Tonight Mike and I went out for another walk. He suggested a different, less-traveled parkway. I concurred. The wind was biting and the sky showy, and I relished in taking bottomless breaths and long strides. Our company was mostly avian in nature. We observed a tree full of chuckling red wing blackbirds. Their conk-la-rees and chak chak chaks gave us pause for a minute. We stopped. Looked up at the tippy tops of a veteran tree home to the winged chorus. I recognized their chatter as conversation, albeit one I did not, could not understand. We unknowingly scared up a pair of wood ducks. They whistled through the woods as they escaped us, and then we heard the honking and hinking of geese overhead. I was alone at the lagoon for a brief minute when I witnessed a bluebird dive into the water. With mouth agape, I watched that familiar, heart tugging azure beacon of hope then soar through the cloudy sky to a perch on a naked tree. I was excited to show Mike when he finished being a guy in the woods, but the brilliant little bird vanished in the tangle of drab branches the second I took my eyes off of him. Impossible, I thought. I saw it with my own eyes I knew. I felt it in my heart. That's what matters. I see a bluebird every time I walk this path without fail. That's what matters to me.
I was up early this morning and out of the house at a reasonable hour. I took my breakfast (coffee) and lunch (egg salad on the nuttiest whole wheat bread) to go. It was both strange and routine to have to go to the office for the second time this week. Alan stopped in and I gave him a nice big piece of Simma's cheesecake. I think he was more excited about that than the sizable check from CNN. We all have our currencies.
I got home and went straight to bed with my book after a taxing few hours of work. I thought I'd finish it last night, but I crashed in the last 15 minutes of the last episode of Ozark season 3. That's blasphemy and also survival these days. The ability to shut down automatically when the world is too much or when I've had enough is lasting power during quarantine. So is escaping into the pages of a book. Other worlds, other lives, other problems are manna. The transition isn't always easy, but once I'm there or anywhere rather than here, it's a good place to be. And Writers and Lovers is one of those novels where the writing and the story are both so strong that I marvel in every word, dog ear lots of pages, can't wait to finish and want it to last forever. Yet I was satisfied with the ending that was much neater than I usually prefer. Now, I'm not sure what to read next. I have options, but nothing is calling me, coaxing me. I guess that's why I'm here instead. I need a new book and a new show.
Teddy took the night off from Door Dashing to focus on school. The semester is winding down. We received word that we can finally move him out of the dorm. We signed up for a time next week. I think the two of us will make the road trip mother son. I'm rather looking forward to it. Lily ran for an hour on the elliptical after taking last night off and after receiving news that softball is officially cancelled, not delayed, this spring. Blowing off steam, disappointment.
Tomorrow is a new day. I've promised Lily a Target run all week so I think I'll deliver tomorrow. Truth is that I'm a little looking forward to that too. Ted's request is fried chicken and waffles for dinner. I've never made fried chicken, but it seems like apropos quarantine cuisine. And my dad dropped off a waffle iron when he stopped this week so I have zero excuse. Tonight my main course was a bowl of sauteed spinach that was so good and exactly what I needed. With each bite, I thought I might cry. Yes, over leafy greens. I confess that I did cry in the shower. The water was Old Faithful hot and every drop felt like purification not punishment. The tears took me by surprise. I realized how much I've been bottling up, suppressing. I thought about my waterworks as I watched Terms of Endearment this weekend. I was startled by the acuity of emotion. It's intensity. It was a releasing of the dam. A breach. A breakthrough. All this time I've been stoic or cynical, but I've not been laid bare.
There is something to be said for feeling and not thinking. For honesty instead of walking the walk and talking the talk. For thinking that the bluebird was just trying to get my attention. Oh, he did.
And as I write, Lily's singing in the shower in a voice I hope I remember forever, Mike's snoring on the family room couch, Ted's playing ping pong with friends in the basement, Tigger's sleeping in my bed behind me. Despite the heaviness, the tears, the uncertainty, I cannot help but feel like this is my charmed, perfectly less than perfect providence. These are my blessings. Good night.
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