The last night there, the last night here...

Today I did a final run-through, aka clean out, of the boys’ rooms. I get one real shot at this purge every year, so even though it’s a sweaty, horrid mess of a job, it’s gotta be done.

Earlier this summer, I took the plunge into Jack’s closet of horrors by attempting to organize his zillions of Magic cards into boxes. Don’t think I even tried to sort by color or set or anything; no, I simply wanted them short side up and in card boxes. In the meantime I threw out a ludicrous number of foil wrappers, pistachio shells, pretzels, the dried kidney bean here and there, and wads of tape and other random shit.

Meanwhile, Oliver’s horrific room.

I had Stanley Steamer come out to clean and deeply deodorize this special place in my home. “What are these black spots, ma’am?”

“Well, sir, it’s my hope that they’re spatters of blood from Ol’s frequent nosebleeds rather than mold.”

He looked terrified.

I imagine I would have, too.

I had frequent nosebleeds as a child. At one point I had to have my nostrils cauterized. Mercifully they knocked me out for the procedure. Less mercifully they did so via suppository. I believe that I am still scarred from the nurse sing-songing that she was just going to put this “up your hiney.”

Oh.my.god.

Anyway, I still get nosebleeds, but not as frequently. Ol does. Hence the black spots. Which Stanley couldn’t get up. At least nothing involved a hiney.

Tomorrow I fly to Maine to rent a car to pick up the boys to drive them home. Because of stupid Covid and the even-stupider folks who refuse vaccinations or deny the virus, there can be no final camp campfire this year and we are limited to just one hour of pickup. So, it’s a lot of travel for 60 minutes of at-camp fun, but alas. I will see a dear friend I’ve missed since 2019 and relish a bit of time in Portland and snuggle my boys like a lunatic mama bear starting Sunday around 11:30am. I can’t wait to see how much they’ve grown. And, having not hear from Oliver in nearly three weeks, to simply lay eyes on that one.

21 May 2020: Daily

Camp has been canceled, and we are all heartbroken. I know this was the likely outcome, but it is crushing nonetheless. This summer more than ever, the kids needed six weeks away from everything. Away from electricity and news, pandemics and masks, computers and our house. They needed waves lapping at the shores of a tiny, idyllic island, loons calling across the starry skies. They needed a cohort of boys and men in which they could be and further grow into those roles. They needed boats and tools and mountains to climb and homesickness to combat. They needed to work for and earn their own fun in a way that home never provides.

My heart hurts for them, and the camp, and for Tom and me, and for the extended camp family who has never missed a season since its inception in 1902.

FUCK coronavirus. Fuck the hundreds of thousands of deaths from it, fuck the ruin it has wrought—economically, mentally, emotionally, socially, academically. Fuck the broken plans and lost dreams and Zoom graduations and hookups that can’t happen. Fuck the silver linings and positivity that is crucial but sometimes tiresome.

The loss is immense. It is felt in ways big and small. It is enormously stressful, for everyone, in different and variously horrible ways. It is death and isolation and withered relationships and people dealing differently with stress and worry and no one having enough alone time but also too much alone time and privilege and rage and impotence.

It is seeing your kids trying to grow up and away while in the same room as you; you are thankful they share the jokes tinged with sexual awakening and you are sad they have to share them with you.

It is hearing your parents’ voices across a phone line or a screen, missing them terribly and wondering when you will see them next and how, safely. It is wanting to hug and help and not being able to do either. It is watching companies go out of business and proud people ask for help despite body-cringing discomfort. It is realizing that you have NO ONE in the executive branch wanting to or capable of supporting their citizens.

I stay busy when I can’t figure out what to do. I build, saw, sand, paint, plant, pet, tend, water, weed, feed. But I am so tired tonight. And I am down. I miss my friends, my husband, my independence, my life. My LIFE! I am tired of screens and Zooms (even though, I give you an A+ Zoom, because you are the bomb! You are enabling everything right now). I am tired of insomnia and Ambien and cooking 4-6 meals daily. I am tired of building, sawing, sanding, painting, petting, tending, watering, weeding, and feeding. I am overwhelmed by the thought of months of this ahead.

None of this is good for anyone. It’s good for the planet and for nature, and I am so thankful for the break Earth and its creatures are getting, but damn.

This dear one landed on my thigh yesterday while I was working on the fence. It seemed to just want a rest, so I just stayed still for a while. Then, I gently nudged it onto whatever I was holding and deposited it into a blackberry blossom. Look at those pollen-filled legs. What a gentle giant. My pollinator garden does seem to be attracting such marvelous friends.

13 May 2020: Daily

Oh, man, we just participated in a virtual camp campfire which is now a weekly, and much beloved, treat. We will all be so crushed if the boys can’t go this summer. Camp is the most magical, special place, and I can’t fathom a better way to spend some time post-, or mid-quarantine than on a tiny Maine island with traditions and friends and challenges and no electricity and lots of nature. We know it won’t start on time, but all of us have everything crossed for a least part of a summer.

A few delights for you today:

Drunk hogs.

DYING: