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About eight days ago I logged into my Peapod app to place my weekly order.  I love Peapod, and have used their service for nearly twelve years.  But today about two-thirds of the order showed up. And I found myself grabbing my keys to venture forth to a grocery store to look for meat, fruit, and some veggies.

Little did I know what I was in for.

I chose the local Wegmans.  The parking lot was pretty full, but I wasn’t too worried. I was greeted at the door by hand sanitizer.  Ten feet further along, there was more.  But once inside the entrance I was thrilled to see fruits and veggies sitting in their shelves.  I headed left, noting how many people were wearing gloves, or a mask.  As I passed the pastries I smiled.  Wegmans had meat.

Such a little thing you might think.  But the family at home had been jonesing for tacos.  As I reached out to grab a pack, I noticed the first of numerous rectangular signs. These bright yellow beacons were scattered through the aisles.  I took a picture for those of you whose states haven’t adopted the preventative measures New Jersey has in the past week.

This was only the first change I noticed.  But it makes sense. If we stopped stockpiling out of fear, there would be enough for everyone in our communities.  Wegmans just took it upon themselves to teach this.

The second shocker was checking out.  It took a few minutes to find the end of the line, which stretched back into the aisles with beer and wine.  I couldn’t help but find this ironic considering that Pennsylvania just closed their liquor stores.  Once we got closer to the cashiers, a smiling employee dressed in a bright yellow shirt gave us our new directions. You had to stop at the red line before the checkout and place your items on the belt.  The cashier would let you know when you could come up to pay.  And all cashiers would take a break every thirty minutes to clean and wash their hands.

Yes, this did take more time than usual. But the message was clear. Wegmans is taking the situation seriously.  And they are overt in their approach, which was comforting to me.  Comforting enough that I won’t be using Peapod for a little bit, until things calm down.

Just before I left, I ran into another soccer mom.  She smiled and we exchanged stories about home.  Then she told me her new trick is to buy groceries every couple of days.  Maybe that makes sense. Take what you need, then go back.

At least at the grocery store you see other human beings.

That alone is comforting.

I tried to smile at other shoppers, and some responded in kind.  However, the fear was palpable.  Many kept their heads down.  A few raced through aisles as if they were searching for the last of something.  I chose to take my time.

Now I was not able to find disinfectant sprays or wipes, and my grocery adventure took longer than normal, but that is okay. I enjoyed getting out of the house, even if it meant soaking my hands in hand sanitizer a few times.

Also, for older Americans who are the most susceptible to Covid 19, a few stores in the area are  early just for you.  You have your own time slots! I think that is pretty cool.

Overall, my grocery adventure was a good one, an instructive experience that may give a glimpse of our new normal.

Namaste

By now the shock of living during a pandemic has started to wear off.  I woke up at 6:30, caught some news, and was ready to work by 8:30.  As usual, my email was flooded with Google Classroom “so and so” turned in assignment notifications.  But I plugged in my earbuds and turned on my Pandora 80s station and got to work.

After lunch, Munchkin and I had a chiropractic appointment.  Last January I was in a minor car accident, but ended up with whiplash and concussion symptoms. My weekly visit is very important to me.  So with hand sanitizer in our pockets, we hopped in the car.  I first stopped at the bank to get some cash.  Not a large amount, just enough to pay for things this week. Second stop was for gas.  There were people on the road; more than I expected.  The supermarket parking lots were full.

It’s a bit sad, but I was thrilled to be around a couple of different people today.  There were only three in the doctor’s office.  My son and I left in less than thirty minutes, wishing them good luck.  With the sun shining, and the car’s windows open with our stereo blasting Lizzo, life almost felt normal.

Normal enough to order dinner from Jersey Mike’s.  The first thing I noticed was the Panera Bread next door had two tables blocking the entrance.  On each was a remote ordering screen.  A person stood about five feet behind the tables, presumably waiting for someone to come.  But I could walk into Jersey Mikes.  The two kids behind the counters made a show of washing their hands, twice. Then they donned two sets of gloves before making our subs. The girl chatted how she is supposed to graduate high school this year, and already distance learning is getting old.  She is scared about our uncertain future.  The tall lanky boy just chatted about how they were trying to stay open and how much he needed the money.

