The Joke's on Me - Dream

Joy and I are lying next to each other in what appears to be two long rows of a field bed. Perhaps it’s just a vast hall with people sleeping on the floor. He and I have staked out spots next to each other intentionally hoping to get a few cheap thrills surreptitiously. Outside it is night and the room is darkened. Margaret B lies on the other side of him. I know Joy’s wife, Lulu, is also sleeping somewhere in the hall but in a spot unknown to me.

The next day it is Joy’s day as he is demonstrating how to make a dessert tart. The biggest tart pan I have ever seen is on the floor. It must be 10-12 feet in diameter and reminds me of the biggest enchilada festival Raphael and I attended once in Las Cruces. Helpers are putting in the layer of crust into the pan. There are ample folds hanging over the edge that looks like frills on a dress cut on the bias. It is beautiful and impressive.

However, when we sit down to eat at a long table such as the victorious feast of the saints in heaven as illustrated by Harry Anderson in the Children’s Bible Story by Arthur Maxwell, a set we had at home as children, the dish being served is not a tart but matzo ball soup. I am somewhat surprised and a little disappointed but before I even have a chance to sample it, I can hear exclamations of approval from others around me. With my spoon I cut into the good sized ball in my bowl and find it is not dense but light and airy. I turn to Joy and enquire, “Did you use leavening?” His response is in the affirmative and I’m not impressed because any home cook can get it light by using leavening. It is delicious though, I admit.

Later in the day, Joy and I have a quiet moment together and he says in a confidential voice, “What shall we do about last night?” He probably noticed the puzzled look on my face and continues, “Maggie, knows. She noticed us bump into each other during the night too many times to be ‘accidental.’” I frown at this unhappy turn of events. I don’t want Lulu to be hurt by our careless flirtation which really means nothing to either of us.

The next evening I intend to try to get Joy off the hook by taking a walk with Manoj and Mohan but really it’s Paul, Mohan’s younger brother. I link my arm through Paul’s nonchalantly so the world can see I don’t mean any harm by my friendliness, I’m just bindaas. But as the three of us walk together on the grounds of the conference in the darkening evening, Paul puts his hand on my thigh and squeezes gently in a sexual way. This act definitely catches me off guard though I’m far from being repulsed and smile to myself as I realize the joke’s on me.

DREAMSCAPE

Scene 1
I’m walking towards public bathrooms when I pass a woman who has the appearance of an Indian laborer. She hands me a key to a locked outhouse which is a much cleaner toilet. I am just about to squat to take a pee when there is banging on the door and a male voice calling for Vasanthi. I assume it was the name of the woman who gave me the key.

I open the door slightly to reveal I am not Vasanthi inside but who nevertheless was using the toilet legitimately as I was given the key. The man looked passed me at a couple bare open shelves mounted below the roof near the corner and said a snake had been seen there recently and he had come to check.

Scene 2
Raphael and I are out walking when we realize it’s going to rain. We happen to be passing a squat rectangular structure that looks like a one room shack and with a quick glance at each other that confirms we have the same thought, we turn into the dwelling that’s situated just off the path. No sooner had we entered then we hear the deluge pouring out from the sky. We had found shelter in the nick of time.

The darkened room is bare but not empty. I first see one person rolled up in a blanket on the floor in the corner opposite the door and then realize there’s another person sleeping to the side of the door we had just opened. They acknowledge our arrival but nothing else. We sit down on our haunches on the dirt floor to wait out the storm.

Scene 3
The path we’re traveling on turns muddy and soon a raging body of water is flowing across the path in front of us. Remnants of a building that looks like it had either been bombed, or on which an earthquake had done a number, emerge above the water with rebar and concrete pillars that lend handholds as we enter and prepare to cross. I am ahead and with my mind made up, I push my bicycle into the turbulence and forge ahead. But in a split second I realize the water is too deep and  quickly make a u-turn shaking my head indicating the impossibility of crossing.

On the dry path again beside the angry water, a man in uniform who might be a policeman stands with open notepad and pen and by the look on his face we intuit that entering the water area was illegal. We, of course, were unaware of our trespassing. When the officer asks for my address that is specifically a P. O. address, I hold up a document so he can see the contents, and explain that I have only a street address, he resigns to letting us go free.

