Sometimes I look back at blog posts from 2015 and I think to myself, "You had no idea what was coming. NO IDEA!" I expect someday I will look at January 2020 posts in the same way.
Today was Stella's first day back in in-person school. She'll attend two days per week until the governor shuts us down -- Midwest COVID numbers aren't looking great, so it seems inevitable. But I won't worry about that today: I'm glad she was able to start junior high in person after weeks of only seeing teachers and classmates on a screen. DERNIT, I just realized I didn't get a picture. So let me tell you what she looked like instead: carefully chosen black skirt and green shirt, just the right color for her golden-green eyes. Her feet are almost as big as mine now, if you can believe it, and she grabbed a pair of my socks in haste as we were heading out the door. It's been so long since anybody had to get to an actual school building that we are out of the sock habit.
The junior high isn't very far away but it's not a nice walk-- there's a crowded intersection with too many student drivers, and then you have to cross two big busy streets with no lights or crossing guards. Stella is worried about the bus, though, and I don't want to contribute to extra parent traffic on the aforementioned big busy street, so we walked it today. I was a little worried as we drew near, because there weren't any buses and there were hardly any cars out front. Had I misunderstood the date, or the schedule? Turns out that's just how it looks when you deliberately keep the numbers low -- today only half of the sixth-graders who will attend in person were present, which is something like an eighth of the usual student body.
As we approached the principal greeted us warmly. "Hello!" she said. "I have been waiting for TWO HUNDRED TWENTY-ONE DAYS to meet you! May I introduce you to the teachers who are waiting inside?"
And off she went.
I suppose adult life is always an exercise in making decisions with incomplete information, but I am really feeling it keenly this year. I pulled Stella out of band and chorus, mostly because of that Washington state choir practice. It seems like much of the transmission at that choir practice must have been the result of aerosolized virus, against which masks are less effective. I'm not convinced it's a great season in which to be playing the flute in a large group either.
But I don't know. I just don't know. If I were really worried about aerosol transmission via singing I wouldn't be playing bass for Mass every weekend, but I'm not about to give that up. I can explain it to myself in terms of total number of minutes of singing and total number of people singing, but it boils down to this: I am guessing. I am guessing all the time. We're all guessing. It is wearying.
This afternoon I walked back over to the school to meet her, and I ordered a latte online from a little nearby coffeeshop to drink on the way. It was so delicious -- the first time since March that I had drunk coffee prepared outside my house by someone not related to me.
The first day of in-person school went well aside from a hideous lunch (hard-boiled egg, green pepper strips, cold cinnamon roll, dried cranberries -- no other options available). Pete goes back next week, also two days per week. At least two days per week, at least for a little while, I will be alone in an empty house.
I have not spent much time alone during the past seven months.
Perdita went in this evening to be spayed, and she is still pretty foggy. They gave us pain medication for her, which I wrapped in a little piece of ham, but she felt too crummy to do more than sniff at it. I've been dreading the recovery -- Ziggy had a pretty tough time. Dread, though, is rooted in the idea that we can know what's coming, and if 2020 has taught me one thing, it's that I have no idea what's coming.
This morning for the first time I allowed myself to think "in 15 days we could have elected a new president" -- and OH the wash of relief that poured over me at the prospect! See above, though: we never really know what's coming. When I remember this fall I want to remember the strange mix of hope and uncertainty, the small glimpses of normal amid the sea of strangeness.
Recent Comments