Now I have friends who would say I was nuts ordering take out, but I’m keenly aware of our failing economy.  I feel bad for all those who used to be able to provide for their families while working in the food industry.  At no point did I feel the food was unsafe to eat, and I felt good spending the money.  We are all in this together.

Fear does not serve us.  We serve Fear. One of my favorite acronyms is FALSE EVIDENCE APPEARING REAL.  I’m not saying there is nothing to fear in these uncertain times, but humans tend to react badly when frightened.  Taking a breath can help.

Today was a decent day because I cautiously clung to some older routines: get up early, shower and do the hair. I even put on a bit of make-up.  Instead of sweats, I put on jeans, and even that made me feel a bit better.  I took a break to go for a walk in the park.  I took care of myself by seeing the doc.  And I feel good about buying take-out.

Probably the best part of the day was watching my son with his school device open on one side, and his ipad on the other: he was logged into Google Hangout with a close friend.  They chatted with each other most of the day, and that made my Munchkin smile.  I think it provided a sense of normalcy, and it made “school” feel better.

But my best tip is to limit exposure to the news. I’m not saying don’t pay attention.  But I limited it to a half-hour this evening, and an hour this morning.  I stopped checking my phone every couple of minutes for new headlines.  That may have helped the most.

Do you have any tips on coping to share? Please write them in the comments.

Take care!

Photo by Mia von Steinkirch, PhD, MSc on Pexels.com

Day 2: The first time I woke up it was 5:30 a.m., not too much later than when I normally get up to go to work.  I forced myself back to bed and woke up to the sound of rain.  It was dark.  I stumbled into the bathroom and decided to shower, just as I would on a normal school day.

Only today wasn’t a normal school day; it was the first day of distance learning.  I opened my Mac Book by 8:00 a.m.  There was a flurry of emails from students asking questions, and even a few directions on how to conduct distance learning.  I made some coffee and left the kitchen for the living room, and Good Morning America, which was depressing.  By 9:00 a.m., I shut off the television and retreated the the kitchen/office.  My son had his earbuds inserted and was working.

DH walked past us and retreated to the downstairs bathroom.  Just another day.

To say it was “easy” to work would have been a lie.  I am still struggling with wrapping my brain around our new reality, and retreating under a cover of Fear.  I snapped at my son and stood up suddenly, stepping into the cat’s food dish.  The pain was exquisite, and for a moment, I wondered if I had broken the side of my foot.  The thought of having to have it checked was suddenly sobering.  So I willed it to feel better, which took an hour.

I have papers to grade.  And some texts to read.  But instead, I bounce around between Google Classrooms posting comments, and amending assignments.  All the while my cell phone would beep with incoming text messages and Covid 19 announcements.

At 12:30 I stopped, reheated some pizza, and sat down to eat as a family.  DH took a break and played with our son.  I lay down and tried to close my eyes.  But I couldn’t relax.  Later, our son went out on his bike.  A few minutes after he came home, there was a knock on our door.  The neighborhood kids wanted him to come out and play.  I stood guard by the doorway and said “Maybe tomorrow.”  My son begged to ride bikes with them, and I let him go, wondering if we would do the same tomorrow.  “Don’t go inside their house!” I warned as he peddled down the driveway.

Later still, DH and I took a walk around the neighborhood, a familiar path for me; a new one for him.  Our son stayed home.  We took that time to discuss the “what ifs”, which are terrifying.  Not only am I afraid we might get sick, but I am afraid we won’t have as much income in a few weeks.  How will we pay our bills?

Tonight, I watched the news and felt sick.  After dinner, I helped our son learn how to use Google Hangout with a friend. Then I set off to get gmail addresses from his friends.  I think it is really important that our son sees them, not just texts with them.  I worry about the young people’s mental health.  Once I was done, I checked out Facebook again and gasped.  Recycling Services have been suspended.

I think what is most shocking is how fast our lives have devolved.  There is so much uncertainty about what will happen next.  All I can do is take things one day at a time.  And show some gratitude for the small moments of love.

I would love to know how you are coping with this Covid reality.  Leave me comments below.

Namaste

I love Halloween. And I have loved watching my son dress up and go trick or treating with his friends.  But this year he was a bit hesitant.  No ideas what to be. Couldn’t find a costume. Had a hard time deciding to go to a friend’s or have a friend over.  I was starting to get nervous that he would want to stay home.