CHILDHOOD REVISITED

Chatted with Ken last night. It seems like we have the same conversation every time, but it’s always crazy fun.

He loves to tell me about my dad and how much he admires him. At one time, he would visit Dad weekly at the Division office in Salisbury Park just to chat. Dad would question him about some rumor circulating about Ken's questioning some particular doctrine and they would laugh it off together. Another time near the GC office in Maryland he runs into my dad and Pr. Hetke. Hetke, he claims, didn't acknowledge him, but dad stopped to chat and congratulated him. He had heard Ken had become a father. 

Another subject is Ken's great talents and intelligence. He talks at length about the book he's published. How he wrote it in a few weeks. What a great piece of writing it is. Have I read it yet? (I have.) He's writing another book--far from conventional, in fact, very weird, but he's concerned his children may read it and that keeps him from writing freely. 

We talk about our kids and parenting. He's been a good father. We talk about our parents and how our families' lives have been interwoven. How much more we have in common that we acknowledge.

He boasts his singing voice has improved and his range is now quite impressive. He sings Freddie Mercury covers and promises to sing for me next time I visit.

Our conversation strays to old friends and school mates. How we must get together for a friends' reunion while we are still healthy.

He never fails to tell me that I am the first girl he's kissed, the only girl he's ever been in love with. 

He: Come here, Lorna. Come, be with me. We were meant to be together.

Me: Ken, are you drunk?

He: Yes.

We hang up laughing.

PARENTING

I’ve always felt that becoming a mother was the best thing that happened to me in my life. Why? I didn’t know until this morning while riding my bicycle.

Pedaling down Ridgecrest I realize that all my physical and mental energy found their focus on these two little babies that depended on me for everything. It brought me and kept me in the moment. And the first moment led to the second moment and the third, the fourth, until In the blink of an eye, years had gone by.

Gone was the anxious restlessness which dominates a large part of my nature.

[“And it was as if she had never been.” —listening to Romain Rabot’s son in concert on Flat Pack Music streaming live now on Facebook. He is an excellent bass soloist.]

My first thought was that I must share this important discovery with Preeti. Perhaps becoming a mother is her destiny. She just doesn’t know it.

If being a parent brought the greatest joys, it also brought the greatest anguish.

But now I will return to the day, and to the moments of restlessness and mental wanderings.

GLOOM

I've been feeling glum and listless today. I've gardened, cooked and cleaned and even did a little yoga -- but mostly without any joy.

I have so many friends when I'm upbeat, but so lonely when I'm in this mood. I yearn to talk to someone only to give me something to do because I have no interest in any routine activity. I dialed up Preeti twice but she didn't answer. I called Daphne but after a few minutes she had to go.

I did get Mum on Skype after ages. But she was distracted and worried about the cat saying if she didn't open the door and put food out, the cat would sulk and disappear for a long time.

I started watching a Netflix movie with Raphael, but after I was sort of getting into it, he ended it as it wasn't to his liking. I have this thing about ending anything halfway. Even if it's a movie I don't care for, I will usually watch it to the end though there are definite exceptions.I was in no mood to test out another movie only to have it prematurely ended for the second time in the same evening, so I walked out and decided to do a little work.

I did most of the work on an invoice for our Specialty Crops grant.

It's half past nine and I'm waiting to hear from Catherine so I can arrange a ride back home for her. She wasn't feeling too good and needed a ride to the hospital. We got her a Lyft ride as I wasn't going to risk going to the hospital.

I felt like listening to something different so I found Mehdi Hassan listed on one of Uncle Justin's FB posts. Some beautiful old ghazals. I don't understand most of what he's singing. A word her and there.

I think I'll take a walk on the street outside. Perhaps it's cooled down.

Later.
No, it hadn’t really cooled down. It was lovely though to be outside in the open with absolutely no one else in sight.

And Catherine finally was released with a diagnosis of UTI. I could rest after I confirmed she connected with her Lyft driver - which chanced to be a woman which must have helped set her at ease.

STREET DANCING DURING COVID

I called the neighbors to an impromptu party yesterday. At 9 pm, you could tell who the real party animals were.

