Author: Laurie Sunderland

While hiking with friends today, I took out my phone to get a photo and before I could get to the camera app, I noticed the date.  3/13/2022.  What an auspicious anniversary today is – 2 years ago today, was when I was told to prepare as Colorado was in a state of emergency.  Two weeks later, the stay at home order began.   When I got home from the hike, my FB memory from one year ago popped up.

3/13/2021

One year ago today, I was sitting in the parking lot of the grocery store talking to my sister, Susan, on the phone.  She told me that I needed to make sure I had at least TWO weeks of food because of the coronavirus and a possible quarantine.  She lives in MA and they were about a week or two ahead of where we were regarding the virus in CO.  I remember asking her, “TWO weeks???  Are you sure?  That’s a long time!”  

“Oh, and they’re saying we should stock up on toilet paper and hand sanitizer…. and make sure the food isn’t perishable… things like beans and rice.”

The first thing I noticed was we were still calling it Coronavirus… We had no idea the variants Delta and Omicron were on deck.  I mentioned the date to the three friends I was hiking with and each one remembered the date clearly and had a story of how and when they heard about the shut down and what it meant to them.  It’s an easy date for me to remember as it was Friday the 13th.  I am a bit superstitious, avoiding walking under ladders, reluctancy to cross a black cat’s path and then of course, Friday the 13th, which I can’t say is either lucky or unlucky for me, but I do take note.  I had no idea at the time that this would be the Friday the 13th that I’d never forget.  This would be the date that had me running from store to store to shore up supplies for two weeks.  Buy enough food for two weeks, I was told.  A week later, I’d enter a period of time that would last six weeks. Six weeks of not getting close enough to anyone, including my family, to give them a hug.  Six weeks of me alone in my house, staying busy with closet and drawer clean outs like everyone else, digging out canvases and paints and trying my hand at something I used to do daily many years ago but had set it aside and writing.  Lots of writing.  I look back at those 6 weeks with a sense of fondness and pride.  It was hard, especially for someone who needs and thrives in the company of others, but it also felt like a very healthy reset for me.  I became tight with my introverted self – the self that until the 6 week isolation, I had no idea existed.   It would become the most inspiring, lonely, introspective, creative, sad and heart opening time of my life. 

When I look back on who I was and what I was doing two years ago, for lack of a better word, I’m flabbergasted (does that word make me sound old?).  There have been so many changes I’ve gone though yet it was all so gradual that I really couldn’t comprehend it until now with two years of prospective and enough distance to fine tune my focus.

 Two years ago I knew my neighbors, but only through the exchange of pleasantries with each other while shoveling snow or mowing grass.  One neighbor I had a few more conversations with because she invited me to their New Year’s Eve party in the afternoon on the 31st, Scottish time, their annual tradition to honor her husband’s Scottish heritage.  After coming away from their house that early evening on 12/31/2019, I felt hopeful.  I met a handful of people at the party.  Maybe people I could hike with.  Maybe people who I’d be able to call friends someday.  That didn’t happen but the neighbor who hosted the party did invite me over for a socially distanced dinner on their patio.  This meant she and her husband at one table and me at my own table for one on the opposite side of the patio. Conversation was a bit difficult as we had to shout to be heard, and of course we had masks on when we weren’t eating, but we felt safe and I had an invite.  Yes, things were looking up.  And then they moved.  

It took me until January of 2021 to decide it was time to mask up and get out and hike.  Still without friends or anyone to hike with, I laced up my boots, gathered up my nerve and went on a Meet-Up hike.  I’m not including my Boulder family in the friends category, by the way, because although my kids are my friends, they can’t be the sole members in category. Or so I think.

It’s hard to be the only one in the group that no one knows.  It’s hard to be vulnerable.  I sat in my car and watched the group gather at the trail head, leaving the engine running as the conversation I was having with myself and meeting people and putting myself out there wasn’t going well.  Going home and walking around my neighborhood instead was winning.  Then I remembered what my sister, Susan, had told me when she first went to a Meet-Up hiking group in the Berkshires where she had moved and it started a whole chain of friendships for her.  I could feel her nudge while I sat there, my hands on the wheel, ready to put the car in reverse and leave.  She told me I could make all sorts of excuses as to why I shouldn’t get out of the car to join the group, all of them pretty flimsy, by the way, but until I put myself out there, I wouldn’t meet anyone.  Plus,  you’ll be doing what you love. Her words were louder than the NPR voices coming out of my radio.  How could I ignore that sage advice?  I got out of the car, walked over to the group, introduced myself and headed up for what I now realize still holds the record for the hardest hike I’ve done in Boulder since moving here.  8 miles and 1,400 feet of elevation gains.  I came home tired, but happy.  I met two women that day, both who texted me the following day to make plans.  I’ve gone on many hikes with both women, and have seen one of them for regular hikes and social outings.

The three women I hiked with today I also met on hikes and now, 15 months and hundreds of miles of hiking later, I’ve found my tribe and it’s a good one because we’re all doing what we love.  I think it was the push of the pandemic after so much time alone, that gave me the courage and the “what the hell and why not?” attitude, because seriously, after what we’ve been through, how can one not feel that way?

Two years ago I wouldn’t have had any idea that the journey we were starting to embark upon would still be present two years later.  I’ve been vaccinated, boosted and even got Covid a month ago.  I’ve worn masks for most of the past two years due to mandates, have been thoughtful about where I will dine, preferring outside,  have sacrificed movies and theatre and live music and have only made a few trips on airplanes.  I missed Christmas with my parents and siblings and one of my sons and his wife, for the first time ever.   I missed hugging.  So much. I know I wasn’t alone in any of it, which gave me a collective strength, making it much easier.  The two years of sacrifice and priorities, growth and discovery, creation and contemplation have been above all else, a gift.  There was a whole lot of missing that went on and I know I share that with most of the world, but today, while traversing the muddy Mesa Trail, I realized that all that missing has made me a lot more grateful for what I have now.  

Close to a year after we shut down,  I finally saw two of my friend’s faces  who I had been hiking with for several months.  The three of us participated in a memorial walk to honor the ten people killed in the King Sooper shooting.  It was such an emotional afternoon that afterwards, we decided to walk over to a nearby restaurant for an early dinner. The restaurant had large garage-type doors opened in the front for fresh air and was operating at 1/3 capacity.  It felt safe and necessary. When our food arrived and our masks came off to eat,  I realized that I had never seen the smiles of these two women who I had become so close to through the countless stories shared through the cloth of  our masks.  Those smiles were just as bright as their eyes,  that had been doing all of the communicating when the masks were on.  

The word that continued to circle through my thoughts today while on the trail was gratitude.  It’s been a long, difficult road of Covid that for me came on the heels of my move to Boulder.  I think Covid helped me assimilate into this town and onto the trails and if I had to find the silver lining to the last 2 years, that would be it.  The other silver lining was my son and his girlfriend, got married on 12/21/2020. A bride, a groom, a marriage officiant and a photographer. Done. What could be more romantic or more true to the intention of the union than that? And I got another daughter in law in the process. Truly, a highlight for 2020.

I’m hoping if I post a blog a year from today, it will be about a child or a grandchild or an incredibly exotic trip or maybe how pretty my garden looks in the late afternoon sun and that Covid won’t even get a mention.

I’m tired. Not the kind of tired from not having enough sleep or the being bored kind of tired, but the heavy cloaked tired that comes with not knowing mixed with fear and anxiety and topped off with the new realities that even after over 2 months, I’m still having a hard time with. I heard a name for this today – coronavirus fatigue. The symptoms for coronavirus fatigue didn’t present themselves immediately for me, but rather were gradual in their onset, but now seem to be present daily. Walking, nature, painting and writing seem to offer temporary relief.

Things in Boulder are starting to change and last Saturday was the “soft” opening of retail shops. The doors opened to new rules of spacing and mandatory masks, but still, the doors opened and customers entered. I walked down Pearl Street, the Main Street downtown where the majority of the shops and restaurants are, out of curiosity. It was the eeriest walk down Pearl I’ve ever experienced in my short 9 months of living here. People were walking around wide-eyed and curious, as if seeing everything for the first time. It reminded me of when people exit their homes during the quiet after a big storm to assess the damage, with a vulnerability that made it seem like we had just gotten up and were still in our pajamas. Wider than normal swaths of gray roots and hair that looked long overdue for a trim were the norm. Something about that felt reassuring to me. My own hair is about 3 inches past its haircut due date, so no judgement there, just observation. Some of the shops had music playing and doors wide open, giving a sense of celebration to the area but even so, something didn’t feel right or normal or as it had been before. I realized that I hadn’t seen that many people in one place in a very long time and even with distancing and probably less than 1/4 of the population that would normally be there on a beautiful Saturday, it seemed like a lot of people to me. The other odd thing was seeing everyone with a mask on. It still looks like a science fiction movie to me, but at the same time, I was grateful to see so many people following the rules.

