Tag Archives: #SocialDistancing

Random thoughts post-Christmas

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Snow on a metal railing

I was 43 years old when my mother died. In all those years, never once did I spend Christmas Eve away from her. Christmas Day, yes, but not Christmas Eve, which was always the day of feasting and family gathering in my childhood home.

That realization hit me on the morning of December 24 this year—because my son was spending his first Christmas Eve apart from his father and me, thank you COVID-19. Everything is so upside-downsy this year, backwards, sideways, wibbledy-wobbledy, just plain wrong. And so my son has now done this thing that I never did. And it’s not the worst thing in the world, but it’s sad and bittersweet, and I hope it doesn’t open the door to the idea that being apart on this special day is okay for us.

Christmas tea
Christmas tea

We did trade texts throughout the day, and Zoom allowed us to open presents together on Christmas morning, so that tradition remains alive. The husband and I spent Christmas Eve watching movies with one of my sisters-in-law, again via Zoom, and Christmas Day online with the family and friends we traditionally gather with in person. This time, each set of us was parked in front of our own personal Christmas tea, instead of joined at a communal tea. Tradition, but not tradition.

Sigh.

Random side note, because COVID

I’m heartened to see my friends and family who are doctors and nurses sharing the happy news that they’ve received their first COVID-19 vaccinations. I don’t think these vaccines are the be-all/end-all that will save civilization, but they’re a step in the right direction. They offer hope, and I for one badly need that hope. Poet Billy Collins got his first vaccination today also. Poets are definitely essential, so hooray!

Solstice: Making do, making new

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Christmas creche ornament on lit tree

We’ve made it through the darkest day of this year, and I’m thinking about silver linings. I don’t know about you, but I’ve been cooped up since March 13. In all that time, I’ve been inside one store, once. I’ve seen a handful of friends at a distance in my yard or theirs. I’ve spent two days with my son and hugged no one but him and my husband. Thanksgiving happened by Zoom. Christmas will as well.

This hasn’t been easy. Emotionally, I’m on a hair trigger, ready to start yelling or crying at any moment. Look at me crosswise, and I’m likely to erupt. And I know I’m not special; there are thousands of us all over the country in the same shape.

But I’m managing to find silver linings this holiday season. Separated by 2,000 miles at Thanksgiving, my son and I got together on Skype, and I taught him to make pie. That wouldn’t have happened in a normal year because he would have had someone else to provide Thanksgiving pie, either me or a friend. Still unable to travel home, he’s now planning to make cherry pie for Christmas.

Silver lining.

I, too, did some extra cooking at Thanksgiving: I made miniature pies for all of the local relatives and friends we normally would have spent the holiday with. And then I made bread for them, too, while I was at it. I sent all of those off with the husband (my personal shopper and task rabbit), and he delivered them—at social distance—with our love. It made me happy, and I think it did the same for him and the recipients.

Silver lining.

Christmas is a different challenge. It will be the first we’ve ever spent without our son since he was born. So I baked a batch of his favorite Christmas cookies and shipped them to him. I also sent him a miniature artificial Christmas tree and his favorite set of Christmas ornaments—five, one-inch-tall “misfit toys” from the original Rudolph cartoon. Then I got out my paper and scissors and glitter and glue gun and made him ornaments from pictures of our two dogs. I can’t describe how excited it made me to put those together and mail them off to him as a surprise. I can tell you, though, that I then did the same for the co-workers for whom I could find pictures of their pets.

Yes, I’m making do. But occasionally I’m doing more than that: I’m making new celebrations and perhaps memories. I’m not going to say it makes up for the horror of this pandemic. It doesn’t. But it has helped me get through, and it helps my mental outlook to focus on these bright spots.

And lest you think this blog post is all holiday lights and cheer, let me assure you I’m still on a hair trigger. Just ask my husband.

Nature lessons

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This week, I learned to identify opossum scat. This happened one morning when I took my dog out to the back yard and discovered that some unidentified creature had been hanging out on the lower portion of my deck long enough to poop. And poop quite a lot, actually.

So of course I grabbed my handy internet device and did a quick search on “opossum scat.” This was a good guess on my part, as it turns out. Opossum scat, in fact, it was.

Communing with Mother Nature

False potato beetle

This was just one aspect of my natural history education and experience this week. For me, it’s one of the advantages of sheltering at home. I spend a lot more time in my own yard then ever before—and I’m a person who has always liked my yard. In addition to my close encounter with opossum scat, I also met a new-to-me insect and, I believe, two new-to-me birds.

  • Insect: False potato beetle
  • Bird: Black-and-white warbler
  • Bird: Common yellowthroat

The name common yellowthroat is for me either misleading or a slap in the face. I’ve lived in Illinois my whole life, a good portion of that in rural Illinois, and never to my knowledge seen one before. Common? Pfui!

Life in the front room

I think one reason I’m seeing birds I’ve not noticed before is that I’m spending a lot more time on my front porch. I’ve always been a back yard person, but I think I’m craving public space, and the front porch is as close as I can get. So I’ve set up Adirondack chairs, plants, and even a metal shelving unit, and my front porch has transformed into my new “front room.”

This is especially handy for me when it’s raining, as I love watching a storm and breathing storm-fresh air. Getting wet is usually a deterrent, but now I can do it with a roof over my head.

When it’s not raining (and I’m not working), I sit in my new “front room” with a book, and read and watch the world carry on. I’ve learned that a different collection of birds frequent my front and back yards. In back, we have lots of robins, cardinals, goldfinches, house finches, and sparrows. The side yard is preferred by the mourning doves, and occasionally we get a Cooper’s hawk looking for a meal.