Monica and Todd - brought out the music box and sparklers.
Raphael and I  arrived with fake fireflies in a jar.
Thirty minutes later Merna returned from her 70th birthday party and joined us.
Henrietta and Steve arrived with Sam --mostly for a social chat.
The women were the serious dancers.
Yeah. Love our neighbors . . . and dancing.

We say goodnight and promise to do it more regularly.

KHARKONGOR ANCESTRY

My Khasi heritage can be traced 17 generations all the way to the first clan mother. As in a matrilineal culture, all descending individuals are mothers.

Ka Mohkynhong / Kharkongor Clan Mother (Circa 1500) Ka Iew Kharkongor Ka Lah Kharkongor Ka Sohmian Kharkongor Ka San Kharkongor Ka Jat Kharkongor Ka Shngain Kharkongor Ka Laitbuh Kharkongor Ka Lir Kharkongor Ka Ron Kharkongor Ka Shkiah Kharkongor Ka Shira Kharkongor Ka Shylluid Kharkongor Ka Queensilies Kharkongor Wallang Ka Birol K Wallang Christo Ka Lorna K Christo Samraj Ka Preeti K Samraj

MOM and MELANCHOLIA

Yesterday on my way out the bathroom, I paused to look at a picture of dad in the hall. He looks into my eyes, a sweet affectionate smile on his face. I feel no sorrow, only a deep love and a close bond. His declining health over a number of years, and many opportunities to visit with him lent me the necessary time to process the loss emotionally before his last day.

As I looked at dad, another thought hit me almost simultaneously, that it would be much different with Mom. That an end to her current physical energy and vivacious spirit would devastate me.

That was yesterday.

This morning, while still in bed I reached for my tablet on the night stand to check my email messages. More often than not, there is one from mom and yes, there was one from her.

In her email she tells me that she has written a lengthy letter to her sister Juanita about her memory of their brother Hunter who died when he was four years old -- many years before my aunt was born. She goes on to narrate some of those details to me. I know the details already as mom has always enjoyed telling us stories from her childhood and youth.

But I was taken aback when she ended her letter with, "Ok my beloved sister, must stop here. Nga Ieit ia phi kat u Shiap ka duriaw . Deng"

I have gotten used to mom's occasional lapses in memory. Her retelling of an event, the repetition of the day's activity. Surely, there's room for memory lapses without raising alarm. I mean, Mom spends a lot of time writing emails everyday to her children and her sisters that it's inevitable she will repeat herself.

More recently though I've noticed a lack of focus in her emails. In a few emails she has repeated herself in the same email. It caught my attention the first time but I didn't think it was a big deal. Sometimes she is interrupted in her writing by power outages, or a trip to the bathroom, or some other chore that delays her finishing a letter until sometime later.

Today, I am deeply alarmed. For mom to forget by the end of her email that she was writing to me is disturbing.

I want to go to her. I want her to stop cutting up newspapers and thinking of Covid. Instead I want us to cook and clean together, look at old photographs and play Boggle. I want to put my arms around her and hold her for a long time. I want her rooms filled with our chatter; hear our laughter ring out loudly.

MOM AND COVID-19

Mom has been clipping newspaper articles from the start of the Covid-19 spread  and putting them into a scrapbook. In a way it’s good to know she has a project to occupy her time because she often reports of having nothing to do and feeling lonely, but I fear that all this time and focus on the pandemic may make her more anxious. Her email letters often quote newspaper headings which she translates into the trouble just before the world ends.

Covid-19 lockdowns have deprived Mom of family visits. I had planned to spend the month of June with Mom. Sonia and Kish were to overlap my visit slightly and be there in July and part of August. John was to be there in April.

COVID DREAMS

We pulled up to my cousin Preeti’s house in our van intending to spend a few days with her and some friends, but when I opened the passenger door and was about to step out, I put my hand up to cover my mouth and gasped, Sweetie, we have to go back home immediately.
Why?
I’ve forgotten my face mask and I’m not wearing my dentures.
We’ll go back home in the morning.
Well, you stay and I’ll return by myself.

I guess we didn’t go back home because the next scene is already upon me.

We are sleeping in what appears to be a huge field bed with lots of people. A strange man is lying next to me. He is asleep. This arrangement can’t be safe. 