I went into one of the shops, simply because I could I guess, but had no intentions of buying anything as I didn’t have my wallet with me. I had passed by the shop window many times on my walks during the past 2 months and had seen something in the window that caught my eye, so wanted a closer look. The thing, an old wooden vessel of sorts, was just as intriguing in person as it had been through the shop window but I’ve got to say, I had no desire whatsoever to go home, get my money and return for the purchase. In fact, I had no desire to buy anything. I know the small businesses need all the help they can get, but spending money on myself for things totally unnecessary didn’t feel right to me and being in a store, regardless of the distancing didn’t feel right either. At least not yet. Having adhered closely to the “quarantine rules,” my re-entry will be slow. And I’m nervous, but I am getting out. I’m going to the grocery store and made a few trips to a local nursery for flowers. This, to me, is the scary part. I’m afraid that with each venture out to a new public venue, I will get more and more casual about touching things and physical distancing. I know it’s odd, but I’m afraid I’ll be so distracted by the plants, the flowers, the produce, the shoes, the books, that I’ll forget about the virus, even while donning a mask. Again, my re-entry will be cautious and slow.

My way of dealing with difficult situations is to only take on what I can handle, a gradual easing in process. It’s nothing I do consciously but rather seems to be the mechanism my psyche has set up as a matter of protection. I’m guessing I’m not alone in that. Had I been told 2 months ago to prepare for a solo quarantine for 2 plus months then a gradual return to a very different reality, I’m not sure what I would have done. After hearing about the 2 week “self-isolation,” daunting as it was, I prepared both physically and emotionally and was ready for the challenge. And now, a month and a half later from that “challenge” when I hear things like “mid to late summer for large gatherings… maybe, airline travel will come with risk or stock up on masks as we will be wearing them for a very long time,” my reaction is a flat, dull, sure, OK… hardly what it was when I heard 2 weeks isolation. I’ve become desensitized but know my psyche has a hand in that. What I can manage right now is today. Just today. I’m living the lesson I’ve always tried to put into play – living in the moment – and that lesson has become a matter of emotional survival for me.

I love my walks. Still. I love getting to know my neighborhood and beyond and have to wonder how “deep” I would have gotten on my walks had it not become a very important 2 hours of my day simply for my sanity as well as my physical well-being. I drove to a small garden center a few days ago as I was told they practice very strict and safe distancing measures. I had to think about how to get there from my house, given one way streets that don’t matter when walking. Driving felt strange. I can’t say that I loved it. The last time I filled my car with gas was on my return trip from KC the first of March. I still have 3/4 of a tank. Once we’re back to our “new normal,” I hope to spend more time on foot or on my bike doing my errands, which I’m still wondering exactly what those errands that had me in and out of my car several times a day even were? Yes, things will look different, be different, feel different and for much of that, I’m thankful.

I walked past the Catholic Church down the street from me on Mother’s Day and couldn’t help but notice that the parking lot was relatively full, something that looks out of place these days. My curiosity got the best of me and I stopped to try and figure out what was going on. When I saw the sign that gave the radio station to tune into, I realized that it was Mother’s Day mass in drive-in form. The priest was on a small covered “stage” at the front of the parking lot and the congregation were in their cars listening from their radios. Once it was over and the cars started leaving, I saw a couple of men stationed at the exit who were handing out flowers to the mothers in the cars. They’ve figured it out. Mass while maintaining social distancing. Maybe I’m just nosey or maybe I’m curious or maybe I crave conversations with others, but I did cobble together a conversation in Spanish with a woman who was leaving the mass to confirm what I thought. Yes, Mother’s Day Mass in cars. Honoring their religion, their mothers and the social distancing.

Yes, I’m nosey and curious and am stopping people more and more often these days simply to ask questions and I’ve been pleasantly surprised at how friendly most have been. A couple of the restaurants with large plate glass windows in front have put large pieces of plywood over the windows during the temporary shut down, I’m guessing to stave off possible looting. It was sad and rather forbidding to see. A few days ago I walked past the same windows only to see they had been painted over with a beautiful landscape. I was lucky enough to be there as the artists were working on one of the window paintings and had a nice conversation with them. It was suggested that maybe the paintings could be auctioned off once the restaurants re-opened and the money given to the restaurant association to help those who have suffered so much during the quarantine. Maybe one of the restaurants would want the painting on an interior wall? I asked them if they’d mind if I just watched them paint for a bit and they said absolutely not and so I did. There are a lot of stories out there. I’m happy to hear some of them

Observations: 6 feet. We all know exactly what it looks like now with tape X’s and lines on the floors of the stores. The lines to get into stores often seem incredibly long, with the monitoring of one in one out rule, until I realized that there is 6 feet between every person and in reality, it’s only a handful of people who are making the line stretch out so long. It is the measurement of my life these days and I know by heart what it looks and feels like. How odd it will feel when we can all bunch together again, with ” excuse me” and “so sorry,”, when body parts accidentally touch. The thought seems very foreign to me right now.

I’ll let my photos tell the rest… always the most interesting part of my days…

Stay safe. Stay hopeful.

Day 51, but who’s counting? I guess I am. The numbers seem kind of irrelevant though now as I feel like I’ve been in this pattern for long enough that the absurd has become the normal. Case in point, when I see photos of people standing next to each other I’m a bit stunned. Old photos, no doubt, but was it really that long ago when we gathered in groups, touched arms with people we knew or didn’t know while in line at the grocery store with strangers? When we said “excuse me” because we bumped into someone, actually touching bodies, in a narrow store aisle? Or stood shoulder to shoulder for a photo? Or actually embraced? That time seems like a very long ago to me.

My moods have waxed and waned – probably more waning than waxing the past few weeks and I know I’m not alone with that. The novelty of our daily reality has worn off and although I’m not sitting around bored and am spending a great deal of my day outside walking or in some sort of creative modality, the absence of having physical connections to other people is huge. The theme I’m living now would be inspiring for a solo retreat and no doubt I’d be intrigued by its description – maybe something like “exploring your inner soul, by yourself, while tapping into your creativity and nature.” (and in the fine print “You’re on your own for cooking, entertainment, and whatever you want to fill your day with but we will provide WIFI and internet….) I don’t think I would sign up for the 51 day package though….14 days, maybe, with the possibility of an add on weekend.

My walking has increased and I’m easily getting in 5 or 6 miles a day, every day. It’s been a real gift in getting to know my neighborhood, and beyond, and I’ve discovered so many interesting pockets that I doubt I never would have without the restrictions that we’re all under. I was riding bikes with my son a few days ago, and was able to point out curiosities and cool houses that he said he had never seen before. When you pay attention, I mean REALLY pay attention, it’s truly amazing what you can see. My walks have become a bit like an Easter egg hunt for me – always searching for the positive, the creative, the quirky and the memorable. Today’s memorable moment was a couple I passed while walking around a nearby lake. He was using a white cane, so I assumed he was blind and the woman with him had a gentle, yet directive, hold of his arm. As I passed them, I overheard her saying,

“We’re going to stop in a minute so I can tell you about all the flowers that are around us.”

“Tell you about the flowers….” something about that touched me. I would have loved to have heard her describe the flowers but thought it would be too creepy of me to turn around and follow them, close enough to hear her words, yet far enough to maintain a safe distance. Gratitude presents itself far more now that I’m paying attention.

The saying that your body speaks its mind has come into play full tilt in my life during the past 2 weeks. I’ve developed an odd, very itchy rash on both of my arms. No where else, just the arms. I’ve not changed soaps, lotions, food or detergents (I’ve not gone to the store so have proof positive of that!) and yet this rash appeared from what seems to be out of nowhere for me and right in the hugging spot of my arms. I’ve dealt with pretty severe cases of poison ivy but this isn’t poison ivy or poison oak or any of the other poisons that can wreak havoc on the skin. My conclusion was that my arms hadn’t hugged in close to two months, and no doubt that takes a toll on the emotional body, but I have to believe that the physical body isn’t left out. I don’t feel stressed, and have to say that I have far more good days than bad, but who am I kidding? Of course I’m stressed! I’ve not had human contact in almost 2 months and we are social animals. We need physical contact. A few days, several days, one week or even two, but 2 months is too long to be alone, without any physical contact. I’ll spare you the photo on this one, but you’ll have to trust me. I’ve been in long sleeves since and we’ve had a few days in the mid 80’s, definitely not long sleeved weather. It looks that bad.

After seeing my rash (via face time), my daughter, Emery, insisted that I come over to the house to celebrate my grandson, Arlo’s, 3rd birthday, which happens to fall on my firstborn, Thomas’s birthday, the following day. She said we will do a joint celebration, while honoring physical distancing etc. I told her I wasn’t sure Arlo would understand that he couldn’t hug me and she said that’s fine. You both need to hug each other. And so yesterday, I celebrated Arlo and Thomas’ birthday, played out in the field behind their house, marveled at my 3 grandchildren (ages 3, 1 and 6 months) and felt the greatest joy I’ve felt in a very, very long time – at least 50 days, all of that preceded by a long time simply hugging. When I got out of my car, Arlo ran up to me, jumped into my arms, hugged me and laid his head on my shoulder. I sobbed… tears of joy, relief and confirmation that yes, the stress has been real. I had just started to reach for my mask to put it on when this happened but forgot about the mask and continued with what felt like real life to me. Familiar, hugging, no masks, no distancing. Emery said that she thought even Governor Polis would agree that this gathering and embracing of people, none who had left their houses in over a month was not only fine, but necessary. Thomas and Brooke and 1 year-old Lilah arrived a few minutes later and when Brooke got out of the car, she looked at us all bunched together with raised brows and a big smile said,

“Are we doing this?”

