I guess I thought that social distancing would be easy for us homeschoolers. I now see how busy we normally are. In fact, we are out taking someone somewhere pretty much every single day. There have indeed been moments in the past days where I’ve found myself wondering why it is that I am sitting on the couch crocheting instead of in the car.
The kids have been resilient in the face of so many cancellations. It has given us some peace. But other than those usual lessons and gatherings, we are much used to being together in a small space. We are accustomed to late-night Dutch Blitz and Scott reading to the kids past normal bedtimes. Still, we all can feel that something is different, something is wrong. We are here together, as usual, but now we have no choice.
Still, they are cheerful … and maybe enjoying the quiet.
I know that humans can be crazy; they can hoard and dehumanize others, but I am seeing that, even in a time of plague, they can smile and be kind.
Day 1: We decided to keep our dinner date at friends’, as no one was sick or sniffly. The kids were outside with the goats and chickens, teens playing Catan, while we adults had wine, laughed, and talked. It was a lovely night out.
Day 2: I’m glad we kept the dinner date, as today everything got serious. Distance and isolation are the words, but so are kindness and generosity. I posted online, “I don’t need enough toilet paper to get through Armageddon, just to make it through the weekend.” By the end of the day I had multiple messages from people offering to deliver TP. I laughed each time another person offered, and almost wanted to take them up on it just so I could say hello.
I went outside and noticed two miniature daffodils popping up. They were from an Easter basket a few years back that I’d carelessly plopped into an overly shady spot. Talk about survival. A little sign that life, and beauty, continue in times of worry.
Day 3: We weren’t sure what was going to happen with Mass. My pastor doubled his Mass times so that people could come, if comfortable, and space themselves. That means eight Masses for Father. A sacrifice for him, I’m sure. We went to an earlier than normal time. It was quiet, maybe only 50 people there. We were all so distanced from one another, but united more tangibly. It was beautiful in a hushed and sacred kind of way.
I told the kids not to take this Eucharist for granted, as we have no idea if we’ll receive again next week. The sun is shining and beautiful. Birds are everywhere. Jesus is within us.
Day 4: I went to Walmart expecting chaos. Humanity surprised me with its calm … humanity. It was busy, but people seemed to be intentionally smiling at each other and moving along. Another lady in the aisle chatted with me, and we laughed at the toilet paper pandemonium.
Scott has been reading the Green Ember series to the kids. They don’t know that the last of the series is hidden in his sock drawer. They have been waiting for it and will be so excited! They’ve also been listening to Narnia again. Always so good. (Apple Music has a ton of Focus on the Family’s awesome audio books.) I was struck by the part at the end of The Silver Chair: the children are with Aslan, with Caspian’s dead body. Aslan cries a tear, “more precious than the earth would be if it was a single solid diamond.” He asks Eustace to thrust a thorn in his paw. A great drop of blood pours out, “redder than all the redness you have ever seen or imagined.” When it lands on Caspian’s body, life re-enters it, and he revives, younger and stronger. I thought about the Eucharist and wondered if we all should really be receiving it more instead of less.
We prayed the Breastplate of St. Patrick, “Christ with me, Christ in me,” and Scott had his Guinness. It may be Lent still, but it is a feast day, after all.
Nicolas had his violin lesson online, and Madalen dressed up like a waitress and served us all dinner. She even made a menu, and dress code. I had to phone for a reservation. Flowers on the table, of course.
Day 5: We’ve been loving the warmth and sunshine. Lots of time for walks, and trampolining. I walked to the post office with two packages. A lady in front of me turned to me, and I smiled at her. She quietly told me how afraid she was. I told her not to be afraid, she would be okay. I tried to talk about the sunshine being good for us, cleaning us. She said, “We can keep praying.” I smiled and said, yes, we can pray.
Day 6: The feast of St. Joseph, my much beloved foster father and protector. Madalen made a fresh loaf of bread for our breakfast, jam allowed on a solemnity! We had figs, and there are cream puffs for dessert, obviously. Apparently figs and cream puffs are not on hoarders’ lists of must-haves. “Joseph, hope of the sick, pray for us.”
We went up to the grotto at the Abbey to pray the Rosary along with the Pope at his request. No one anywhere. But the robins were out hopping, and the masses of bees made such a buzz that we all stood still listening and watching them all in awe. A hummingbird came close while we prayed. Another day of sunshine, and beauty. We walked to the lookout, and I thought about the peace that is possible in a time of crisis.