Sweetie, I whisper, while everyone else around is asleep. Here’s mother reason why I should be wearing my mask.

Grieving

Leli recommended listening to this Apple podcast on Grief and Finding Meaning by David Kessler and Berne. It was what I needed.

“Judgment demands punishment.”

Have you ever not known what you need? I think this is the story of my life. This frantic doing, this filling up the moments, dabbling in a million pastimes, perhaps this is my subconscious flitting from petal to petal searching to be sated.

Flow

The Unseen Sequence - a film about the Bharatanatyam dancer and choreographer, Malavika Sarukkai.

Losing oneself or being in a state of creative flow.

Being completely present and fully immersed in a task

FRANKIE

Today is Frankie's birthday. It's funny how birthday’s of childhood friends stick in my memory. For better or for worse, Frankie has been a huge part of my childhood psyche that I don't think was entirely healthy.

I obsessed over him for many years - no decades. In my memory he was everything I was deprived of.

However, once Raphael came into my life, all--and I mean all other men were relegated to the shadows. I am a very fortunate woman and a happy one at that.

Frankie and I reconnected and we stay in touch by texting each other a few times a year wishing each other health and happiness on birthdays and holidays. It's true, I do wish him good health and lots of happiness.

My Name is Lucy Barton

I started and finished listening to My Name is Lucy Barton by Elizabeth Strout today while I sewed medical masks for Team 3. Not a very long book. Not more than 4-5 hours of listening time.

I was moved greatly but don't have the words to say in what way. I definitely identified with much of what she wrote: my less than perfect relationship with my mother, childhood pain and loneliness, the heartbreak of having the children leave after high school, the guilt and shame of failing at my marriage, but mostly the inability to be mean and unkind to others--giving them the benefit of the doubt. Ruthless, a quality that is vital to being a good writer, she can never be.

Movie Song Match

A before bedtime ritual has evolved with Raphael looking for something to watch on Netflix. I'm never enthusiastic about the search or hopeful that anything will result in something that I like. So, when he started watching The Half of It, I was taking my turn with Rani on Word Chums.

Truth be told, I got into the movie and it's honest sweetness held my attention. To hold the mood, I like to listen to the music as the credits roll and I'm glad I did because it ended with this song that I thought captured the essence of the movie so well. Break the Rules by Ruen Brothers. I'd never heard of them before so I turned to YouTube and listened to a bunch of their songs. Shades of Blue is another lovely one.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6xpMb1rzRUk

MASKS

I really got into sewing cloth face masks for donation to essential service groups in the city and state. It was like getting into a rhythm and not being able to get out. I haven't tallied recently, but I'm guessing I have sewn almost 500 masks.

I tampered with the idea of making them for profit, but when I sat down to open an account with Etsy, I saw it was flooded with masks. There's no way I want to compete with others on Etsy.

Shelter-In-Place Dreams

The other day PBS had a segment on dreams during Covid-19 pandemic with the guest dream analyst narrating people’s dreams that were more like nightmares.

I am unlike my mother when it comes to dreams. While she often remembers her dreams in the morning and loves telling about them, I rarely remember mine. Often I awake with a dream so vivid it encompasses me wholly but vanishes like the morning mist if my mind’s focus strays from it.

So, I’ve taken to recording the dreams I do remember. What value might there be in this activity? I have no clue. It’s just sort of a fun exercise for me. Anyway, coming to the point. Yesterday I woke up after dreaming about Mike Mendis. You find that odd? Yeah, me too. The night before Daphne, Dennis and their dad, Mr. Solomon Moses, were in my dreams. It ended with Dennis and me making out quite seriously. What’s new about that? Nothing, except it’s been about fifty years since we did that, but believe me, it felt as good and arousing as it did way back then. Sweet Dennis. Stay safe.

Covid-19 Poem - Hoarding

HOARDING

In times of plenty

he buys without compunction

as if we were Mormons

overflowing pantry shelves

that would make one

suspect he was

born in dearth

rather than with a

silver spoon 

Amidst Covid fears

I stretch the life of 

the simplest commodity

apportioning 

rationing

as if our lives

were dependent on

two squares of toilet paper

rather than three

Now when it’s more

prudent to save than to abandon

to hoard than discard

when less is more

and more is better

as with bottle openers 

and lovers

when two are better

than one

Somewhere

One of my favorite songs but only because it's sung by Eva Cassidy.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cj6M6SgqFPo

Zooming With Family

We had our second Zoom gathering with family today. Actually, our third.