Yes. We’re doing this. More hugs. More embraces. More tears for me.

I didn’t come bearing gifts for my son or grandson, we didn’t eat birthday cake (it was 10:00 in the morning) and we didn’t even sing “Happy Birthday” (they would do that later with cake and candles), but it was the most wonderful celebration of birthdays and family and love that I’ve experienced in a very long time. I only wish Grant and Katie could have been there as well, but they did check in on Zoom. I realized that the celebration didn’t need the cake or the presents or the ceremony that usually happens but rather it was the love that carried us and made it one of the most celebratory moments I’ve ever experienced. I felt like I had been holding my breath for 51 days and finally, yesterday, I got to exhale and boy did it ever feel good. I told my kids it was the first time I’ve felt a sense of normal in close to two months. That’s a long time. Too long.

We will return to social distancing and will likely wear masks the next time, as Boulder is lifting restrictions in a week, which means we will have to be even more careful as we will be venturing out and coming into contact with others. Bending (or breaking?) the rules a bit yesterday became very necessary for all of our well-being. Oh, and the rash? It hardly itched at all yesterday and today, I have hope for the first time in over 2 weeks, that it’s on its way out. How can I NOT make a connection between the rash and the lack of hugging? Especially given that it only presented itself on my arms and no where else. A dermatologist would likely give me the diagnosis of “contact dermatitis” (which a dermatologist once told me simply means they have no idea…) and they would probably be right, but I can’t discount the role that stress and lack of human contact have played. *Note to anyone googling skin conditions…. heed the warnings. The photos are indeed disturbing…

These are stressful times and whether through sleepless nights, nervous stomach, headaches or a rash on the arms, it is showing up, one way or another, in our physical bodies. I’m just glad I was able to get the medication I so desperately needed yesterday – hugs. Lots of them. As I was hugging Arlo, he looked up at me and asked me if my arms still hurt ( Emery must have told him my arms “hurt”) and I answered,

“Not any more, Arlo, now that I’m hugging you.”

And his tight hug back was just about the best thing I’ve ever felt.

Boulder is FULL of art, and not necessarily in galleries. I know I’ve posted a lot of painted walls, fences, buildings and just when I think I have to have found them all in my neighborhood, I find more. Yesterday I read that Boulder is #3 in the country for creativity for small cities. I have no idea how they come to those numbers, but from what I’ve seen, it does make sense. Here are several from my past few walks.

And finally, my banana bread game has never been stronger. I use a different recipe every time I make it and have found my keeper. I’ve also gotten much better at portion control and am eating it like a normal person, a few slices at a time, (albeit on the thick side). I’m into day 3 on my last loaf and have to say I’m feeling a sense of pride that it’s lasted that long. I read yesterday that banana bread has been the most baked item during quarantine (again, how do they come up with those numbers????). Who would have thought so many of us would be sharing comfort in a mixture of over-ripe bananas, flour, sugar, eggs and spices? Happy to be with the masses on that one.

Stay safe and when you leave home, be even safer.

This will be the day that will become the center point of my before and after – a new measure of quarantine time for me. The Thunderbirds flew over the Front Range and Boulder had a front row seat. The flyover, that made its way through the state then back to Las Vegas, where it originated, was to honor healthcare workers, first responders, military members and other essential personnel who are working on the front lines to combat covid19. The flight path originated in Colorado Springs at the Air Force Academy graduation then flew over more than 40 medical facilities. A well-spaced, masked crowd began to form in front of the fire station, which luckily happens to be in my neighborhood and even luckier, I just happened to be walking past and noticed the spread out groups of people gathering. It was the perfect vantage point as 2 firemen were stationed on top of the aerial ladder and were keeping watch as we waited patiently. It brought back so many memories of Dad and I at Richard-Gebaur Air Force Base, always on the hottest day of the year, with our heads tilted up to the sky in anticipation of the few seconds of thrill that would pass by in formation. And just like those hot days so long ago that were always worth the longer than anticipated wait, today did not disappoint. In fact, I was caught off guard at how emotional I became. It made me cry to look around and see masked faces, all with our eyes to the sky in hopeful anticipation, stopping everything we were doing to get a quick glimpse of one of the oldest formation squadron fly over head. Like my Dad said after I told him about my day, “Seeing the Thunderbirds makes you stand a little bit taller and a lot more patriotic.” You don’t just watch the Thunderbirds fly overhead, you feel them in your bones and in the depth of your soul. After they passed overhead, I realized I was sobbing, right there in the middle of 13th Street and High and I didn’t care who saw me because I’m guessing I wasn’t the only one. That soul tug lingered and will hover over me during these difficult days and that’s why I’m beginning my blog with it. The Thunderbirds flew over Boulder and became a new marker of before and after for me… a fulcrum of time. It was that important. It wore the silver lining cape today.

Way back when, I could tell you exactly what day of quarantine I was in… 6 days, 10 days, 2 weeks, more than 3 weeks and then one day I didn’t know and had to do the math with an initial check of my phone to see what date I was counting back from. If I didn’t have a phone with the date on it would I think it was March? Or maybe May? The fluidity of time seems to be increasing daily, or is it weekly? I’ve lost that sense of knowing the day because of the “almost the weekend” or “IS the weekend” or is the “weekend wrap up with Sunday” feels. It’s all mushed together now. Weekends, weekdays, all the same. Oddly, and surprising, time seems to be passing quicker than I would have predicted. I guess I’m not bored. I guess that’s good.

I’m beginning to understand the purpose and attraction to my black, stretched out, long overdue for the Goodwill pile, or possibly the trash pile, sweater. My 3 year-old grandson, Arlo, has a blanket he calls his bun-bun (appropriately named as there’s a bunny head in one of its corners) that he’s slept with since he was old enough to have something in his crib with him. It’s his security blanket and what he wants when he goes to bed, when he naps or when he’s hurt. I realized the other day that given that I’ve got multiple options on sweaters or sweatshirts, the black sweater is the one I continually go to. It has become my bun-bun, although unlike Arlo’s bun-bun, mine is used only during waking hours. I think I must have been wearing it on day one of quarantine, March 13, and it offered some sort of comfort and now, a whole bunch of days and weeks later, its still does.

Animal Kingdom on Mapleton Street continues… I was awakened in the middle of the night, once again, by animal noises in the night. So, after some research, I’ve concluded that I either had a muntjac (a type of barking deer) or a roe deer in either my back yard or my neighbors. I wanted to get up and have a look, but honestly was too tired. The quiet in my neighborhood, both at night and in the morning is becoming increasingly loud. This morning, while awakening to the sound of birds, I realized that I wasn’t hearing car doors slamming or engines staring up or any other typical sounds of life in an urban neighborhood. I like that. I like that a lot. It sounded like I was waking up in a cabin in the woods. Deer aren’t the only ones wandering around my neighborhood. Two mountain lions were caught on camera meandering down the snowy street during the early morning hours – a mere 3 blocks from my house. They eat deer so if those roe deer or muntjacs that I heard a few nights ago want to not become dinner, they best move along. The mountain lions are out. They’re hungry. Run. Run for your lives, deer.

And speaking of sounds in the night…every night here in Boulder, there is howling that starts at 8:00 p.m. and goes on for 5 or 10 minutes. Not wolves this time, but neighbors out on their porch howling to thank the medical personnel and relieve stress at the end of a day of quarantining. It’s a way for people to release pent up emotions while connecting with anyone in earshot. The dogs also seem to be getting in on the fun. I had heard of this, but hadn’t actually “heard” it until a few nights ago when I saw the family across the alley from me all out on their back deck howling, family dog included. The call and response aspect of it feels very Western storyteller-ish and gives feelings of unification. I’ve also heard about alley poetry readings in Boulder at night, (it is Boulder after all…), but feel like my energy is alining more with the howling right now. It’s loud. It’s a release. It’s good for the lungs and the spirit.

We had 18 inches of snow on top of a melting 10 inches of snow from a few days earlier and today I noticed that the middle school aged boys who live behind me (the howlers), have gathered up snow from their yard and have made a nice little ski run on their low deck that goes straight down into their yard. It’s short, but steep. A solid blue run, no turns. I love seeing what people will do around here to improvise for what they can’t do. It also may have been an extended outdoor recess for the parents inside.

More than once in the past few weeks I’ve heard the very dreaded squeak of a low smoke detector battery, a sound that brings on incredible anxiety and feelings of dread and seriously, now??? for me. I have high ceilings, no extension ladders, a respectable fear of heights and am not comfortable with anyone but me in my house right now, so a smoke alarm chirp is a terrible sound. It took a while, but I finally realized that the chirping was coming from someone else’s house and not mine. The someone else being the house of whoever is being interviewed. I know these medical, scientific or political experts have more important things on their plate right now than smoke detector batteries and I’m sorry they are having to deal with the incessant chirping. They must be on the same battery changing schedule as I hear the dreaded sound at least once a day now, thankfully on TV and the very HUGE silver lining, NOT from my house. I’ve got a rough history with those guys including removing and dismantling a unit then smashing it with a hammer when it still wouldn’t stop and even then the chirp continued from the smashed heap. I later learned that batteries will continue to chirp even once dead as a continued warning. A good idea, but seriously…? I’m guessing the land fills chirp.

