have understood if he did.) He didn't return the favor and go OFF on me (and it must have been tempting.) He just said thanks...and no thanks. And ended his text with a love you.

Thanks, son. That was just what a recovering hover mother needed to get back on her own two feet. Love you, too.

Courage:2018

For the last few years, I have chosen a word to focus on. 2015's word was mercy, 2017's was hope, and no one remembers if 2016 even had a word. It was kind of a tough year.

2018's word is COURAGE.

I have realized more and more over the last year how many things frighten me. That is hard for me to admit, but there you have it. I was a very fearful child. Afraid of the dark. Afraid of being alone. Afraid of roller coasters, snakes...you name it.  I thought that was not true of me anymore, but I think what is more accurate is that I had stopped doing things that frighten me. I had started playing life safe.

Another realization I have had is that fear is the driving force behind my battle with procrastination. It is so much easier to not do something if it scares me.  But the sad fact is that as I put off things that scare me, those fears sit in the back of my mind for much longer than they need to. If I can face my fears instead of putting them off, I anticipate it making a huge difference in my state of mind and my productivity.

So 2018 is the year of courage, the year of doing scary things. I have made a chart and each and every day I am going to write down the scary thing I have done. It is only January 13th, but I am already seeing a change in my way of thinking about what frightens me. I am searching for the scary things so I can do them and be excited to have faced the fear beast.

Bring it on!

Just three days into the new year, I was looking at Instagram, and this post from Evy's Tree showed up on my feed. Right there, in fabulously bright green, was my motto for the year. It's good to know others are out there, facing fears in their businesses, with their families, in their ministries.

#doscarythings

It's going to be a great year.