You know how sometimes you’re in a rut and you don’t even see it? Until you see it?
That’s my pandemic rut. It started all the way back in January and here it is October. When it all started, I never dreamed it would be NINE WHOLE MONTHS ALREADY. I know I’m not the only one. I know.
Lucky for me, the sun is still shining hot and I can get out when I wish. That wasn’t the case for much of the time these many months. Maybe you know what I’m talking about. If it wasn’t covid, it was rain, or ﬁre, or smoke, or everything closed, and more covid. Wear a mask, yes, I wear a mask. I scuttled my travel plans before the president even knew what was happening. Along with the virus’s appearance, seeing a few good friends in far away places came to a screeching halt. That was sad. It still is.
Know what else? I’ve been reading more poetry than ever in my life, sitting still with joy in the black and white stanzas. I don’t need the sad and angry ones, melancholy, perhaps, I can take a few of them. And then there’s Haiku. Another new interest. As much as I like to think I’m a writer, I never did learn what haiku was until last week. Now I’m a fan, easy to please, I guess. Here, I’ll put one together for you right now.
Sitting at my desk
I think I am a writer
Do I believe me?
The stereo plays some light acoustic guitar and if I were to get up and walk into the living room, I’d see the most beautiful golden and emerald blue waves crashing on the shore of the video. It’s broken the monotony of my thoughts.
And right in front of me, out the window at my desk, are gardens full of joy and luscious growth. Sun and shade mixes it up. A new winter garden competes with my time in the weeds under the old roses.
It’s not like I wasn’t enjoying pulling weeds just now, because I was. I really was. It’s not because I didn’t enjoy a little family time this morning with the little baby next door; that was sweet. It’s not like I didn’t enjoy laughing with my daughter over politics and coffee. But left on my own, I can easily go back to the depths of what? Armageddon? No, that’s not it. It’s more like what the hell?
I know a few things. I know how to read a map. I know how to write in cursive. I know how to play the piano – and chess. I know what to do with eggnog. It’s not just the things I know that keep me going. I know how to write; I’m a member of an excellent writing group, that must count for something. With my memory recently, even one word can be a ﬂeeting thought at the most inconvenient times.
No, it’s spirit that ﬁlls my heart and soul with encouragement and peace. It lazes with the pictures in my memories, the smiles around me in my dreams. My heart, you know it opens to the sound of music, whether it’s classical, jazz or rock’n’roll. Springsteen usually wins.
My intent today, the plan I admitted to Mollie is to stay away from the news. A look at what’s happening in the morning, a quick peek, and go check again tonight. But, please, Kathy, stay away. You have so many other things worthy of your attention. Reading on gardening, lotions and potions, history, CBD/THC, writing & writers, etc.
Stay away from NPR on the radio. News shows on the TV. All the newsy online sources.
So far, in my opinion, today I sat too long in front of the TV with the Nevada Clark County Elections Commissioner, for no good reason at all. Except that I was at Mollie’s and I couldn’t keep my eyes off Noah – his love squeezes my heart every single time he’s around. He and Vivi, our newest family babies. These babies have certainly made the covid time easier.
So, here it is, 1 o’clock, and instead of hours, I’ve only spent minutes in the news. I feel better.
And I feel like I’m rambling. Am I rambling?
I know I’m getting anxious to get back out to the weeds under the rose bushes. When I came in the house to get a drink of water, as I was walking back outdoors, I was pulled by something deep inside to take my laptop to my desk and write. Write something. Anything. Something not totally negative.
The greens await me
And there’s the red hummingbird
Seeking me out.