There’s a whole lot about this month and one week of quarantining that I’ve really liked, starting with lessons in humility and learning how to improvise times 10, simply out of necessity. Cooking comes to mind first. I made stuffed peppers tonite. They were stuffed with peppers, sautéed onions and rice (I was very long on peppers). And no, it wasn’t very good. They looked much better then they tasted but they were good enough and good enough is good enough these days and they were healthy, so there was that. I also made peanut butter cookies for an after treat, so a weak dinner didn’t feel so weak as I had something to look forward to post peppers. I like that the pretenses have been pulled back. We’ve been humbled by this and there is no place to hide. Case in point, I just shared my lame pepper stuffed with pepper recipe to anyone who is reading this, something I would have never done 5 weeks ago as that wouldn’t have happened given that endless opportunities of ingredients would be available to me with a simple run to the grocery store. I’m putting this in the plus category and one I want to carry over. Make do. Improvise. And quit making lists for the grocery store that have 2 things on it, one of them likely not even edible..

Boulder has blessed me with 4 (or has it been 5? maybe 6?) big snows this winter. I’m not driving. I’m at home. I say bring it on, even in April, although I know it may cost me a big tulip show in my back yard that I was anxious to see, tulips planted by the previous homeowner. I know not all people are in agreement with me on this, but I do love the snow. I’ve always equated this to being born in Colorado where my personal barometer was set to higher altitudes with snow. The same day we got 18 inches of snow, I read that Boulder is the snowiest city in the country with a population over 50,000. Holy cow. I’m in snowdrift heaven.

To add to our FaceTime content, Susan and I have started pulling our trip photo books off the shelf, and one page at a time are reliving vacations. I have made photo books of every major trip I’ve made and Susan’s been on several of those trips with me, so she also has copies of the books. Today, she gave me a heads up before the FaceTime – The Camino, second round, first day. Logroño. Open your book to page one and and prepare. Done. When she called, I was ready. We relived our trip, page by page, memory by memory, all over again. This is the best thing ever to do with an extra hour and books that you glance at multiple times a day (especially while laying on my mat in my zoom pilates class, with prefect view of my book shelves…).

“Remember the hotel lobby where we had potato chips and wine for dinner? Or the time we ran into my friend from MA while in Burgos and you met her with that awkward, “are you going to go European or American with the greeting?” while deciding to go for the cheek kiss and she decided otherwise and somehow you ended up kissing her on the lips? That thing?? Or that amazing meal we had that night, pasta with a side of pasta, but it was all overshadowed by that awkward kiss and that’s all I can think of when I think of Burgos, Spain?

You know. That kind of stuff. For an hour. At least. This is quarantine at its best. Silver lining material that keeps on giving. Good grief. That awkward kiss. I laughed sporadically off and on during today’s walk.

My how times have changed… I remember in one of my first coronavirus posts commenting on how awkward it was to see people talking to one another while standing at least 6 feet apart. Today, seeing groups of people NOT giving each other the appropriate distancing, or NOT wearing masks, looks not only odd, but feels disrespectful and rather dangerous. We’ve shifted so much in such a relatively short amount of time. We are far more adaptable than we realize.

I had a special visitor stop by early this evening to share with me his excitement in seeing the Thunderbirds, to which he added, “I don’t know that word, Laurie, so I call them ships.” You can call them anything you want, sweet Arlo, and I will always listen with bated breath

These days of isolation and distant togetherness has made it a lot easier to find our soft spot… the things that make us cry, slump with overwhelming sadness, hear things we’ve never heard before, maybe because we forgot to listen, and find the beauty in the details. We are also discovering our limits, our frustrations, our edges and our most vulnerable selves and how we need to help that self while living in times of overwhelming uncertainty. Our soft spot right now is each other, from a distance, but closer than ever.

Keep the closeness, while maintaining distance. Stay at home. Stay safe.

A photo is worth 1,000 words. Here’s my collection that adds up to 10,000 unspoken words. They say more than I can.

A month. 28 to 31 days. 1/12 of a year. A full billing cycle. A pay cycle. Mentally and physically I prepared for a long two weeks at home and here we are. So, here’s what I’ve got after living in isolation for a month with no trips outside of my house for anything except walking.

Maybe it was the full moon? Maybe it was an astrological shift? Maybe it was a change in the barometric pressure? Maybe it was that I’ve not had “real” human contact in 30 days, but a few days ago I had my hardest day yet. Brooke, Thomas and my sweet one year-old, granddaughter, Lilah, came by so that Brooke could give me the mask she made for me. As with the groceries, we made the awkward delivery/handoff….Brooke sets the goods down and steps back then I make the retrieval, always with an eye on staying safe, for all the “just in cases” we’re taking into consideration now. We then had a nice chat, once she was back in the car with my son and granddaughter, all of us keeping our distance. As awkward as it is, moments like these have become so important to me. She told me she made my mask out of material that I had brought back for her from Ghana exactly 2 years ago. She had set it aside, waiting for an idea of what to do with it when the whole mask wearing came up for us in Colorado several days ago (or maybe it was weeks….I’ve lost track). That’s when I cried. Standing on my little front porch, talking to my kids while they were in their car, wearing my stupid black sweater (my shirt didn’t even have salsa on it either…) and I couldn’t hold it in any longer. The first reaction to a cry, at least in my family, is to intervene with a hug so I know this had to be difficult for them as well as no one could do anything. Added to that, there was the most adorable baby in the backseat that I couldn’t even take out of her car seat and hug or even just grab onto one of her sweet chubby thighs. It’s a very huge thing that is missing when we all need to comfort each other. I’m so touched that this little piece of fabric that came from a street vendor in Ho, Ghana, will now offer another layer of protection when I venture outside of my house. I desperately needed to hug and be hugged before they left, but that’s not possible and that’s why I’ve put this rambling first because it is the most difficult part of this journey for me… the loss of physical contact.

I came inside after they left and ate 3 pieces of cinnamon toast, something I’ve not had since I don’t know when, and decided to call it dinner. I know. I’m shaking my head too. It was only my 2nd feeding fail (ok, possibly 3rd…) in a month. I’m calling that a solid B/B-. That “feeding fail” was called self-care. I then proceeded to watch 2 hours of a series on Hulu that was mediocre but had nice shots of Brooklyn and Manhattan. That is also called self-care and is found in the “mindless” category. Also important. I keep check of that kind of behavior though as it can be a slippery slope for me. Self care, yes. Digging myself into a hole and getting so comfortable that I start hauling furniture down there, no.

This has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with coronavirus and self-quarantining, but it is seasonally relevant and so I’m adding it….

From the time I was born and my sister, Robin, was one, and up until we started having strong opinions about what we wore, our Grandma would sew our Easter ensembles. And ensembles they were. Once Susan was born, 4 years after me, she joined in and the 3 of us would either be in identitcal dresses or dresses of the same pattern but different colors. Dresses, light spring coats and the all important hats, purses and gloves (that were purchased “ready made”) made up the look for us every single Easter morning. Our family would make the 45 minute drive from Olathe, Kansas to Pleasant Hill, Missouri where my grandparents lived. We would park our car at their house then walk the short 2 blocks to their church. Without exception, Grandma would forget something and would have to go back to the house, sending our parents ahead. This would always have us arriving late enough that the pews would already be filled when she would escort her three little Easter- themed granddaughters down the aisle to the front row, where Mom and Dad would be holding our place. Our Papa was in the choir, seated at the front of the church, and I assumed that’s why Grandma wanted to sit in the front row, but I wonder now if there wasn’t more to that front row seating choice as it allowed her a much longer distance to parade us down the center aisle of a filled church, our pastel-colored outfits in full view for EVERYONE to enjoy. Mom was the one who figured out the consistent timing of our entrance and the opportunity it gave Grandma to show off her girls in their Easter finery and given that it happened every single year, I think she was right. I can’t blame Grandma, though. She put a lot of work into those little outfits and she was proud to show off the fruits of her labor. She loved her “gally girls” unconditionally and there wasn’t one person in the Pleasant Hill Baptist Church that didn’t know that.

Back to coronavirus….

My sister, Susan, reminded me that during our early days of our quarantine, our lists were long and unrealistic. The sky was our limit and we had nothing but time. Our lists were held together with optimism and enthusiasm. I was going to take classes online, write letters, send cards, reorganize my home (OK, I did that…), learn how to play the guitar, dig deeper into my Spanish, knit something, knit something else, learn how to bake bread that doesn’t have bananas in it, read every unread book on my shelves, and put a checkmark next to ever one of those items that were on the never-ending “when I have the time” list. I’ve settled in. We’ve all settled in. The foot is off the accelerator and the car is now idling, but at least it’s still running That’s not to say I’m not accomplishing anything, but I’m just not going at the pace I started with, even with the blog posts. They’ve taken on the same energy as my days… loose, rambling and far more free-form than my original coronavirus post and honestly, more enjoyable for me to write as feelings have taken over facts. They have become a reflection of my energy. Waxing and waning, with an emphasis on the waning. My days run the gamut from productive and energetic to days that feel like I’m operating in slow motion. Getting outside and walking as much as I can really does keep the energy up. Sitting in the comfy chair in my front room listening to Philip Glass, not so much, but both are equally important now.

