It’s not that I am not afraid of this virus or what it would be like if I got sick—or if my husband with an underlying health condition got sick. It’s not that I don’t worr— in the back of my mind in a way that I pretend I’m not worried but I am—about what’s happened to our stock portfolio, the one we’re relying on for retirement, ideally sooner rather than later. It’s not that at times I don’t feel stymied at my inability to access simple things like topsoil to get my herb and veggie garden going. It’s not that I don’t mourn the trip I canceled in March to see a best girlfriend. Or that I’m not anticipating the sadness I’ll feel when I finally accept the fact that my annual family gathering with family at the beach is not likely to happen this year. It’s not that I don’t wonder when I’ll actually hug my mom again and smell her hairspray-powdery sweetness. Or my dad who was to be here at the end of the month.
It’s not that I don’t wonder if my 17 year old son will actually go to school in person next fall or if he will have anything resembling a normal senior year year. Or what he’ll do this summer. It’s not that I don’t feel clueless about how to help him plan his summer. Should we let him get a job? Enroll him in a summer school class?
It’s not that I don’t feel worried and concerned for those people out there who are desperate for money, wondering how they’ll pay the rent or put food on the table. About the people who are working because they need to but exposing themselves to the danger of the virus because they don’t have a choice. It’s not that I don’t think about the essential workers on the front lines—medical, police, emergency—who also risk their health everyday. It’s not that I don’t wonder if our lives and world will ever look the same again.
And yet. This time of observing the guidelines of safer-at-home have been balm for my introverted soul. It’s not as if I didn’t know I was an introvert. I’ve been well aware of that fact since my childhood, even if at that point I didn’t have a name for it. I’d be playing happily at a friend’s house, all going well, only to be flooded with the feeling of I-want-to-go-home. NOW. I’d reach my being-together limit with an astonishing suddenness.
This still happens. I’ll be out doing errands and hit a wall. It’s the same feeling. I need to go home. NOW. The urge is overwhelming and undeniable.
Now I am home. All the time. And here’s the thing. I LIKE IT. No—the truth is—I LOVE it. After being mostly at home for 5 or 6 weeks, yesterday, I needed to take my son to a medical appointment. And you know what I thought? “Oh, no. Really? I have to leave home? "
It’s not until now I’ve realized how hard the introvert in me has worked, how often I’ve denied her the desire to not participate, to stay out of the world, to disengage. Even as that kid who wanted to go home, I had an awareness of the perceived oddness of loners, of people who step away from the world too much. I grew up in a family with lots of introverts so it wasn’t a family message but a societal one that taught me to be careful to manage my introversion lest I be cast as a weird, a homebody, recluse, or hermit, words people most often use with at least a little bit of judgement.
Ever since I can remember, I’ve had what I call the Sunday Night Feeling, the dread that creeps up on me as Sunday afternoon turns to evening and I and those around me prepare to go out into the world on Monday. What I want is to stay in my home, my little world with my family, holding everyone close, for just another day. I want to stay in my nest, only roaming as far as my feet will take me in my neighborhood. Even as a child who liked school, who had friends and was well liked, I shrank away from re-entry every Sunday.
Being quarantined, the Sunday Night Feeling is almost gone. I still have things that need doing on Monday, some of which I don’t look forward to so I still hope to hold onto the weekend on that account. But the need to leave home, to go places, to venture out; that is gone.
I’m not quite sure how to explain myself. I have friends, people I value very much. And family I love to see. It’s not that I’m not social. I do miss those people right now. I miss seeing them in the flesh. And yet there are so many things I don’t miss. Invitations to social events I don’t want to go to but have some odd response to. I don’t want to go but I don’t want to say no because I want to be included. Except I don’t. Errands I don’t want to run. A general running around out and about I’d mostly rather do without.
Somehow it feels easier to me to say no to online events I don’t want to participate in. People are offering so much online and often free these days. I appreciate that. And I find it overwhelming. I spent a lot of time deleting emails about things I don’t want to engage in. It feels like lots of noise to me. I understand why people move into cabins in the woods with no wifi. NO social noise.
Though I do look forward to more free movement in the world, there’s a big part of me that doesn’t want stay-at-home to go away. Because then the pressure from the world re-asserts itself on me to get back out there, mix it up, interact, strive, be somebody, engage. What I’m recognizing is just how much I don’t want to return to that world. How still I’d like to sit. How much slower I’d like to move. How much less I’d like to do. How much more I’d like to say “No.” How much I want to give to the one in me who wants to hold the world at bay. Now that I’ve had the gift of indulging her, there’s no going back.

