Timestamp in the 'Rona of 2020

Greens, champagne, the smell of the turkey cooking, chopping things, assembling things, texts flying back and forth, a long drink on the front porch with a love, listening to Patty in concert while I cook, the discomfort of the elastic behind my ear from the mask I have to wear as I cook because of the Covid exposure last weekend, the idea of last times playing in my mind constantly, the scritch of present worries that natter incessantly, the reality that this is not the Thanksgiving that I wanted, the reality that holidays are heavy boots of loss, the wish for joy, the joy of my kids, the brush up against D leaving for school next year, the idea of things (time, feelings) being stretched like a Stretch Armstrong forward and back the tug and pull and tug and pull. What is it to live in joy? The gratitude of nine years of health, the gratitude of friends who text to say hello, the weird guilt when I forget. The reality that sometimes digging around in your psyche renders things that take awhile to hurdle. And then there are those times when you think you've scaled a pretty significant mountain only to slide back down. It's in the practice, in the work, the application. You never know if it's going to work until you make it operational and have to stay in, stay in. I miss my people, I miss having people in that way. There is a heaviness when someone you love deeply (your child) is angry with you. Listening to Patty sing Forgiveness and I think there is no more true or perfect song. Stream of consciousness writing, sometimes it's the only way it's coming these days. I miss writing. The compass foot set.  John Donne back from the days. Oy. 47 minutes to go on the turkey, I miss those strange sounds of football announcers calling that feel startling and calming at the same time.  Too warm for a fire tonight, the rain has been all day. My heart is heavy with the missing but also with the love. And that's a thanksgiving all it's own. Gratitude not written on a # or cup. Traversing, coming back, ending where I've begun. 

Timestamp.

I comment to her that the coffee from the new coffee maker doesn't taste as good and she says something about it maybe being because it's not, "what is it called?" "Seasoned?" I reply and we both crack up at the idea that our grody old coffee maker had seasoning. I love these moments with her where she's so teenager and so becoming.

He sits on my bed and tells me about the difference in the tests,  tucking his long man feet under the sheets. He smiles and we talk about how things will be fine even in this strange time and then he leaves to go to bed and I am overcome with the thought that in a year he will be gone. This is not a new feeling and  I know how to breathe through it but it engulfs me and I wear it on my skin for the next three days even though I push the thought aside and aside and aside.

We lump into my bed less frequently now but he comes in to talk and rest his head and she sidles in and soon enough we are in a tickle fight like so many before. She always gets the better end of the attention stick in these moments, a fierce tickler and relentless. He lets her have those moments, laughing and cheering her/me/her/me on. They are bonded beyond, all of these miles and the twisty flips and they've walked it together. That familiarity of shared experience and the plentitude of love from all sides. Consonant, good. We finally stop and just spend a moment all breathing and smiling before I ask one too many times for them to go to bed. We all linger, here and now. It won't be forever.