Last night was the first night since this quarantine began that I haven’t had a sound, sleep through the night, sleep. I was awakened by a howling sound. It took me a moment to realize that I was hearing wolves howl and given that there was a full moon, I made the obvious conclusion. Well, come to find out, via google, wolves do not howl at the moon, but rather, they howl as a territorial warning to other packs of nearby wolves. The phrase “howling at the moon” literally means “you are wasting time and energy trying to do something that is impossible or trying to get something you can not have.” Well that makes sense. They are howling what I/we are feeling during a time of trying to get something we cannot have, at least not yet. My impromptu research on wolves and reporting my findings in my coronavirus post is a confirmation of my sister’s earlier comment that my blog is reflecting my life right now….looser, more free form and a lot more “rambling-ish” today than it was initially. I’m even making up words.

Last night, before the howling, I drove by to see what the “Alice in Wonderland” house looked like in the dark and it was subtle, yet striking at the same time, but what really stood out to me was my short drive over. There were many houses in my neighborhood and the surrounding neighborhoods that have put their Christmas lights back on the house and are lighting them up at night. I also realized that it was the first time I had ventured out of my house at night in over a month and how very strange that felt. Many of the Christmas lights downtown, that are turned off the end of January, are also back on. The message of hope and we’re in this together brought tears to my eyes. This town feels like a big hug to me right now. On a side note, I could count the cars I passed on one hand! I saw skateboarders taking advantage of the empty streets and were enjoying a ride down one of the main streets in town, because they could. It felt like I was driving into a movie set.

I’m a very visual person. I learned a long time ago that in order for me to thoroughly understand something, I have to see it and not just hear it which has made my morning FaceTime routine with Susan an absolute delight. I can see what she’s wearing, “Oh is that a new sweater?” Or what she’s cooking, “Show me what’s in that pot you’re stirring” and I can return the favor, “See? It really IS 14 inches of snow!” Sometimes the conversations are deep and thoughtful and other times…. well, I’ll let you decide. This morning, I learned that in Susan’s 4-H beginning sewing class they (or I should correct that to “she” as she was the lone participant) made wrist pincushions as a beginning sewing project. Either the leader had no stuffing OR because she had just gotten her haircut, hair was used as the filler to the cushions. Honest to Pete, human hair filling that little cushion that held the pins on your wrist with a piece of elastic. Human hair! And this was the first time I had ever heard the story! I didn’t ask her if she still had that human hair pin vessel but after ruminating on it for 24 hours, I will. Going deep and going long on the family history stories. It could possibly be a silver lining, at least for me.

I talk to my parents daily, who reside in independent living at a retirement facility. They are feeling safe, secure and happy these days, thankfully, and have a director who is excelling in keeping everyone in that mindset. Dad told me that there are several couples that have been separated (before the pandemic) because one of them had to move to the memory care unit. Normally, the person who remained in independent living would go visit as often as they wished, but now, given the lock-down situation, they are no longer allowed to visit their spouse on a different floor. Instead, they write letters. Letters to their loved one, in the same building but a different floor. Stories like these tug at my heart. Many who live at Mom and Dad’s retirement home are veterans from World War II, the Korean War or Vietnam and I’ve got to wonder if there was a time they were writing letters back and forth to the same people during those absences as well.

A friend of mine from school who has been following my blog told me her husband found inspiration for his Easter sermon in one of my posts (he’s a minister) and so on Easter morning, I tuned into his sermon from Indiana, and listened from my kitchen table in Colorado. I was so touched by his mention of my words and the inspiration he found with the simple caption of “Empty” beneath one of my photos. You really never know who or what is going to show up and give you what you need. Thank you, Jan and Mark Holland. After listening to the sermon, I sat at my kitchen island (now an impromptu art studio) and painted, alternating between rock and roll favorites and Philip Glass in the background, while watching the snow pile up outside, ending up with over 8 inches. I later took a short walk around the neighborhood, ghostly quiet and hauntingly beautiful as the snow continued to fall. It’s eerie to see the streets so empty and quiet, yet at the same time, it gives me a real sense of calm. Maybe it was the snow piling up outside, or the many memories I have of Easters past at my grandparents, that made it such a soul tugging, inspiring and creative day for me. When the song, “Just For a Moment, Let’s Be Still,” (by The Head and the Heart) came on, the words struck me as if I was hearing them for the first time even though it’s a constant on one of my playlists. The gift of insight that comes with stillness is immeasurable.

“The world’s just spinning

A little too fast

if things don’t slow down soon

we might not last.

So just for the moment, let’s be still.”

These are the words I’ve been living. The same words I’ve heard countless times yet heard for the first time on Easter, 2020.

Several years ago, I had a photography teacher to explain to me what he thought was the greatest challenge in capturing the perfect (or better yet, imperfect) image on film. He gave an answer that hovers in the back of my mind every time I pull my camera or phone out to capture a shot.

“With photography, you start with infinity and have to decide what you’re going to crop out and what you’re going to leave in to give the subject the most impact.”

In other words, you’re cropping out all of the unnecessary noise. That’s exactly what it feels like I’ve been doing for this past month. Although the feelings of anxiousness, sadness, loneliness and fear have been a part of the fabric of my daily life, I’m finding that the moments that fill my soul and energize my creativity are just as prevalent. I’ve cropped out the noise and have brought what’s important into focus. I’m hopeful that once this has all passed, I’ll be able to keep my focus on what really matters and let the rest go and that I’ll remember not only the words I wrote but the feelings that inspired the words.

Month one. In the books.

Stay safe. Stay home.

Here we go again…. that feeling that comes to me every morning the minute I wake up. It’s feels heavy and I know how easy it would be to get tangled up in its clutches, but I can’t emotionally afford to do that right now. I don’t have anyone under my roof to tell me to “snap out of it”….and so here we go again, and again.

Keeping an eye out for the positives continues to be a silver lining for me. Here are my finds from the past few days, with some random thoughts mingled in.

I’ve found freedom in not having plans yet feel trapped if I don’t come up with some sort of plans or loose structure on a daily basis, which pretty much look the same, Sunday through Sunday.

• Walking, now twice a day
• Writing and reading
• Painting (my paints weren’t able to make the move so I’m improvising with water colors and am kind of teaching myself on that front)
• Spanish – new vocabulary…. pandemic, contagious, global economy, chaos, crisis…and so on.
• Teaching myself guitar with an app (I’ve not done that since high school, less the app, of course).
• Pilates on the mat 5 days a week via zoom
• Communication with friends and family via phone, FaceTime or zoom
• and finally, Netflix or Hulu to round out the day.
• Oh and of course feeding myself, which hasn’t exactly kept up with my earlier visions of pots simmering on the stove while I wait for bread dough to rise. I need to work on that one.

I can’t help but think back to a conversation I had with my sister while in my car in a very packed grocery store parking lot, ironically, on Friday the 13th of March. We were talking about stocking up on items with 2 weeks at home in mind (I’ve not been inside a public place since, and that was the day I started my count). It still felt a bit reactionary to me, even though half of Boulder appeared to be on board as per the crowded state of the grocery store, Target and liquor store parking lots. I also remember talking about the “whole hand sanitizer situation” (noted in my first coronavirus post), and felt that maybe people were getting ahead of themselves on that one yet curious and nervous at the same time as to why I wasn’t of the same mindset. Had I missed something? Was it possible that these were the same people who run to the grocery store to buy massive amounts of food because of an impending snow storm forecast? That’s what I was thinking with all the “panic buying” but still, I felt like I had missed something as I didn’t seem to have the same sense of urgency that every one else had. I followed suit though and bought dried beans in bulk, rice, pasta, jars of marinara sauce, cans of tomatoes and broth, filling in with a few other more interesting items such as pancake mix, chocolate, crackers, pretzels and other salty snacks.. I would totally rethink that now if I was doing the shopping today as I’ve not used any of the beans or rice but the pasta and jars of marinara are long gone along with anything that would be housed in the “snack aisle.” I’ve been blessed with a daughter- in-law and a daughter who have been so kind to shop for me every week or 10 days from a list I provide. Giving someone else a list to do your shopping has shown me how much I buy on impulse, ie the stuff that goes first. I’m eating much healthier as I’m not the one walking past the candy, the potato chips or the section of the dairy aisle where the onion dip lives – all spots where I have a history of weak moments. Cooking from the pantry and not from a recipe, which usually involves too many trips to the store, has become a creative challenge for me. I don’t seem to have that natural ability to put things together in an unexpected way or any way that doesn’t have the look of chili, pasta or stir fry on rice. Those with the talent are killing it right now. Me, not so much, but I’m not hungry so there’s that positive.