March 15th evening - Kris and Safira's birthdays. The families in UK could not join us as it was in the middle of their night. It's always special when Jyoti and Sanjay join in as I see them so rarely. Glenn's family were all present. Nen, Tanisha and the Hosur gang were very late and missed seeing the birthday people.

April 11th morning - Glenn's 70th birthday. From experience I learned that the time spent together is better enjoyed when it is moderated. Gordie started with welcoming everyone. We sang Happy Birthday. The siblings and Mum shared a few memories we had of Glenn growing up. Gordon planned a quiz.Was nice that the UK families could join in. Also two of Sandra's brothers called in. Henry from Dubai and Sabu, I'm guessing from Kerala.

April 27th morning - Tanisha and Sanjay's birthdays. We also squeezed in a little for Nen as she had just had one. To date this has been our most successful conference. At least with regard to attendance.  Even Maggie was there. The only ones missing were Preeti, Chris, and Andy.

Mum relishes this time as she gets to see the faces of her children and grand-chidlren. With her headphones, she is able to follow the conversation.

Another Day Sheltering in Place

I went to Sprouts Market this morning. Other than taking a walk outside with Raphael, I haven't been to a place with other people. So it was strange and a little exhilarating to be shopping. Someone wiped down my cart handle at the entrance. All employees had masks on - a change from the last time we were there. The store was limiting the number of customers inside, so it was not crowded and easy to keep a distance from others.

No, I didn't have to lick my finger to open the produce plastic bags. They were already wet from handling the fresh produce.

Once home, I unpacked outside carefully, wiping down the items. I changed my clothes and washed my hands. Left my shoes out in the sunshine. It’s weird how everything appears the same and safe. I think about finding the right balance between overdoing things obsessively and or being careless.

Neither I nor Raphael can afford to become infected.

IF

It’s weird how this post starts out about Vinay Gaikwad, the eldest son of Samuel and Prema.
Tennyson and I worked as staff together with his parents at Spicer as young married couples, then later as young parents. We’d joke saying we’d arrange for our children to marry each other. Well, that plan sort of fell apart as both our first borns were boys.

Recently, Vinay and I have become FaceBook friends. He is a physician but also a talented musician who has begun posting videos of himself playing his violin, the guitar and piano. Sometimes he accompanies his wife’s singing, or they sing duets. Today he did a cover of If by Bread. It’s one of my favorite songs — which I’d forgotten about.

I read a NYT story this morning about an Indian female doctor who was infected at work and died as a result, leaving behind husband, mother and college freshman daughter. If only we could play IF for all those people dying alone. I listened to the original recording a few times and sent it out to all those on ventilators around the world.

It’s a song I’d like someone to sing to me on my death bed. A beautiful soft melody, the promise of someone by your side, embarking on an adventure together through the  galaxy. What’s not to like?

DAY 26 - SUPER MOON

Last night saw the rise of the super moon in the sky and on FaceBook. And though I stepped outside and looked up into its face last last night and early this morning, it couldn't move me.

DAY 21 - RAPHAEL'S BIRTHDAY

Last year celebratory plans were cancelled with Nic’s death. We had planned almost a year in advance to spend a few days in Porto, Portugal with his children and grandchildren to celebrate his birthday. Instead while Andrew hurried from Rio to Paris to be with his sister as she grappled with the new reality of Nic's serious condition, the day dawned with Raphael and me in this luxurious hotel suite while his daughter became a widow at 37, and two-year-old Sloane, fatherless.

Porto was rainy and without charm and I knew we'd never return but we did take long arduous walks through its steep narrow cobbled streets.

A month later as a consolation, I planned a neighborhood party. Preeti came and arranged the bouquets of flowers. He was happily surprised when Paul Pino and the Tone Daddies arrived and set up their band gear. And though the evening was a success, it probably didn't make up for the fact that his children were absent.

