Winter and Spring are also in a state of war here in Boise, Idaho. From my porch, a procession of trees in peak white blossoms dotted with chirping birds. In the distance the foothills remain a starchy white. It feels like winter. Its cold, too cold for the first day of April in the high desert. Yesterday’s rain edged on sleet and hail, unforgiving and ignoring the boundaries of my patio rails to wet my rug and chair. There is a hosta in a pot that has sprouted small purple horns, like a juvenile male deer or tiny devil children. Its too cold to be out on my patio before nine in the morning but here I sit. I like the shadows on the hills at sunrise and the ruckus the birds make. The white trees remind me of wedding season.
I haven’t felt particularly emotional about any of this until yesterday. Its didn't come about due to some major life event being thwarted like nuptials or prom, rather sadness arose for me in the vegetable section at Winco. A gentleman in his mid to late 50s was stocking boxes of spinach and bagged salad. It was nearing ten in the morning and imagine he was at the end of his early stocking shift. while he worked he kept most of his attention on us, the shoppers. He looked worried, on alert, keeping his stack of boxes and cart between his body and us. He was so full with stress and fear he couldn’t even see me looking at him. I hated that he was having to work, to put himself at risk, while I picked through apples and bananas. Why aren’t older people the ones laid off and all the young unemployed service people called to action? It felt wrong and if I could’ve signed up to trade places with him I would have done it on the spot. There were quite a few older people shopping and slowly wandering the store, which was relatively quiet at that time of day. One older man in a mask kept appearing on the same isle as me.. He seemed in contrast from the man working, unaware of the people around him and unconcerned for space. Rather than pass him, I would just pretend to be I don’t know, taking a long time to decide what soy sauce I was gong to buy. A coulple of times I gently turn my cart and walked slowly in the other direction, not in a way that belied any frustration or annoyance, like I might have before if I was in a hurry and someone was blocking the isle. I think that while we are mandated to give each other six feet of space, it it important to do so from a place of care and concern for each other, rather the than fear or skepticism I have seen a lot of.
Yesterday was a massive, exhausting day. Grocery shopping took the better part of the morning and then there was the dealing with the groceries, which I sort of forgot also takes. How did I used to do this just as an errand in between things? I guess I wasn’t shopping for multiple weeks, preparing to get sick or take care of someone else who could get sick. This was shopping on steroids. Everything is exhausting in a crisis. As I mentioned in a previous blog, rather than make a “to do” list, at the end of each day I make a “done” list. This helps to not pressure myself into productivity, listen to my body and do what feels best in the moment. Lots of advice on the internet says to develop a routine right now and while I think that for some people that may help, it might not help for everyone. Part of me has always resisted a routine and when I try to force my body into it, I just end up stressed and unproductive. I’ve learned that I respond best to lose guidelines and a trust in myself to know what is best. That doesn’t mean that I still don’t exercise even if I am not feeling it, because I know there are somethings I need to do even if I don’t feel like it. I just don’t lock myself into doing them at a certain time, which is how I interpret a routine.
Yesterday I knew I should get outside and go for a walk but after the earthquake, thats right, I said earthquake, I did not feel like walking. My knees had buckled with fear as I gripped my bathroom door jam and the world wobbled and my cats scrambled toward the bedroom. I was shaken and disbelieving and had to call some people and touch my arms and face a lot for reassurance. It was a 6.5 and it made all the old ladies that live around me poke their heads in a temporary suspension from isolation which was actually very comforting. One disaster gives way to another, its only natural. Instead of going for a walk, I poured a gin and lime lacrioux and I danced like I was in a music video montage for a sold half hour. I started a batch broth in the crockpot and finished up my second attempt at homemade rice milk (it was successful!) I made a fresh salad for dinner and warmed up some gifted enchiladas which I ate as I watched the sunset, all pink and gold and grey clouds and the start of a what felt like it would be one of those long slow dusks. I suddenly longed to be out in it and to the city at night, again. I took a walk through our abandoned downtown. Some business still played music, even though they were closed. All the building were empty besides the few who house residents and I looked up and made long eye contact with someone five or six stories up, looking down. A few young men with buffalo wild wings take out bags, hurried up 8th street, normally the busiest part of downtown and probably of the state. It felt like four in the morning, but it was only eight or nine at night. The only other place open was Pie Hole, a pizza place, still serving slices. A young man looked out, slightly hopeful at some movement and then dropped his head as I continued to walk. I made a note to get some pizza there soon and headed home, imagining nights at the club and people gathering again.