Well, it’s three in the afternoon and I just sat outside in the sunshine on the back deck eating flourless chocolate cake because that seemed like an appropriate response to the shelter-in-place order that came blaring out of our of cell phones last night (Thursday) and took effect at 8 am this morning. I mean, why not?
Whether to use our remaining eight eggs to make said cake was just one of the weird dilemmas that has emerged for me during this time. The answers to the big questions have been clear—no, I shouldn’t get on a plane and travel; no, I shouldn’t go to the salon to get my hair cut (and the governor solved this one for me by closing salons before my appointment); no, I shouldn’t be hanging out in coffee shops or restaurants. All made moot at this point by our stay-at-home order. Still, those questions I was prepared for. But the smaller questions I bump against every day are the surprising ones.
I actually only had seven eggs and had to borrow one from neighbor for the cake—don’t worry, we were appropriately socially distant and hand-washy for the transaction. For a bit of fun, I turned to my FB friends for a vote on this particular pandemic decision. The trend was clear. 90% of voters gave resounding support to cake being the correct use of my limited supply of eggs. In fact, they said things like, “You are not guaranteed tomorrow” and “I’m sorry, but I’m not sure what the question is.” As for one KB who shook her head in a vigorous “no” via a GIF, sorry, you were over ruled and thank goodness for that. The cake has been VERY popular among my family.
The use of all our eggs lead to another surprising dilemma. My husband went grocery shopping a few days ago and, of course, eggs were on the list. He called to say I had a choice regarding the eggs: none or five dozen. I chose five dozen. Now I feel like I could write a Dr. Suess book with my egg options—raw eggs, hard boiled eggs, frozen eggs. Which brings me to tell you I discovered something handy—you can freeze eggs. You crack them, whip them (taking care not to add too much air) and then freeze for use. I used ice cube trays. Each cavity holds 1/2 of a large egg. Once they are solidly frozen, turn them out into a zip top bag.
We also got caught in the question of toilet paper. We were running low even before this virus thing hit hard in our community so I figured we should replenish our supply. Once again, a call from my husband at the store. No TP. But they did have some big industrial style rolls, the kind you find in the dispenser at a large store. I could get that, he said. That seemed fine and better than no TP. And while it certainly IS better than none, let me warn you. This supposedly two-ply paper is VERY thin and scratchy and takes quite a handful to actually turn into enough to do any good.
I imagined him coming home with one gigantic roll of the stuff but, of course, since he was at a warehouse-style store, they came in a box of six! I wish I could say we’ve got enough to last the next six months but the inferior quality means we will run out before summer. Hopefully stores will have the good stuff before then.
We’re also rich in subpar paper towels. Again, none of the regular household stuff was available but there were rolls good for a retail dispenser. And also in a box of six. So for quite a while, we’re going to feel like we’re at Target every time we use TP or paper towels. All that’s missing are the industrial sized dispensers. Maybe that’s next.
I’m sure there are many more dilemmas to come since we’re just a few short weeks into this. Next up: whether we buy some of the “good” TP whenever we see it and save the half-ply stuff for back up or does that qualify as hoarding? I turned down decent paper towels the other day but soft TP may be another story.
Who knows what quandary is next.

On Thursday night Boulder County had its first presumptive positive case of the coronavirus. We’d been watching it creep across China, then countries in Europe, knowing it was just a matter of time. An email came about 7pm on Thursday evening saying schools would close effective the next day, Friday, until the end of spring break, March 29.

By Sunday, the situation across the US had evolved rapidly with many school districts announcing closures until at least mid-April. Since it become dire in China, then with the plight of several cruise ships with infected passengers, I’ve been glued to the news, reaching for my phone first thing in the morning and going to bed after looking at it at night, not my usual approach to the news or my electronics.

We hiked Sunday afternoon with our dogs on a forest service road not far from home. The day was sunny, the air warm enough that I had pulled off my fleece and wished I was wearing a short-sleeve instead of long sleeve tee. Mountain bikers chugged by and we exchanged hellos and its-a-beautiful-days. It was easy, up there, to think it was all still normal in the world. But we came home with the knowledge there would be no Sunday dinner out or with friends. We went to bed on the heels of the CDC announcement of the recommendation for no more than 50 people gathered at a time for EIGHT weeks.

When I closed my eyes to sleep, I could not. Some combination of caffeine too late in the day, my husband snoring and my zooming thoughts once my head hit the pillow kept me awake. Once it was dark and I was still, once there were no more distractions, it became clear to me how much life had changed since Thursday. How different the near future already looked. Like someone had turned my world a quarter turn and I couldn’t make it turn back. I couldn’t un-see.

After tossing and turning and nudging my husband to get the snoring to stop (it didn’t), I got up, put on my sweatshirt and warm socks and settled myself by the fire with a book. I also decided to use an infrequent but fool-proof sleep aid—CBD+THC gummies. I’m a light weight so I only need 1/2 of a 10 mg gummy to do the trick. I usually only need to turn to this once a month or less but I suspect difficulty sleeping might be a bit more common in the days to come.

