“June is busting out all over; the feeling is getting so intense…”
So begins a stanza of Rodgers and Hammerstein’s popular tune of my childhood. It might well be the national anthem, for by the time this is printed, those rebellions in state capitals may have spread all over.
People accustomed to freedom, the rugged individualists of our country, want to assess their own risks.
Plus, there’s no place like home until you have sheltered in place too long. I haven’t cleaned and cooked so much since I was a newlywed.
Housework is booooring. I am so grateful I was not a pioneer woman who lived on the plains doing chores all her life.
Holy Martha Stewart, I even got so bored I found an old hot glue gun and repaired picture frames.
When I turned my attention outside, I noticed just how many feral cats were in my yard. I made a post on Nextdoor asking for help. Don’t do that! People are so bored and tuned into their phone, the flood of messages nearly crashed my phone.
After turning to my closets, I wondered if I should throw out all the contents and start over instead of decluttering.
I’m so weary of streaming everything. Have I read all the great books, organized great projects, or written another book? Nope. I can’t fight my restlessness despite long walks, porch parties, and many Zooms.
Have I participated in charitable giving, calling the elderly, doing drive-by celebrations? Of course. Is my home more organized? Yes, so?
What I miss most is society and tactile experience (hugs). Too much sheltering in place is numbing.
But I have made resolutions. I will not bellyache so much about traffic ever again; people are working.
I will go to the gym and enjoy it until I shed my COVID kilo.
I will go to a playground and enjoy watching children playing, especially my grandkids. Another dog will grace my life. Appreciating those who are delivering my mail, picking up my garbage, checking me out at stores, making deliveries is my new M.O. Healthcare workers and teachers rock.
I will take a road trip. But when? Bit by bit as things unfold into the new normal methinks.
Which reminds me of that other popular tune from my childhood: “Que Sera sera, whatever will be will be, the future’s not ours to see. Que sera, sera.”
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