In front, though, I have all of the common back yard birds plus more. So far, in just the last couple of weeks, these have included a pair of wrens, an occasional nuthatch, the two birds mentioned above, one grey specimen with white belly that I’ve yet to identify, and my first hummingbird of the season. I also have a catbird.

The catbird seat

Let’s talk about catbirds a bit—because this is my very favorite front yard visitor to date. That might seem odd, because catbirds aren’t particularly uncommon. But they’re very friendly. I would even say sociable. Also, they tend to return to the same breeding ground year after year, so a catbird friend is a kind of friend for life.

I really became familiar with catbirds a few years ago when one befriended me in my back yard. I would sit on my back deck reading for hours on end during the weekend, and this catbird started hanging out with me. He’d perch less than 6 feet away and chip at me for such a long time that I would just stop what I was doing and talk to him. Far from being frightened, he’d just chatter back. I didn’t see him the next year, so it’s quite possible that he didn’t survive the winter. This is the first year I’ve had another catbird since then, and I’m hoping to make another fast friend. Already he perches with 10 feet of me and chirps. And it’s only May; we have the whole summer ahead of us.

The industrious wren

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I started my Sunday with a wren warbling and dancing in the forsythia outside my living room window. It was my second wren sighting of the spring, and I’m pleased to know they’re in the neighborhood. They’re not uncommon here, but I don’t see them every year. I’ve set out wren houses more than once, and I once scored a nest, but it wasn’t the nest momma ultimately picked for her brood, so we didn’t get any tenants.

I wondered what symbolism attaches to the wren, and it seems to depend whom you ask. One Native American totem website associates it with confidence, energy, and gusto for life. Another tells me it doesn’t have much meaning in most Native American cultures but is, in some, a bird of war and believed to boost courage. The Celts apparently associated it with the old year coming to an end, and for that reason, more than one website (including the Smithsonian magazine’s) says the Irish traditionally hunted it on the day after Christmas.

Well, I don’t want to kill wrens. So I chose to associate them with industriousness and gusto, and took my wren sighting as a sign that I should get something done during the day. Amazingly, that’s what I did. By day’s end, my garden and yard were all tidied up for spring: birdbaths in place, fountains spouting, patio swept, yard debris collected, a second round of spring seeds planted, and seedlings starting to think about sprouting in my portable greenhouse. We exhausted the dogs by spending the day outside and giving them a walk. And I finally did the craft project I’ve been planning for two years, which has haunted me since the start of sheltering in place.

We sat outside for a lovely video call with the faraway son, and I saw my wren again, along with a woodpecker and other critters both winged and earthbound. I’m not sure what symbolic meaning attaches to woodpeckers—maybe industrious or mischievous? Leaving now to go look that up.

P.S.

I still haven’t looked up the woodpecker symbolism, but I did challenge myself to draw my sweet little wren, which is why this post is delayed. Here he is in black and white also.

Cooking in the pandemic

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Creativity comes in many forms. My primary—and professional—medium is words. But food is a close second that brings me a lot of pleasure.

I haven’t had much time to cook while sheltering at home, mostly because I’m fortunate enough to be able to work from home and my job is one whose demands have ramped up significantly in the pandemic. But occasionally I get a cooking urge when I actually have time to explore it.

Yesterday was one of those days. So I looked in the freezer, found some ground turkey that needed to be used, and went recipe hunting. The result: turkey meatballs seasoned with cardamom and orange, served over a bed of cabbage and brown rice, with grape tomatoes on the side.

My first pie ever with a butter crust

I started with this recipe and played with the seasonings a bit, substituting a smaller quantity of mace for the nutmeg in the meatballs and adding turmeric and ancho peppers. I also added turmeric and ancho to the sauce, along with a lemon-garlic seasoning that gets a lot of use in my kitchen. I didn’t alter the cabbage at all, except to skip the salt and use a slightly citrusy pepper blend instead of plain pepper.

It was tasty, and the cabbage is an absolute keeper, especially mixed with rice as in this recipe.

Dessert was peach pie I made the night before, and the weather cooperated so we could eat outside. Heaven.

Good from sadness

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Most people I know are having mood swings in this pandemic. On top of feeling isolated and penned in, there’s much to fear—for ourselves, our loved ones, our nations, and for humanity.

Reading poetry can help me when I’m in a funk, as can sunlight and the outdoors. I don’t think I can write my way out of a funk, but sometimes I’m able to put pen to page despite low spirits. There’s a chicken-egg conundrum to this; I’m not clear what comes first—whether writing helps me get away from the gloom, or I’m already on my way out and that allows me to give voice to my feelings. But they do often seem to go hand in hand.

Today, a poem I wrote near the darkest point of my recent funk—during a two- to three-day period starting on Holy Thursday of Easter week—made its way into the wide universe. “What I Fear Most” is published now on Headline Poetry and Press, and the editor who accepted it made my day by telling me it had struck home personally with them, voicing what they considered a common experience.

It’s gratifying and comforting to know that something positive can come from sadness. I’d rather not have gone through (or put my husband through) that 1 1/2-week funk. But having done so, I’m glad to think I might help someone else muddle through as well.

I intended this blog to serve as something of a social distancing diary when I started writing daily posts with the institution of shelter-in-place orders. Clearly that plan has crumbled, given the nearly two-week gap. But sometimes it’s hard to write, and hard to share. I’m forgiving myself.

Photos of the day

I used most of yesterday’s good photos in yesterday’s blog post. Here are a couple taken while the sun was out one day during my funk. Dogs on the deck—a recipe for contentedness.