Eventually, we had a plan in place, a last minute costume, and a request that Dad go with Munchkin and his friend around our neighborhood in the dark of night, and the drizzle of rain.

But I knew deep in my gut that this year might be the end.

The end of being a kid.

The beginning of being a tween.

And tonight that became even more clear as I listened to him talk with his friend. They were in the back seat of our car as we made our way to a school event.  And as I drove, I noted the deepening of their voices, their casual bantering,  and their friendly laughs.

And that is when it hit me. My son has passed the threshold from little kid to adolescence.  The realization is jarring. What happened to the little boy I used to read bedtime stories to?  Will we ever sit on the floor and play Legos again?   He is too big now to sit and cuddle in my lap.

I’ll be honest. I have dreaded this stage.  After teaching middle school for 17 years, I have become well aware of the various pitfalls.  Tech addictions. Bullying. Anxiety over grades. Early sexual experiences.  Peer pressure.  Cybercrap, etc , etc, etc.  He already has friends with “girl friends”. Most have cell phones. Some have already pushed the boundaries into trouble.

Munchkin’s world is very different from mine at his age. Maybe it is just an age thing, but the world seems suddenly chaotic and uncertain in 2019.

But the truth is that Munchkin needs to find his way in this world.  I should not tighten the reins so to speak, but let them loosen.  He will need to explore, and fall down.  We will need to be there to help him back up.  Munchkin is not Dad. Nor is he me. He is his own person.

And maybe it is time for me to be me, and not mommy.  It is time for me to be Mom, a signal that Munchkin has crossed into tweenland and that it’s time for me to remember my identify before he arrived.  I should relish the opportunity to delve into my hobbies and interests, and maybe even some self-care.

Don’t get me wrong. We will still have clear boundaries and expectations. We hope to wait until 8th for a cell phone.  There will be limits on how much time he spends playing video games. Rated R movies are off limits. But we give him space and time with friends. I expect to drive him to games and gatherings.  And we will try our best to act from love, and not fear.

But tonight as I sit here typing, I know I will remember November 1st as recognizing the change.  And I will try not to mourn the past as I wish it hadn’t gone so fast.

Jennifer

Can you call yourself a writer if you aren’t writing?

I think about writing. I read about writing.  I read. But write?

Some suggest that you fake it until you make it, IE you repeat I AM A WRITER, I AM A WRITER, I AM A WRITER, forcing a manifestation of that truth.

There have been moments during the past six months when I make empty promises to myself about writing, and each promise is premised with “when”.

When I finish cleaning the house, when I finish grading the papers, when I am not so damn tired…when is an awful word.

A friend told me an anecdote about Elizabeth Gilbert of Eat, Pray, Love fame.  Apparently Gilbert’s mentor had asserted something similar, that Gilbert wasn’t passionate about writing if she didn’t write.  This makes me wonder if writing is a passion, or the dream of it is.

Even as my fingers awkwardly peck on the keys tonight, I am thinking how I want to catch up on Evil, which I think is wonderfully written.

And then I glance at my mobile office and glimpse the bulging folder of papers that need to be graded.  At least I could grade some while EVIL plays in the background.  Can’t grade while I am trying to write.

And there is the mess in the kitchen.  The laundry sprayed on the basement carpet.  The lunches that need to be made.

I could quit.

Cold turkey.

Then there is that nagging itch and the little voice whispering “You haven’t given it your best shot yet.  How far can you take it?”

I yawn again.

Sip the night time tea.

And consider identity.

How much has writing been a part of my identity?  I often identify as a writer, almost as if it is a badge of honor. I am connected to not one, but two critique groups, which often push me to either pluck a trunk tale, or at least sit at the computer.

In my thirties, writing was a large part of my identity.  My friends were all writers.  I went to conventions and workshops.  For a while I must have owned twenty books on writing, most of which are gone.

But now I am barreling towards fifty, like the stocky dwarves in the river from THE HOBBIT.  I feel as if I am holding reins to so many runaway horses that a few will slip from my tenuous grasp at any moment.  The rein that holds WRITING is getting frayed, yet it is tangled between my thumb and forefinger.

Does giving up writing mean giving up on me?

Stay tuned…

Jennifer