Even though I did just cut up a cantaloupe into bite sized pieces — which is a bit of work, actually — and placed the tiny bits into two matching bowls, and sprinkled them with kosher salt and cinnamon (who knows, really, how this will actually taste?), as a kind of surprise dessert, I am worried at how I will pull through for my family. So far, I have not been good at this whole thing. I scoffed at early preparations. “Buy granola bars? Just incase? Incase of what?” I asked from my high, complacent horse. Then I spent days deeply worrying about my parent’s ability to get out of Spain this week, when last week I insisted I was still going to fly out to join them on Monday night, no matter what.
Daily, now, I walk through my house with Lysol Wipes and disinfect our door knobs. Today, I piled my grocery cart with cans of Chunky soup and little containers of Ramen noodles, because a son is coming home, who never stops eating. I’ve washed and folded just about everything washable and foldable, because there’s a comfort in cleaning, disinfecting and organizing the nest in times like these. This tiny little nest, I mean to say, which is shrinking smaller by the minute and so much teenier than the previous nest, which would have been much more appropriate for times like this. This is more of a come-and-go spot, not a burrow-in-for months-because-you-have-to kind of a nest.
I’m worried about being locked inside with most of the people I love most in the world, and how I might snap.
Today, I dug out my “Clean up your disgusting mess” decorative sign from our previous house and set it on a windowsill. I hadn’t unpacked it yet, but clearly, it is time.
And so here we all are, wondering what it will be like and for how long. I am grateful for good work I can do from home and good movies I can watch when I’m all done. And I know that I will feel much better, in every way, when Brent’s parents drive across the border from the US and my parents touch down from Spain.
And yes, do sprinkle your cantaloupe chunks — if you managed to snag a cantaloupe — with a bit of cinnamon and a tiny touch of kosher salt. And call your mom.