Back to food. Banana bread. It’s still a bit of a problem over here (portion control), but fortunately or not fortunately, I have no bananas nor did I put any on my list for Brooke last week, simply because I can’t walk enough to counter the problem I seem to have with the thickness of a slice and the amount of butter that gets slathered on the bric-sized wedge. Brooke reminded me of a story regarding banana bread when she dropped off my groceries as we stood on opposite sides of my small yard and talked. She said one of the first times she met me, she and my son, Thomas, had come over and I had just taken 2 loaves of freshly baked banana bread out of the oven. Thomas told her I baked a lot of banana bread back when they were kids and it was a go to for me in the kitchen. This was back in the day when I was buying a lot of bananas and had kids that wouldn’t eat them after the slightest bit of ripening began, so I’d freeze them to use later for bread, leaving me with a continual reserve in the freezer. She said I opened the microwave (likely to heat my coffee) and there sat the thawed bananas that were intended for the bread, the bread that sat baked and cooling on my countertop. The banana-less banana bread, or more accurately, the dry cake. To that I had to add that I’ve found the bananas, more than once, in the microwave midway though the loaves bake time and yes, I pulled them out and mashed them into the partially cooked bread while still in the oven . I’m not a good baker. I’m not even a mediocre baker, but I do love banana bread and I do pretty well with it, provided I remember to put the bananas in. I’m blaming my struggles with portion control on living alone and not having to share it with 4 other people. I’m blaming all my portion control on that.

People are nesting. We have the time and we’re spending a lot more time in our nests. During my walks I see picket fences getting a fresh coat of white paint, driveways and garages being swept out, windows being washed,, exterior walls of houses being painted and flower beds being cleaned out and weeded to make way for spring blooms. The neighborhoods look like they are all waiting for company. I’m sure if I could get a whiff of inside smells, I’d smell bread baking. Brooke said that both the flours…” flour” and “flowers” – were in short supply at the store. People are taking care of themselves in whatever manner possible. I’m guessing the bananas were also running low. Not all of us can make bread from scratch, unless it’s banana bread, which I see as the opportunity for all of us non-bakers to get in on the nurturing love of bread baking just like the more seasoned bakers who know their way around yeast packets and rising dough without question.

I’m so touched by the way people are connecting and saw a story on the news about a grade school teacher coming to the house of a student who was struggling with something in her online math class. There was a photo of the teacher standing outside of the glass front door of his student’s house using a piece of poster board and a marker to explain the problem. This girl may well start to love math (or at least not be afraid of it) simply because of this kind and generous act. .

Come as you are. Although I’ve always gravitated towards that style of dress, I’m getting very comfortable with it now. Maybe more comfortable than I should be. While walking late yesterday afternoon, I glanced down to notice a salsa stain on the front of my shirt near the spot where your chin would land if, for example, you were leaning into a plate of nachos. That was a paired up with a pair of animal print leggings with a hot glue incident on the front of them from when I was attaching arms to small wooden angels during week one. To top off the look, I added a bulky, stretched out of shape, black sweater that had seen better days. It wasn’t a good look. Seconds after making that observation, I passed one of Emery’s friends and her husband out walking – both in shorts and short-sleeved shirts looking very fresh and bright. I’m wearing this, I thought? Really? And what’s with the sweater? It’s warm out. Oh yeah, it is doing its job with the salsa stain cover up. I won’t even mention my hair, which hasn’t seen a trim in 4 months and growing. Literally. Even worse, (or better??), I wasn’t devastated. I wasn’t anything. Roll with it and come as you are. I’m fine. You’re fine. We’re all fine. And slippers are fine too.

I was texting a dear friend of mine from Kansas City this morning and she told me she had been walking every day with another good friend of mine in Kansas City. I had to wonder if that was OK, given the social distancing and all but she was quick to explain that they are walking on OPPOSITE sides of the street, shouting to each other when they have something to say. Is it possible to smile and shed a tear at the same time? Yes, it most definitely is possible. Keep walking girls. I’m right there with you, 650 miles to your west.

I had a dream last night that I was flying and lost my vision mid-flight and had to figure out when to begin my descent to land. Amazingly, and with great relief, I made a perfect landing and once the wheels hit the runway, my vision returned. Then it happened again, same plane, same loss of sight (seriously… I question my judgement question my in getting back into the same plane, but that’s a dream for you..) But this time it felt different as I was terrified, which makes sense because seriously, what could be scarier than landing a plane without sight? I felt like I had a front row seat to my fate, all in very slow motion. I didn’t make it to the airport and crashed in a field then immediately woke up. Flying blind. Literally. My dreams are painting the picture that I don’t want to look at during my waking hours.

The hard thing about wearing a mask, which most people in my neighborhood are doing, is that it’s hot and cumbersome but worse than that, I can no longer see the smiles on the faces I pass nor can they see mine. Waves are now our replacement to the smile. The only time I’ve ever pulled up my buff kerchief to cover my nose and mouth as I’m doing now, was to avoid swarms of black flies while hiking in the Adirondacks with my sister, Susan. But wear it I will, cumbersome as it may be. When we are given the “it’s OK to come out now and leave your masks behind,” we will all be sporting coronavirus tans – the same as a ski tan, only upside down.

I’m mourning the death of Bill Withers and would play “Lean on Me” on loop all day if it didn’t make me so sad. Between his soul stirring music and the interviews with medical staff, I’m getting in some good cries on a near daily basis. With Bill Withers in the background, I made a kale and roasted fingerling potato salad with a lemon tahini dressing. Maybe I’m creative after all in the kitchen and I just wasn’t listening to the right music. Rest In Peace, Bill Withers. Your music feels more timely now than ever.

And finally, to all of my friends who are reading this while sitting alone in your house, I hear you. Boy, do I ever hear you and as much as I keep telling everyone, “Oh I’m fine….,” because, really, I am, it’s not easy to go without human contact closer than at least 6 feet away for 27 days. I’ve learned a lot about myself these past 27 days. I know that I need to create, in one form or another, and get outside every single day. It keeps me out of the shadows, that can get pretty long these days. I’ve also discovered that I’m a good roommate. I pick up after myself, cook nourishing meals (sliding scale…) and am kind of fun as I enjoy a good solo dance party on a regular basis. If this sounds like I’m posting an ad for a roommate, you need not apply, as I’m a good roommate but only for myself right now. I miss people. I miss them a lot. I suppose that’s why the small gesture of eye contact and a wave have meant so very much to me lately. Still, when I do the math, the happy and content days are winning. Writing this blog helps tremendously.

Instead of “I’m stuck at home,” I like this better…..

“I’m safe at home.”

Stay safe and continue showing each other love in any way possible. It’s amazing, humbling, inspiring and so very comforting to see. And we all need it. More than ever now.

Now I know. 19 days seems to be my limit. But it’s not time to come out yet. Not time to hug my kids, my grandkids, my family or my friends. Not time to go places, have plans, take classes, eat at restaurants or book travel. It’s simply not time yet. And so I’ll keep on going, like everyone else, and will dig deeply into my reserves for inspiration, motivation, distraction and a whole lot of other stuff that ends in a “tion.”

So here are my thoughts and ramblings for today. I’m not long on the silver linings, but know they will return soon…

I’m tired but my Fitbit keeps insisting that I’m getting the best sleep I’ve ever had since I started wearing the contraption. And that makes sense as I am sleeping long and hard and am dreaming with an intensity that I’ve never experienced before. I suppose it is during my nighttime hours that I’m dealing with the emotional aspect of all of this. Who knew I would need such a crisis to get such a good night’s sleep? That, right there, is my biggest silver lining today. And the one I appreciate greatly right now.

Seeing the creativity of social connectedness during this time of distancing courtesy of Zoom and FaceTime is nothing but amazing. Meetings, exercise class, connecting with family and friends and one of my favorites yet, symphonies playing separate, yet together. It is just one more thing that has brought me to tears, which seem to fall at the drop of a hat these days. So creative. So touching. So necessary. We are using what we have and have gone above and beyond with making the best of it.

There are no “wrongs” when it comes to self care. If I need to lay on the couch and watch 2 hours of bad TV while finishing off a half a loaf of banana bread, then that’s what I’m going to do (2 days ago). Thankfully, I don’t seem to be able to wallow in that spot long and the next day, I walked 2 hours and even impressed myself with the meals I made. Self care for me is about listening to what I need and doing a prompt follow through, whatever that may be. With the exception of a few bad days, I’m staying on the healthy side, both physically and emotionally.

I got notification that my screen time was up 98%. Given that it is my “lifeline” right now, and 99% of my communication, I’m surprised the number wasn’t a lot higher. I can’t begin to count the many times I’ve given thanks for the internet and a decent signal.

Today when I was out walking, I held a sneeze for as long as I could to insure I had enough distance between myself and the man I had just passed. I’m not worried whatsoever that I have the virus, but was more worried that my sneeze would either scare him or show an incredible amount of disrespect. I have no idea who the man was but have no doubt, he would have done the same for me. We all continue are finding our footing around our new self-imposed rules of respect. Not at all bad.

