Great Pause #3
And then the gloom lifted and it was time to get busy.
Last week I sewed almost thirty face masks for friends and family. I haven’t used my sewing machine like this in at least three decades. But I’m not alone–an entire movement of home sewers has risen up. NPR featured a story on men and women sewing masks, dubbing us craftivists. A friend-of-a-friend who runs her own home business (shout out to My Lovely Muse!) donated ten masks to my daughter’s floor at the hospital–and then shared fifty yards of elastic with me so I could start sewing myself. (Elastic is out-of-stock at most fabric store online, so this was like gold.) I passed some of that elastic on to a friend who was sewing masks for a homeless shelter and more to a friend who was making them for a nursing home. Pay it forward, people. Pay it forward.
My husband and I walk nearly every day in some local park or another and I have every hope that walking will continue to be part of my new normal. Reading comes in fits and starts. (Sometimes the focus just isn’t there …) But I cook nearly every evening and it has become something of a (soothing?) ritual. We are eating like kings! Not rich or exotic food, but healthy and homemade: jambalaya, pork roast, shrimp curry, chili, shawarma chicken bowls. I’ve also gained a couple pounds, but that, I know, is the result of the cookies and doughnuts and chocolate I’ve allowed myself. Indulgence goes a long way.
Last Saturday, hubby’s clippers in hand, I cut my own hair. Yep, you read that right. It’s not pretty and I will owe my stylist an enormous tip when she gets me out of the mess I created–but it’s shorter, at least, and I feel at least a teensy bit more … presentable. (The question is, for whom?!)
Not visiting my grand kids is killing me. I Face time them a couple times a week, but the experience leaves something to be desired. At five, three, and one, the calls are a dizzying display of the ceiling or flashes of arms, legs, and foreheads as the two oldest wrestle the phone from each other. Our best ‘conversation’ was during craft time one day–my daughter set the phone on the table while the kids colored and cut. Once a week I’ve become the Happy Meal Fairy, dropping off goodies I normally wouldn’t consider fit for consumption because it makes them so happy.
I blow kisses through the window and for now that has to be enough.
This is my symphony 
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