So imagine my dismay to find that, after having my 1/2 gummy, I only had another half left. This turned my thoughts to the strange place they seem to go these days—what’s essential and what’s not? What could I justify in terms of going out into the community? Was venturing out to a dispensary for pot-laced gummy squares essential. Clearly not in the grand scheme of things. But to me??!! Or what about my haircut that’s coming up in 2 weeks, the one that, by the time I get to it every 8 weeks, I am desperate for. But clearly my hairdresser can’t stand 6 feet from me and still cut my hair. But I can feel myself looking for outs, justifying, doing the mental dance of why, for me, just this once, it would be okay. Bargaining, anyone?

I won’t do these things because they don’t come close to being essential to my survival. They feel essential to my comfort but that doesn’t or shouldn’t count for so much right now. We’re all being asked to think beyond ourselves, to act as a community, for the health and survival of all.

Which brings me to my anger at people who refuse to take this seriously, who accuse us of panicking (ok, well maybe hoarding TP is panicking but that’s not what I’m talking about). I get enraged at people, some of them quite close to me, who have acted in ways I see as irresponsible to themselves, their children and the greater community by traveling simply because they want to. And I wonder about that, my rage at those who won’t do what I think they should. I wonder at exactly how mad it makes me, wonder where the ferocity of that feeling comes from, wonder how to make the decisions I think are right and taking care of myself and my family while leaving others to do their best for themselves.

It’s times like these when I feel like I see the best of humanity sharply contrasted with the worst. The best is displayed in rampant humor—the guy who says on FB that he’s just trying to poop at the office as much as possible where there’s ample TP, or the one who suggests just disrobing and taking a shower after pooping in the absence of TP. With all the potential time on our hands, why not? There are the touching videos of the deserted nighttime streets of Siena, Italy, a few streetlights shining, and the voices of its residents singing together out of their windows into the dark. That’s sweetness and love, floating out into the air.

And the worst. Well, I’m not really wanting to dwell on that because it makes me so mad and disgusted with people. Let’s just leave it all the examples you already know of people exposing others, hoarding supplies, not being kind or generous, being self-centered.

Which I know partly happens out of insecurity and fear. The last time I was in Target, I looked—again—for paper towels and, yes, TP—and there were none. There were about four 4-packs of little purse sized tissue packs and I wondered, should I grab those. But I recognized in myself in the moment a little bit of panic, of grabbiness. I didn’t need more tissue or TP. I DO, however, really need some paper towels!!

Being an introvert, I don’t much mind being told to stay home for a while. The difference now, which I can feel creeping in, is that usually, once I’m ready to make contact with the outside world again, I can. I am a bit daunted by the specter of absolutely no place to go for such an extended period of time. But I’m ready to get creative.

I’m grateful to live where I do, where there’s ample outdoor space because being stuck inside the house would make me go crazy. I can easily walk around my neighborhood, breathe fresh air and stand far enough from my neighbors to visit safely. We’re usually standing that far apart anyway to keep our dogs from barking at one another.

I have a new neighbor, one who arrived yesterday to get some things settled at her house before going back to CA to fetch her two cats and be back to meet the moving van at the end of March. We sat on my back porch last night, bundled in parkas and warm socks, clutching glasses of wine, the requisite 6 feet apart and started getting to know one another.

She let me know last night that she’s decided it’s not safe to fly back to CA today so she’s going to play it by ear. I’ll be taking her a few pots, pans and dishes so she can camp out at her house until she figures out her next steps.

An email came last night from our school district with more info about planning in case school needs to go online after spring break. I sure hope we’re at a point where kids can go back to school that soon but I’m not all that hopeful we’ll be far enough along in beating this thing by then.

I feel bad for the kids, my kid. School is education, of course, but so much of it is social and, as someone noted, this is not a snow day. It’s hard to see my son isolated with no place to go. So far, he’s handling it well. Maybe now I’ll see the value of my kids’ socialization online, something I’ve poo pooed as an inadequate way of interacting—until now.

I would not say I’m afraid. I’m certainly awed and stunned at how fast things can change, at how much we don’t know—and won’t know. I think my daily clutching at the news has been an attempt to know, to predict. My relationship work with uncertainly is an ongoing one. Though it has gotten better, it’s has a long way to go. But right now I’m doing well acknowledging I have no idea where all this is headed, when it will end, the twists and turns it will send us through individually and collectively.

I do wonder if it’s not partly medicine for the world, something that has shown up to remind us about how intimately we are connected—to our close neighbors, to those across town and to those across the world.