I have a correction on the peanut butter crispen appetizer that I’ve referred to in earlier coronavirus posts. I did some investigative research yesterday and was able to find the episode of “That Girl” where the appetizer, that I’ve referred to for decades, originated. They were actually a little more exotic than I remembered… “stuffed” peanut butter crispens… made from corn flakes, not the wheaties as previously mentioned. I feel it’s important to not put incorrect information out there. Oh, and by the way, watching “That Girl,” some 5 decades later did not disappoint. Then again, I have to consider how low my TV viewing bar may be at this point. Chances are very good that I’ll be tripping over it by the end of the week…

While out on my “explore Boulder” walk today, the thought occurred to me of how interesting it would be if we could actually SEE the coronavirus. For instance, when walking up and down the aisles of the grocery store, you’d be able to spot where the virus had landed. In my version, not unlike the photos we’re seeing, the virus is red. A small yet visible touch of red on several of the cans of soup that were picked up then returned with a change of mind, a smear of red on the loaf of bread that sits in the vulnerable spot on the edge of the shelf and the solid red glow around the edge of the deli counter, the credit card swipers, and the door handle. Obviously, if we could see the virus, we wouldn’t be in the predicament we are now given that its invisibility is our greatest challenge. Long walks during stressful times bring on some interesting thoughts that I’d normally just let slide but am now letting percolate a bit because why not?

Just like everyone else, including my friends who live outside of the US borders, I’m afraid, I’m anxious and I have moments of feeling so overwhelmed that I simply have to stop and do what I know to take care of myself, whether that is walking, meditating, writing, painting or stacking and sorting all of the stuff I own. The good news is these low spots only last a day and are followed by days that I’m inspired and even motivated. The emotional pendulum swings from melancholy to merry with a whole lot of anticipation in the middle, but thankfully, I’m familiar with the patterns now and can anticipate those low moments are prepare accordingly. I also have an incredibly strong support system with my family. There was a time several years ago, when I was living in a suburb of Kansas City and both of my sisters lived out of state. In an odd set of circumstances, I found myself with both parents in the hospital, unfortunately, different hospitals and even more unfortunate, hospitals that were an hour apart. When my sisters asked what they could do to help me, I said,

“Answer the phone when I call.”

And they did. Every. Single. Time. And now it’s FaceTime that I’ve asked them to answer and they have. Every. Single. Time. I need the connection, even more than ever now.

And speaking of connection…given that I don’t have many here in Boulder outside of my family…. yet….there is an odd sense of comfort knowing that most of my town is now doing the same thing that I’m doing, and have done for a while – staying home with no plans. I’ve chatted more with neighbors these past few weeks (from afar, of course) than the 7 months since my move in August and we’ve all talked about getting together when this is over. Go figure. I’m connecting in my isolation. I would not have predicted that. Chalk up another point in the silver lining column.

Given the quarantine situation and the closing of salons, I can’t help but be reminded of my decision to stop dying my hair 5 or 6 yeas ago, or my roots more specifically. My hair grows very fast and by now, I’d be sporting a 1/2 inch white stripe down my part had I not made that decision. 10 years ago, during my dye days, I spent 6 weeks in Perú. I was so worried (and vain) about my roots that I brought ONE box of hair dye with me and carefully chose the exact time to use it as I only had one chance. I locked myself in the tiny bathroom that was shared by many others, while I sat on the toilet with dye on my hair, staring at my watch and wishing for the 15 minutes to pass faster. I’m sure no one thought that much of it as so many of us were getting sick and I’m sure they just assumed I had also succumbed to a bit of the “Peruvian flu” myself. Did I really think no one was going to notice the missing white stripe on the top of my head the next day? And why didn’t I just say I’m going to go dye my hair so if you need the facilities now would be a good time? Vanity does strange things to you. Now, if I was still doing that, I’d likely ask for some assistance for the hard to reach areas in the back. At any rate, with the many funny memes of bad haircuts and failed home dye jobs, I’m glad to have one less thing to worry about on that front. We will all emerge, whenever that may be, as our TRUE selves when this is over, some of us more anxious than others, and will wait our turn in line for hair cuts, root cover ups, manicures, pedicures and the like. I’d like to say that I’ll continue in the manner I’ve become accustomed to these past almost 3 weeks, but who am I kidding? You’ll find me in the massage and facial lines but only after the haircut line.

I’ve grown a lot since this began and remember FaceTiming my sister on day 2 in tears wondering how in the world I was ever going to be able to do this alone. Now, what seems like 147 days later, I can see how far I’ve moved from my starting point during those early days. I have tremendous pride and gratitude for where I am emotionally right now and that continues to grow. The time will come, at some point, when we will talk about this time with “remember when we couldn’t leave the house for ______ of days and we FaceTimed or zoomed multiple times a day?” My biggest thought now is that I hope that’s not followed by “I wish we were still doing _____ or ______.” I’m trying to make note of the positive changes that the isolation has made with the hopes that there is a carry over long after we’ve come out of our houses and have hugged those that we love and heck maybe some random strangers too, because we’ve all missed hugging so much. Or at least I have…

“Sometimes love doesn’t look like what you had in mind.” Anne Lamott.

So very true.

Keep the distance and the positives…

TGIF, or more accurately, TGIFOADFTM – ” Thank God It’s Friday Or Any Day For That Matter,” but that doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue. And it’s not even Friday, but who cares? Every day pretty much seems like the last at this point, which makes it hard to settle into the normal waxing and waning of the week that most people live by – you know the Mondays representing new starts (who starts a diet on a Wednesday?) rolling into Fridays, which begin a different mindset all together, with Wednesday’s hump day connecting it all. My Tuesdays are pretty much the same as my Saturdays or Sundays now. That distinctively different energy from the weekdays to the weekends is gone. Now, all days seem the same.

Here are my observations and silver linings that I’ve noticed these past few days, with some random thoughts for good measure.

I notice that even though the physical distancing continues when I’m out walking, with distances getting larger by the day it seems, I hold my breath when someone passes me. I’m guessing this is an instinctual reflex more than anything else. Now that it’s come to my attention though, I can’t stop doing it.

I’m enjoying the self-nurturing that’s been taking place under my roof. I’m feeding myself so much better these days, not only because all of the “not so healthy” snacks are long gone, but also because with little else to do, I’m putting a lot more thought and energy into the meals I’m making. It’s giving me a nurturing sense of comfort. Evidently I’m not alone. Stores are having a hard time keeping yeast and flour other shelves as there’s been an upsurge in bread baking.

After talking to a dear friend of mine recently, who cut her hand while cooking (thankfully, she was up to date on her tetanus shot and didn’t need stitches), I realized how important it is now more than ever, to stay healthy and without injuries. I carry those thoughts along with on every walk. No goofing off, Laurie. Now’s not the time.

Procrastination tendencies seems to expand in relation to the “to do” list… the shorter it is, the more I procrastinate. Case in point, I’ve got 2 forms I need to scan and send to my accountant but just can’t seem to get it done…. because I don’t have the time???? Next week. Maybe Monday. Yeah, Monday will probably work. I will do it on Monday! I accomplish a lot more when I’m busy. I am not busy now, although oddly, my days seem filled.

I estimate that at least half of my day is filled with communication… FaceTime, emailing, phone calls and even a letter or two that I’ve written. That’s been a lovely gift. I’m talking/texting/FaceTiming with friends on a far more regular basis. THAT I hope remains long after the quarantine ends.

Pilates on the mat via Zoom has become my almost daily routine and definitely a big part of my social life. There’s a new teacher, who most of us haven’t yet met in person yet, who told us that although she’s never met us face to face, she knows what many of our bedrooms and living rooms look like now. There’s a comforting kind of intimacy in that as she’s coming to US for the pilates classes rather than us going to her via the studio. My pilates on the mat is a big part of my day now. Thank you, Bolder Pilates.

A few days ago, I staged my own little tribute to Kenny Rogers and had an afternoon all Kenny all the time. I’ve got a lot of good memories in those songs. I can’t say I didn’t bust out a few moves on a few of them. The freedom to do what I want, dance parties and themed days included, has me wondering why I don’t do that every day. I may have to carry this over to the “post quarantine days.” (My list of carryovers post quarantine days is lengthening…) I’ve got Jane Goodall’s birthday on deck next week…

I realized last night when I was stacking up my dinner – grain, vegetables, greens, some sort of dressing, possibly topped with nuts, all stacked up, that this type of meal preparation wasn’t a first for me. When I waited tables at Steak n’ Ale in the early 80’s, the employees had to pay for their meals (a discounted rate, but it was still money out of our not very full pockets). What was free, however, was the bread, the rice and the salad bar. The interesting “casseroles” that came out of being both creative, hungry and poor were pretty amazing starting with the base of rice or bread then stacked with veggies from the salad bar, topped with cheese then given to the cooks to heat up. My friend, Vickie Rhodes, was so clever in her dishes that I’m surprised Steak n’ Ale didn’t reformulate some of them for a lunch or dinner special. Yep, I’m stacking my dinners now in the old Steak n’ Ale tradition. The big difference now is not having to eat it in the smoke-filled back room of the kitchen. Thankfully.

Bad news seems to be piling on daily and shoulders seem to be broadening at the same pace to absorb it all. A short 2 weeks ago, one piece of any of the news we’re hearing daily would have felt far more devastating on its own than the constant outpouring of bad news we’ve become used to. It’s a bit of a “bring it on” mentality at this point. I’m by no means saying that it’s easy when new stats are presented to us but rather, it’s just something that I’m becoming accustomed to, hard as it is to hear. I know what the lead in story on the news is going to be and likely the story that will fill most of the time slot. My stomach still drops and the fear and sadness still permeate but I know what to expect now. I’ve learned by default the importance of emotional self care. Meditation. Journaling. Writing this blog. All have been tremendous tools for me right now. Thank you for reading.

