Monday, April 27

another day in place

In an effort to catch you up on the past few years (well, year, really) of my life, I have neglected to relay any part of the ongoing present, or current events.

Early boredom
But what's to say, really? We're all doing the same thing: staying home. Since my Left-Hand Man and I only recently moved to this home, the adjustment has not been that significant. We don't have work outside of our home or social gatherings to avoid since we don't have friends. We have a house and the two (and sometimes three) of us. We might as well be living on a desert island, except the beaches would not be closed.

Anyone else having flashbacks to every post-apocalyptic novel they ever read, wondering when the wandering marauders will start raiding for babies and canned tomatoes. Why babies, you ask? To start a new civilization, obviously. I will say I never saw toilet paper becoming the currency of this new world.

I can only imagine what it might be like when your ability to eat or feed your family is taken, but I am familiar with staying home. I stayed home most of my childhood, in fact. Homeschooled on the rural high desert southwest, isolation was a given. But boredom begets, by necessity, creativity. We had hours and hours to invent new worlds in juniper tree houses and crude wooden block fortresses that stretched across the family room floor.

And later, in my mid 20s, I experienced another bout of home-boundedness forced by physical collapse. I spent lots of time in a hammock, not only under house rest, but held hostage by my own body. This is when I started writing my book.

I've learned that being side-lined deserves gratitude, thought it frequently invites anger. The beaches closing actually felt like a personal insult to my spiritual wellbeing. I raged. I slept as much as possible. I'm still drinking gin and tonics, but I started painting. And now the Small Queen insists on painting with me, as in, when she wants to paint, I have to paint, too. And she is prolific.