This year with the Covid-19 cloud hanging over our heads, we halfheartedly made birthday plans that scaled downwards quickly as we got closer to the day. Maybe we'd camp for a few days in Elephant Butte; maybe we'd take a day trip to Jemez Mountains; or have a picnic in the park. In the end we stayed home and ate the Bittersweet Mocha Bundt cake with a layer of raspberries marinated in Kahlua for breakfast, lunch and dinner. The day before, he had selected the recipe from "The Heart of the Plate" by Mollie Katzen, and low and behold, we had had all the ingredients on our shelves.

I scrummaged in our gift drawer and found a couple items that would have to substitute for my lack of planning and shopping ahead of time. I tissued and bagged them so he'd see it first thing in the morning. The man bar of soap was not just another bar of soap. At $12 the Los Poblanos soap according to its online description was a blend of sage, cedarwood and vetiver essential oils to create a uniquely earthy scent reminiscent of a day spent outdoors. Infused into a base of all-natural ingredients including beeswax and avocado oil, it forms a bar of soap that is as effective as it is enjoyable to use. And though the handcrafted cloth mouse that sat atop the bar as if it were a block of cheese made him smile, what had made the day was the awareness that we were well and together.

Then my phone buzzed with a text around 7 pm. "Come out. We want to wish Raphael a happy birthday," Outside on the street Todd was setting up to fire off a few rockets while Monica and her daughter danced to the Beetles blaring on a portable speaker. Other neighbors came out to the edges of their driveways and into the street in pajamas -- the trending fashion of stay-home comfort, and joined the party now in full swing. Maintaining proper social distancing, we hollered pleasantries to each other and pranced about; Merna played the tambourine; one of the twins tapped on a contrived instrument; and we all clapped wildly at each burst of the firecrackers.

The joyful voices ringing out in the thin desert air made me realize how much I had missed our close knit block of neighbors. And so another day in the continuing cascade of restrictions ended.

Day 16 - Quarantine

Yes, I'm so thankful for each of you and the comfort of you being just you. I go through periods of feeling down and anxious even though I try to limit the amount of news I take in. At other times I compartmentalize it to the far recesses of my brain, turn on some happy music to dance to. But no matter what, I am constantly aware of the pain, sadness, horror and frustration so many are dealing with. I disciplined myself from the beginning to refrain from thinking or saying anything nasty about President Trump, but now when his incompetence and ineptness has put the entire country at risk and people are dying and will continue to die in great numbers, I am angry. But previous presidents are not innocent as each took more and more away from the safety net of the most vulnerable instead of strengthening it. Perhaps the lessons of life must be learned even if it brings us to our knees.
[Note written to my dear friends, Donna, Leli, Preeti, following our book club meeting]

Day 11 - Quarantine

On March 20, a text from my neighbor Sue made me happy. Hospitals were looking for people who could sew to make cloth masks. Finally, I had a way of participating and giving back to the community. I got started right away.

By Monday, March 23, I had made 63 - and donated 60 of them to Ann Silva Sewing in Albuquerque who were coordinating the effort.

I started with leftover material from Nic's shirts. Then began using Raphael's. Shirt fabric is made for the mask. The cotton blend is not only lightweight, the right versus the wrong side indiscernable, and mostly wrinkle free, but the blend apparently repels moisture better than 100% cotton fabric. I can make about 8 masks from each shirt. This is also economical as I don't have to purchase the fabric or use my collected stash. The elastic hair ties make for perfect fasteners.

Yesterday I began cutting pieces for a a new batch and went to bed with soreness in my right arm from the cutting motion, but it was easier than being at a hospital on a 12-hour shift, or going to work where one had to interact with the public all day long.

I sat sewing at my machine most of the morning. It's a pleasant meditative activity. I have bossa nova jazz playing in the background and natural light from a window next to me that looked out onto the backyard with my tumble weed nests swaying from the branches, the birdbath with a visitor now and then, and even though there are a lot of weeds, it's green and lush at this time of the year.

I am sad and depressed when I watch the news or read about the personal stories of those facing challenges of infection.

DAY 5 - Quarantine

December 28, 2007 / Toronto

Strung along by Hope

I’m allowing my soul to die. I stand at its bed side and watch it languish away. I should ring the bell for help. Summon the nurse, but my hands remain stiff at my sides. My feet are fixed. Hope does this to me.