My walks are my sanity, my inspiration and my connections to everything outside of my own four walls and have become a necessity of my day. Besides some good exercise, I’m getting to know Boulder so much better and every day discover pockets of this very interesting town that I’ve never seen before. Thankfully, the weather has been on my side, almost every day of the 16 days so far.

Stay safe. Stay motivated. Stay creative. And stay home.

Random, disjointed thoughts.

After my last post, I wondered if I’d even be able to come up with enough to write another because in reality, with the exception of a daily 1 hour walk in my neighborhood, I’ve not left my house so what could I possibly have to say? Go figure. I’ve got a lot to say. Maybe it’s because I’m paying more attention now…

So here’s what I’ve come up with, in a rather stream of consciousness form….not necessarily silver linings or rusted metals but just stuff. Plain and simple and a bit disjointed.

When I put anything that starts with a “Q” into my phone, my phone completes the word as “quarantining.” One step ahead of me, phone.

The strange walking dance continues and I’m kind of fascinated by it. I’ll be walking down the sidewalk, see someone a block ahead of me and someone crossing the street to my side to avoid someone else, leaving me in the middle wondering which direction should I go? Somehow it always works, much like a choreagraphed dance or a marching band whose players weave in and out in constant motion without running in to one another. When listening to a podcast when I walk, there are often gaps that I realize I’ve not listened at all because I’m so focused on the scant, but relevant pedestrian traffic. It seems like we need music for this dance.

This whole staying at home thing… I made the comment in my last post that I hadn’t ever spent this amount of time at home unless I was sick or with newborns and even then I don’t think it was that long. There was a time when the threat of having to stay at home was promptly followed by the words, “You’re grounded.” They were familiar words for me during my high school years as I struggled with curfews. I’ve got some good grounding stories, like the one with an escape from my sequestered room, a jump started car and a night out with my best friend that ended in a wreck (no injuries) but will save that story for another time. Let’s just say I’m handling the sequestered part much better now and am not even the least bit tempted to escape. Stay tuned though.

The decisions I struggled with last week as to whether I should cancel or not – car maintenance, dentist appointment, pilates class and a massage, were decisions that I didn’t have to make after all. All were canceled and now even questioning it seems so ridiculous. How far my point of reference has moved in a short week.

Time is fluid and kind of irrelevant now. I’ve taken baths in the middle of the day, had dinner at 4:00 and ate dessert before my dinner last night because it was the better choice. Weekends, weekdays, all the same now. I am trying to keep some sort of a schedule but it’s pretty vague… coffee when I get up, FaceTime sever members of my family, do stuff, eat, do more stuff, walk, eat, do more stuff then head to bed because I’m usually exhausted, strangely enough. The “stuff” is the variable. Somedays the “stuff” is better than others. Today, my morning “stuff” was a pilates class on zoom. That’s good stuff.

Maybe this is more of a reflection of my personality, but I do much better with the quarantining on rainy, snowy, cloudy days. The sunny days are far more difficult. Hunkering down just doesn’t line up with sunny days, blue sky weather. I am grateful for my hour long daily walks and some digging in the garden with hopes that garden centers will be open when the planting begins, but the bulk of my days are still inside, hunkered down and I want the weather to match the activity.

I spent much of yesterday cooking. It reminded me of when I was pregnant with Emery and was making chili and spaghetti sauce in preparation… pots simmering on the stove and a line up of opened cans and chopped veggies on the countertop. I came to the conclusion that if you’ve got all day to cook, it’s really rather enjoyable and very nurturing for the soul. I made vegetarian chili then realized I had no chili powder so simply changed the name to veggies, tomato and bean medley. I’m pretty much eating medleys for every meal these days… a bit of this, a bit of that and put it on top of rice or quinoa. Soy or peanut sauce for Asian, salsa for Mexican. Done. My daughter AND my daughter in law both brought me needed groceries yesterday – onions, garlic, chocolate… you know, the usual, and they happened to arrive with their goods at the same time. With ample distance between us, we had a nice conversation in the yard. It was so good seeing them in person and not on a screen. So good that I wanted to cry. Meanwhile, the granola I had in the oven burned, but it was well worth it as I got to have a real conversation with Emery and Brooke. It was so strange to not end with hugs. Heartbreaking, really. I miss hugs.

And speaking of hugs…I realized the other day that it has been 13 days since I’ve had any physical contact with another human being… 13 days without a hug. That’s hard. That’s what’s hard about going at this alone. When my son Grant was in high school and was headed out the door, I’d ask for a hug and would get an air hug (out stretched arms with the back of one hand slapping the palm of the other). It became a bit of a tradition in our family of huggers, but an add on gesture to the real deal. Brooke, Emery and I all did air hug goodbyes just as a young woman was walking by and she caught my eye, tilted her head and gave me a smile of understanding. It is the smallest moments that have the most impact on me now. Those tiny gestures of reassurance and understanding.

I sifted through the burnt granola, picking out the blackest bits and was able to use it tonite to add it to 2 apples for a small “apple crisp.” This was what I ate first, before my dinner, simply because it was the better choice. Not that the bean, tomato, vegetable medley wasn’t good, but the apple crisp was better, and so it was eaten first. Anyone who knows me well knows that I do NOT like cooked fruit and will NOT eat it, but when all you have are apples and burnt granola to squelch your cravings for some sort of sweet dessert, then cooked fruit it is. My kids will be surprised when they read this. And it was pretty good. I think a lot of things are pretty good now that I’m cooking all my meals and am in quarantine. That point of reference has also shifted.

I’m so very grateful for the spirit of this amazing town I live in. The outreach, the kindness, the smiles, I will always remember this as my real introduction to the town of Boulder. I discover something new with every walk… new pocket neighborhoods that I had never seen before, benches tucked small corners with perfect mountain views and houses that are just plain fun.

A couple of mountain lions were spotted in a nearby neighborhood yesterday, around a mile from my house. This is not normal. The occasional mountain lion on a mountain trail, maybe, but on a neighborhood street, not so much.. Is it possible that the trails are so busy now with the quarantine that the animals simply wanted a place to get away from the humans so resorted to the empty neighborhood streets? Besides a watchful eye for pedestrians, I’m also going to be scanning the neighborhood for mountain lions, I guess. These times are truly not for the faint of heart.

My sister, Susan, said that her local distillery is now making hand sanitizer. Although more than grateful to have it, she said it had the lingering odor of the day after a woodsy. For those who don’t know the term, (which is either a Midwest term or an Olathe, Kansas term….), a woodsy was (or is??) a gathering in a remote area where parents wouldn’t normally look that involved a bon fire, big groups of kids and the likely possibility of liquor. A nostalgic smell, no doubt, but maybe something I wouldn’t want to have lingering on my skin 24/7. Still, kudos to the distillery who have changed their production for the sake of their customers.

I’m feeling overwhelmed today. Boulder has now instated basically a shelter in place order, like much of the country. Although it’s what I’ve been doing for the past 12 days, seeing that in writing felt heavy. My pendulum swings throughout the day from happy, creative and inspired to sad, worried and depressed. After 13 days, I’m used to it, but it still catches me off guard.

In my deep closet clean out last week (or was it the week before???), I found some hand carved angels that I had gotten a few years ago in Santa Fe. Both of them had detached arms so with much pride at my followthrough, I dug out my glue gun to make repairs. Now that their arms are attached again, I’ve noticed an odd external rotation on both of them which I realize now is because I gave them the wrong arms. They look like they’re getting ready for a cheer. READY! OK!! I don’t normally house them on my mantle, but figure a little extra cheer couldn’t hurt. Sorry about the arms, girls.

Given that most of the reporters and those being interviewed are working from their homes, I’m finding myself as focused on trying to see the titles of the books on the shelves that they always seem to position themselves in front of as I am with their words. There are some nice libraries out there. Some of them could use a bit of tidying up, but am guessing they’ve not had the kind of free time that I have.

I took an all day creativity class a few weeks ago and the first thing the teacher told us to do was sit quietly in his open doored studio and simply listen. We then talked about what we heard – actually we wrote poems about what we heard then painted it, but that’s another story. I often walk with ear buds in, listening to music or podcasts or books but today, I took them out and simply listened, inspired by the class. I heard song birds, the faint sound of children playing, a hammer pounding and a woodpecker (hopefully in someone else’s yard) and took a moment to stop and simply absorb it all.. What you can hear, see and feel when all the junk is peeled back, is truly amazing. It sounds like a radio station that has gotten tuned in and sounds so much clearer once the static is gone.

There is so much that I miss but at the same time, a day hasn’t gone by that I’ve not seen something in my neighborhood that has given me pause and a big smile. I’m seeing so much more than I used to.

And here’s the biggest silver lining of my day…

Boulder lit up the Flagstaff Star on the mountain that I mentioned in a previous post to “raise the hopes of our beloved community” amid coronavirus pandemic. It will be the guiding North Star for so many who see it at night. I’m blessed to have a clear view of it from my bed. It felt like a big hug last night. Thank you, Boulder.