Coronatine, Day Sixty-one

I went to the grocery store today, and I don’t want to write about the nightmare I had last night where no one was wearing a mask.

Could you imagine, three months ago, having a nightmare about people not wearing masks in Target?

Actually, King Soopers was well-stocked today. Everyone I saw had a mask on. People at 8:30am obeyed the one-way aisle rules, and best of all? I stayed within my budget.

I made a budget for my post-work husband, starting at the beginning of May. $200 a week. It may sound extraordinarily excessive, but we’ve got six mouths to feed, and these are American prices, after all.

But I bought extras today. This bugleweed. A roll of packaging tape. And sushi because fuck Wednesday cooking.

And, my nightmares should end soon.

Because my post-work husband got a job, a non-union, non-seniority-screws-you job, doing exactly what he’s great at and wants to do forever, in the midst of a pandemic.

And.

And you can call it what you want. White privilege. True. Luck. Absolutely. Divine intervention. Maybe.

Or just… fate. The fate that led him through the Air Force to me, that led the boy to our doorstep, that led three beautiful daughters into our home, that led his previous experience to him becoming the best candidate out of all the others being laid off.

Coronatine, day sixty-one. It’s a beautiful image filled with pets, hope, and love.

And I want to hold on to this non-nightmare feeling for as long as I can.

And.

This cat was born to be a model. Good night.

Coronatine, Day Fifty-eight (Mother’s Day)

we’re stepping outside

into this beautiful yard

to celebrate love

it’s a bit risky

and only sixty degrees.

but it’s Mother’s Day.

each girl made a card

and worked to include this boy

in conversations

it’s as good as weeds

ripped from choking my garden

so beauty can breathe

Coronatine, Day Fifty-three

we flew this beach kite

on this day seven years back

(a dream in life, Spain)

my daughter, then ten

still finding joy in small things

(as i still try to)

aspen trees at dawn

a pup always by my side

cats learning to love

the kite is gone now.

(i have ransacked every room)

locked down, we let go.

Coronatine, Day Forty-nine

until they close this

we might be here every day

(Colorado beach)

humans love water

in all its fake and true forms

(dams, no dams, fresh, salt)

our Friday night lights

makes this feel like our old life

as fresh as sunshine

Coronatine, Day Forty-five

we’re climbing walls here

as boredom reaches new heights

on day forty-five

Coronatine, Day Forty-four

bike rides and cuddles

(made it through another day)

pets will save us all

Coronatine, Day Forty-three

my perfect birthday,

in my mind, pre-corona,

would never be this

(there might be mountains,

a fondue restaurant, views

not in the background)

but with so much time

and simply nowhere to go

love works its way in

my middle’s painting,

a dress hand sewn by my mom,

hand-dipped strawberries

and saved till tonight

my oldest breaks, repairs me

with this card; her words

my perfect birthday

brought to me by a virus

with two gifts: Time. Love.

Coronatine, Day Forty-two

we got a new cat

because sweetness breeds sweetness

and i’m just crazy

Coronatine, Day Forty

this is just to say

I have lost the art contest

to everyone in my dining room

they were so strong

and so detailed

so much depends upon

a teenage smile

giving a snarky peace sign

with an artist’s pencil

beside her sassy sisters

Coronatine, Day Thirty-eight

these organized shelves

ready to be fully stocked

with his last paychecks:

they represent us,

our Coronatine journal,

worry turned to work

work we’re still doing

with tiny pics on small screens

working for our kids

our creative kids

with a cat-house-building night

paw prints, love, and all

“new normal” softens

as we make the best of fate

on day thirty-eight