I’m thrilled to let you know I’ll be reading one of my essays at Boulder’s 2020 Listen To Your Mother show at the Boulder Theater on May 9, 2020 at 7:30 pm. Come celebrate Mother’s Day with an evening of readings about motherhood.

An announcement about the show said: “Listen To Your Mother is the live stage show that gives Mother’s Day a microphone. Featuring local writers reading their original compositions about motherhood—having a mother, being a mother—each show takes the audience on a well-crafted journey filled with humor, poignant moments, and lots of recognition. You can learn more about the types of stories featured in LTYM productions by watching videos of past seasons’ shows on the LTYM YouTube channel.”

I hope you can join me and all the other readers for this year’s show.

Tickets are on sale now: https://www.eventbrite.com/e/listen-to-your-mother-tickets-96997481077

I recently had occasion to write with a group of teens. One of our subjects was “pet peeves.” I learned something—about what drives teenagers crazy about their parents and about what drives them crazy in general. Many of the general pet peeves surprised me in their universality between kids and adults.
So . . . if you’d like to improve your relationship with you teen, listen up. Here’s what they want you to know:
1. Topping the list of Make Me Crazy was one that surprised me but that was expressed vehemently and by almost every teen in the room. It was this: when you leave their room after entering to talk with them, leave the room the way you found it. As in CLOSE THE DOOR. COMPLETELY. TURN THE LIGHTS BACK OFF IF YOU TURNED THEM ON. Certainly don’t leave the door open all the way. Don’t even leave it open a tiny crack. Close it. Until the latch clicks. Thank you.
2. Stop criticizing them for sleeping and napping.
3. Stop saying, “Just stop doing ___________ .” All the kids expressed how hard it is to break a habit, even one they want to stop. “It’s just not that easy,” they said. Indeed, think about how hard it is for you to stop having that daily chai (just saying for a friend), stop biting your nails or some other “small” but steadfast practice.
4. Stop being late to pick them up. If you are late every time you go to get them, stop saying you’re sorry. Because, they said, you’re not or you’d quit being late.
5. Stop showing up early to get them and complaining about having to wait.
Another top-of-the-list annoyance was when we tell them dinner’s ready only have them come to the table to find us still cooking.
6. And, they said, please don’t compare them to siblings or friends.

As for living in the world in general, we agreed on a number of things:
1. A lot of general pet peeves fell under the category of things people do out of general lack of awareness—lolly gagging on the sidewalk or in the hallway in front of others who are trying to get somewhere, mouth noises including smacking food or gum, tapping of pencils or feet, or repeatedly kicking the back of someone’s chair.
2. Unsolicited advice. Enough said.
3. Globs of toothpaste in the sink. This one surprised me because this clearly does not bother the teens in my home.
4. Clothing that is too tight or requires too much re-arranging once it is put on.

And then there are my own personal issues:
1. Socks that start losing their elastic and s-l-o-w-l-y creep down my leg. Any bra I’m aware of once I put it on. Shirts with tight sleeves.
2. People who back into parking spaces. Seriously, it takes too long. Usually several back-and-forth and in-and-out of the space to get it in there just so while the rest of us sit there and wait. Just stop.
3. Rain or snow on my glasses. Or any other sort of smudge.
Hat head. Hats make my forehead itch, generally squeeze my head, make me claustrophobic, and smoosh my hair.
4. Men, please listen up! Put the toilet seat down.
5. When people (read kids) in my household take things and don’t return them or put items away in the wrong place. This includes scissors, tape, hot pads, the electronic lighter, my phone charging cord, measuring cups, measuring spoons, and other kitchen utensils.
6.Don’t use my bath towel or my beach towel. Use your own. I’m not good at sharing these.
7. When people in my household overfill the trash or recycling bin so stuff is tumbling over the back into the cabinet or onto the floor when I open the cabinet door instead of taking it out.
8. Dishes left in the sink when the dishwasher has dirty dishes in it. I do have to say the little sign on the dishwasher indicating Clean or Dirty has helped with this. My family’s pet peeve is when I forget to change the sign to Dirty and then get mad at them for putting dirty dishes on top of clean ones or for failing to put dirty ones in the dishwasher.
9. The WORST in terms of dishes left in the sink is waking up in the morning to a large pot in the sink full of cold water and congealed grease on the top. It makes me shiver to even start dealing with this. I’d rather find a pot with hardened food caked on the inside than cold, wet and greasy.

There’s a saying—“Don’t sweat the small stuff. It’s all small stuff.” I don’t think it’s true every annoyance we encounter in life is small stuff but pet peeves certainly are. Though they aren’t the big issues in life, they can loom large. Enough of them building up in a day’s time can set my teeth on edge and tip the tenor of my day. Try to be aware of mine and I’ll try to be aware of yours.

And remember, just say no to backing into parking spaces!

Photo by FuYong Hua on Unsplash