You can't tell but that's wisteria growing way up in the sky, the vine twisting and grabbing onto trees. I know it's invasive but I love it.
There's a nice garland of it, hanging in my side yard.
The bamboo is starting to come up. I suppose that Mr. Moon and I will have to kick it all ourselves this year. No little boys or little girl to help. They love to kick bamboo and I will miss watching them do it, often resorting to trying to pull it over with their hands. For those of you who have not been reading here forever and ever- we have a lot of bamboo and every spring it pops up where we do not want it to grow. If it is kicked over when it's just coming up, it won't grow there. If you miss a sprout, it will be five feet tall before you know it.
Ah well. We have plenty of time to attend to this task.
So. Hive locations today: Backs of hands on and around pointer-finger knuckles. This isn't too bad. It hasn't been as itchy or flaming as usual. I consider this progress.
But that doesn't mean it's been an easy day. First of all, Jessie texted me last night that she was not bringing the boys over as she just could not risk exposing us. The hospital where she is going to be working and where she's doing her retraining had two confirmed cases of the virus. I went into the Glen Den to tell Mr. Moon and I sobbed. This is the hardest part. I don't mind at all not seeing most of humanity. In fact, I spend my life avoiding just that. But my family- the idea of not seeing them for weeks and even months kills me. Or, well, doesn't kill me but strikes me in my soul as too cruel.
My babies, my babies, my babies. Our lunches are my lifeline. Our trips to the library in Monticello are my joy.
Suck it up, buttercup.
I keep thinking about Anne Frank. She spent over two years in that tiny attic and they had very little food, no internet, no books, no TV, no way to step outside for a breath of fresh air. They were completely cut off from the outside world except for the one woman who risked her life to bring them what they needed. And they knew the whole time that if they were discovered, the odds of death were almost 100%.
Compared to that, we're larking. We're so fucking lucky that we're worried about running out of toilet paper.
Still. It's not easy. As I always say, someone else's cancer does not heal my broken leg.
I have to start focusing on something. I can feel my brain oozing away from my ability to access it. Does this make sense? Probably not. Brain ooze. Crosswords are fine for awhile. They keep me distracted but they can also make me agitated. This is not the state of zen I need. For some reason I can't imagine a "project." It's like I am at once on high alert every second for some sort of major emergency and yet, at the same time, I am completely dissociated from it all. I went to go watch a movie and crochet but I couldn't find my crochet hook which was so confusing and insurmountable that I just gave up and went and laid down on my bed and read and fell asleep.
On top of it all, neither Mr. Moon nor I am fully recovered from the flu we had weeks ago. He's been on an antibiotic for almost two weeks and it has made little, if any, difference. I'm sure that the vast amount of pollen that coats our cars, the ground, the laundry on the line, everything, is not helping.
I did not walk today but he took a short bike ride. He brought me back some pretty swamp lilies.
I am sure that's not what they are really called but I am too full of ennui to even try to look them up. They are fragile as origami made of nothing but the luster of pearls.
And yet, there they are.
We watered the garden today. Now, more than ever, it is a joy and a comfort to see it growing, just as it is to find a few eggs. Last night we turned on the air conditioning because fuck it- it was 78 degrees in the house and if we could sleep better with it on, why not?
I hardly felt guilty.
And I am fully aware of how much better the planet is with so much less human activity going on. This is good. There are many things that are positive about all of this. I'm sure I could list some of them if my brain was working.
I'm sure that tomorrow will be a better day. And as I keep saying and keep telling myself, we're all going to get through this thing. It's going to be a different world at the other end of it but as a friend of mine said on Facebook today, we are designed to survive and thrive. That we need to love the bodies we've been given and to love our neighbors as ourselves.
Good things to remember.
It is the spring solstice. It may not exactly feel like the beginning of new life but it is.
And in the most profound way possible we are being reminded that we are all one. The entire world is feeling what you are feeling, what I am feeling and for this moment, our differences are so less important than this strange commonality that we all share.
Let's stay in touch.