This was a time of deep sadness, depression and disconnection. My frame of mind is so different now that looking back at these few words I had penned, seem entirely strange and unlike me. I don't disbelieve them. On the contrary, I remember this period of my life vividly. But why and how I had sunk so low, I can't explain. Of course, the obvious answer is my traumatic separation from Raphael, but the intensity of the reaction to this situation, I seemed to have no control over.

I have long accepted that my state of mind is easily influenced by external circumstances. As a people pleaser, if someone close to me is not happy with me, then it must be my fault. At least this used to be the case. It's difficult to be objective about one's emotional self. Raphael and I came together again towards the end of 2008 and we have been together ever since -- and everyday with him brings happiness and contentment. So grounded and at peace am I, that I am convinced that it is all my doing. That it is a result of my emotional growth and maturity. But what would happen, if he were removed from my life again? 

DAY 4 - CLOSURES

March 13 - This was the first day of restrictions.
March 16 - April 6. Libraries and pools are also closed.
March 14-17 Raphael and I went camping to Elephant Butte
March 18 - Raphael went to workout at the YMCA - that announced reduced hours and activities.
March 19 - YMCA closed

Raphael and I went to Sprouts Farmers Market at 7 am in order to beat the crowds. The parking lot was full. The cheerful cashier said they are buy all day. The morning was cold, 39 F. We bought some frozen foods — spinach, broccoli, peas, cauliflower, and berries; canned tomatoes, bread, ice cream, cabbage, celery, bananas, and some gallon jars of water.

We also bought a few groceries for Sue and Fred as their car is under repair. I dropped off the groceries on their porch and she put the money in an envelope and dropped it off at our door. We are taking social distancing seriously.

I started on a new patchwork quilt. Raphael went out to Big 5 and bought a couple workout props. I did a little cooking, tidying up and other domestic chores.

The spread of COVID-19 is accelerating across the country rapidly. It’s adding some stress and anxiety which I’m trying to fight by staying away from watching or listening to too much news. FB news hasn’t helped either. Even though there are some humorous posts, the subject is still the same.

I miss Kris and Preeti.

The New Normal - Living with COVID-19

With long severe winters and snow on the ground for six months, summer days were treasured and spent as much out of doors as possible. One summer afternoon the kids and I were in the backyard when we noticed dark clouds on a horizon that stretched far into the distance. The big sky and wide open space gave one a literal bird’s eye view and though the clouds were moving in our direction, it was still a comfortable distance away. As it neared, a wind churned up the branches of the cottonwood and turned the ripening barley fields into an ocean of rippling waves.

The three of us stand enthralled by the approaching storm.
Kris suggests, Let’s wait until the rain reaches us.
The first raindrops are large and heavy as they smack into us and we instinctively run to shelter under the nearest lilac bush. It was the wrong decision as we are soaked to the skin in a few seconds, and we laugh raucously as we make a dash for the backdoor and safety.

Wuhan, China was deceptively faraway but the world watched as the contagion spread to other countries and now with alarm we step backwards into our homes for it is raining at our very doorstep.

Here’s how the COVID-19 storm began unfolding:
I bought my air ticket to Medicine Hat in November 2019, four months before I was to travel there to mark my son’s 40th birthday.

Feb 14 - I chatted with Safira. Plans in place.

March 1 - With Safira in mind, I expressed concerns to Kris about the risk of exposure from travel. Kris said he had not been keeping up with the news and that the subject had not been discussed. They didn’t seem to have any concerns. Safira was recovering from a recent illness. Plans still in place.

Ambiguity about whether to go or not plagued me constantly. I don’t see the kids often and I had looked forward to this trip for months. I was not ready to cancel.

March 7/8 - Talked with Kris who said that Safira had pneumonia but was being treated at home and that the worst was over. This was not good news and mentally knew chances of the visit were slipping away. Even though they were no confirmed cases yet in NM, none in MH and only one in Calgary, I was concerned about traveling through LAX. I was looking at purchasing a one way return ticket through CO which had no cases yet to avoid LAX. I told Kris that Preeti and I had talked about meeting in Calgary as Plan B. Raphael cancelled his trip to NYC and Wash DC and I was beginning to feel some pressure to do the same. Even though I told Kris it was likely I would not travel, I still held out hope that I might be able to go.

