Inner Doodles

Tomorrow is the first day of school. It is the first day of the 2020-2021 school year. It is also the first day of Planned Online School. (Planned meaning that instead of a makeshift emergency couple of hours, we now have a purposefully planned out full day.) I feel like I'm waiting in line for a roller coaster. Except I hate roller coasters. I want to like them. I do. I've waited in several lines, psyching myself up for the ride. Every time I get to the front, I check out. I then wait dutifully by the pink-flowered bushes for my friends to have the time of their lives while I avoid the bees who so love the pink-flowered bushes.  The one ride I did manage to get on was the Jurassic Park River Adventure Ride at Universal, Florida. You couldn't see the drop while you waited in line. It was supposedly like the log flume. I knew there was a plunge at the end, but everyone insisted it wasn't that bad. So I waited in line. As I got closer, my heart pounded, but I made it into...

My eyes fight to stay open. Days of computer screen are taking their toll. "Mom." The second grade Physical Education class we completed together last night has my body begging to drift back into dreamland. "Mom." The fuzzy blanket, still soft because I rarely let Sweaty Boy use it, invites me to stay for five more minutes. "Mom." Drool pools at the corner of my mouth and I don't move to wipe it. Nothing matters in this new world of home-hygiene. "Mom." Something with lots of hair lands in my face. In one split second my brain recognizes that the hair in my eyes, nose, and ear is more stiff and straight than my own hair. Chief Mate does not have such hair. I snort awake annoyed. "What the??" Rainbow Dash's bright eyes and bushy tail mock me. "Bud, please don't throw things in my face." "It's time to wake up." Happy Saturday. END TRANSMISSION

As we now get closer to the two-month mark, I wish I could say things are stabilizing. We remain as lost and detached as ever. Floating in a void that is this new planet with all emotions living on the edges of our sleeves. Fraying and escalating at the slightest prompt. Simple commands like, "Eat your peas," cause an eruption like never before. News such as, "High winds and possible power outages," leaves me limp. I pull the blanket tighter and refuse to get out of bed until there are only minutes left before I need to make myself presentable to the Zoom world. These logs are starting to loop and repeat as do the days. Monotony is the new rhythmic norm. Chief Mate shakes me from my spiral. "Let's go outside!" I don't hesitate. Not for a second. Chalk in hand, we draft tags. Keep calm and chalk on. END TRANSMISSION

A deep vibration of a song emanates from the woods. The unmistakable sound of the great horned owl. Its call is both soothing and weighty. One swooped above my car once. It’s one thing to understand their size from books and a bit of imagination. It’s quite another to see one several feet above you. It could easily take our brute-of-a-cat at any time. The call and response of two owls becomes a song and dance. I am in bed. Covers over my head. I don’t want to Internet. I don’t want to Zoom. I can’t take another story about people who have no regard for other people’s health because they want someone else to cut their hair. Okay. I know it’s about more than that, though. I know it’s about people without jobs right now. They are scared about survival, too. They just want normalcy. We all do. It all breaks my heart. Mother, moon, magic, mystery, mythology. All associated with the owl. It is no wonder it was my grandmother’s favorite bird. I think about all of the animals on the plan...

A black beetle crawled out of the mound of food that collects because our dear cat can't keep it in his mouth. Moist, partially masticated food is the perfect place for such an insect. He didn't appreciate my sweeping. I named him Alexander. I watched him walk away into the void under our kitchen cabinet. Alone. Without food. The hardest part in all of this is watching loved ones suffer and not being able to help. Sick family members are unable to eat homemade soup for fear of germs that may have been folded into the broth. A friend who desperately needs human contact is unable to answer the door to receive bear hugs. There is no more driving parents to the grocery store or to their routine visits to the doctor. Prescriptions for real life-threatening diseases are running out because idiots in charge are selling them as a false miracle cure. The list of can'ts goes on and on. But my intent is not to make anyone's situation harder than it already is. So, here is a list...

I found bacon on my last excursion for provisions. This was my second chance. This time I wouldn't let my mind wander. I wouldn't burn it like last time. The crime almost got me booted out of the encampment. I separated the slabs of meat while Chief Mate sang at the top of his lungs from the top of the stairs, "Bacon Bacon Bacon Bacon!!!" His toothbrush still in his mouth so the "n" didn't quite make it out of his mouth. The bacon felt strange. Every pack is slightly different. Consistency, smell, greasy residue. I squeezed five pieces across the skillet. I always put as many as the pan can handle because I despise cooking bacon. The less amount of time I have to spend stretching apart the slimy flesh, the better. These monstrosities actually grew wider and I barely could fit the last piece. It overlapped every single strip as I shoved it in horizontally across the top. Bacon is supposed to shrink, not grow. The smell filled the house and the "Bacon...

I threw out all of the pomegranate seeds. An almost-new package bursting with luscious seeds. I ate a handful of them on the first day of arrival and then promptly forgot about their existence until today. "Best By 4-14." Eh... What does a "Best By" date mean anyway? Usually you have another week before the food is spoiled. I rinsed them off just in case. Threw out a couple of suspect ones and then popped one in my mouth. The tangy and cold juice burst in my mouth. Delicious. Pomegranate seeds remind me of gushers, except they are probably more healthy. Do gushers still exist? I popped a couple more seeds in my mouth. Burst. Crunch. Squish. Not bad. "Best By" date is not always right. I palmed the remainder of ruby colored seeds into my mouth and squished into all of them at once. I could feel the pulse of prosperity permeating my mouth. That is what they symbolize, yes? Delicious -- No. Fermented. Ugh. What did I do? "Best By" date was not incor...

Between the onslaught of assignments and Zoom meetings that littered my calendar, I spent much of the day staring out the window. I noticed a woman had found a secluded spot in the woods. She sat on a raised manhole cover where trees met the gravel path above our glorious drainage swamp. It was both romantic and desperate. I found myself wondering what she was trying to escape or if she was just enjoying the scene. I watched as smoke meandered up from her fingers. She lifted the cigarette to her lips. Maybe she was a closet smoker. I decided I'd keep her identity a secret just in case. I never was a smoker, but she reminded me of a younger version of myself. I often sought out solitary spots to think and absorb and just be. I always found myself needing to escape one thing or another. Stress, people, life. It has been years since went for a solitary walk or sit. I haven't had a reason to escape. I haven't had the time. Does one need a reason to enjoy a favorite spot? Certai...