March 9 - I packed up the gifts for Kris and Safira and mailed the parcel at the post office. This act signified my decision to cancel, even though I continued to make mental arguments to go. Over the next couple days, I wept with disappointment but felt it was the right decision with Safira and Raphael being among the vulnerable populations.  Even though Kris still didn’t think the visit should be cancelled.

March 11 - NM gets its first confirmed case. Kris cancels birthday visit with Preeti and Chris who were still planning to go.

March 12 - NM closes all public schools. I cancel my air tickets. Preeti has a bad day as all their alternate plans come to nothing.
March 13 - Preeti and Chris drive to a cabin in Northern Wisconsin near Lake Superior to hideout for six days. Just heard they’ve extended their stay as Chris’s school is closed and Preeti has the rest of the week off.
March 14 - Raphael and I go camping in Elephant Butte for four days.
March 17 - All public and private schools close in Illinois.

The Worst Ever

Recently I've taken to asking myself the question, What's the worst thing that's happened to me? And when I look back over my life, I can't think of anything at first. It's like illness, or childbirth. Once the discomfort is past, the negative associations seem to vanish as well. I'm in good health. I spent the night secure from the cold snuggled in warm blankets. The larder overflows and I have the luxury of time to pursue anything I want, or nothing at all.

Eventually like shadows growing tentacles they creep back into my memory. The worst times seem related to betrayal. I have felt betrayed by others. I in turn have betrayed those I had a responsibility to protect and whom I love. But also shame and guilt. Perhaps they are all the same. Tears well up and I am distraught as the pictures of those times come back into focus.

I don't linger in this dark space but rather use it to contrast the peace and joy that now fill my life. I watch my husband, my loving companion and friend, through the doorway seated at his computer in the next room bathed in strokes of soft light like a Rembrandt. The mood is enhanced with the rise and fall of a piano concerto by Dimitri Shostakovich that wash over me in warm waves as on a sun-swept shore.

I read somewhere that the deeper the sorrow one has borne, the greater the capacity for joy. I like that. I like that a lot.

I QUIT

“I Quit” the title of a New York Times article jumped out at me this morning and took me back 30 years to this very day when my husband and I, having quit our jobs, and cashed out my retirement fund for air tickets, jammed into five suitcases the remains of our material possessions after the house had been picked clean by friends, relatives and neighbors, and quit the only country we had known, landing on the other side of the world in a frigid land to start life anew with our 9 and 6 year old children.

Knowing what I know now, would I do it over? Reflection is an interesting trait that human beings possess and according to Socrates, without it life is not worth living.

I walked away a few more times in the ensuing years, pursuing a life that has shown itself to be increasingly rich with meaning, and to that end I continue, but pause today with gratitude and love to the family we were 30 years ago, and with the knowledge that we are still together in a parallel universe.

Bell Rock Pathway

January 5, 2020
Bell Rock Pathway, Sedona, Arizona.
4919 feet at the top

The 4 mile loop around Bell and Court House is heavily trafficked and is what we intended to do when Andrew, Arturo and I started out at about 9 am. However, walking on a level path becomes pretty monotonous especially with the Bell in close proximity at all times. We thought we might scramble up at some point but couldn't wait to get to the easier northern side, so enticing were the slopes of the Bell. Andrew and Arturo started up the side of the Bell and we decided to meet farther ahead. After about five or ten minutes, I decided I didn't want to miss out on the adventure and started up the side as well. It didn't take long to catch up with them.

The rock sides are quite smooth and steep and one has to be patient to find the one that suits the hiker the best as there are many paths and cracks leading up to the next level. I must admit I needed a hand up in a couple places, but other than that fared well. My hiking shoes had excellent grip and scaling the sides weren't that difficult. However, about halfway up, I decided the let the boys continue without me. The view where I waited was terrific. Stretching for miles in front of me. A yellow-robed anglo swami sat on a rock nearby. His Sanskrit chants and clapping adding to the enchantment of the place.

 The lower red circle is as high as I got. The circle above is as far as Andrew and Arturo got.