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I have occasionally played a game called Plague Inc. During that game the player is an infectious illness with the goal of infecting the world and killing off humanity. Of course humanity responds, and across the top of the screen little headlines scroll saying things like “Japan closes borders to all flights” or “Brazil Olympic games proceed as scheduled creating new infections.” I did not realize that playing the game would make watching a real pandemic unfold feel so surreal. I keep watching the news and thinking how I’ve played this game. My minds eye can visualize how one red dot in a country can multiply until the entire country is red. I also really understand why this particular illness has been so able to spread with it’s long infectious period extending both before symptoms manifest and after symptoms have ceased.

Ultimately this Covid-19 pandemic is very survivable, but it will have significant hits both financially and possibly personally. Because Howard has been struggling with respiratory troubles since mid-January, we believe he is a high risk for landing in the hospital if he catches Covid-19. He’s likely to survive so long as the medical infrastructure is not overwhelmed. Which is why I am so glad to see large events being canceled and Flattening the Curve graphics being shared. Unfortunately if the preventative efforts succeed and the medical system is not overwhelmed, then people will be angry about the “unnecessary” hits they took financially and emotionally through missing events.

Personally, we’re in a fairly solid position. We have resources enough to weather the disruptions of the next few months. We have a large network of friends and family who can aid if full quarantine becomes necessary. (We’re already low-level self-quarantining.) Yet the constant pounding news cycle has raised my anxiety and my mind reviews all those games of Plague Inc. that I played, visualizing all the ways that pandemic scenarios played out. It is both fascinating and frightening.

I sat down in the church class and the chalkboard had the question “Where do you feel you belong?” This began a discussion which included how God loves everyone and how we can help each other feel welcome in our communities. The thing is, I don’t fully belong anywhere. When I’m in my science fiction writerly communities, the part of me that thrives on religious communion rests. When I’m at home being mom, the part of me that is a young girl who likes to go dancing isn’t being given expression. When I’m at church there are portions of my thoughts which would only bewilder some of the people I’m sharing that community with. I (like most people) am exceedingly complex and can’t be fully expressed in one context or relationship. At times in my life this has caused me to feel that I don’t belong anywhere. Then I realized that the not-belonging-anywhere feeling happened when I focused on the parts of me that didn’t fit in. When I instead focus on the things that connect me to my current context or to the person I’m next to, I find belonging everywhere.

I’m much happier now that I realize belonging is mine to create rather than something bestowed by others.

Courage isn’t measured by the size of the obstacle, it is measured by the size of the fear that is overcome.

Today one of my kids walked into a new school with all new students and teachers he’s never met before. We’re giving high school one last try at the alternative school.

Later today I’ll be dropping off a different kid for their first volunteer shift at the local aquarium.

Over and over again I watch my anxious kids do things that most people consider easy, but which are huge triumphs for them. Every time I admire how brave they are. They don’t feel brave. All they can see is that they are struggling with something that comes easily to others. They berate themselves for being weak, when I see exactly the opposite.

As a child I was very interested in birth stones, birth flowers, and any other things which were assigned to people by month. However I sometimes lamented that the stone and flower assigned to me were not as pretty as I wanted. My flower was the carnation, and carnations were boring. They were everywhere. Added to many bouquets as filler flowers between the flashier blooms. In my 40s I’ve come to appreciate carnations for almost exactly the reasons I thought they were boring as a child. Carnations are used as filler flowers because they come in a vast array of colors naturally and are easily dyed to be all sorts of non-natural colors. This means that carnations are versatile and adaptable. They make themselves useful no matter where they are. Carnations are also sturdy. They can be grown with long stems, cut, shipped, and still arrive a the sales point ready to be beautiful for almost two weeks. When I buy cut carnations, they continue to be beautiful for far longer than the flashier blooms they’re packaged beside. I’ve also discovered that many of the flashier blooms have little to no fragrance (or have far too much fragrance) while many carnations have a gentle fragrance that is detectable up close, but doesn’t fill the whole room.

I supposed I could draw these thoughts into larger considerations about how our tastes change from youth to middle age, or perhaps that I’ve become pedestrian enough to finally match my birth flower. But mostly, I just wanted to appreciate carnations out loud, because sometimes the basic, versatile, reliable things in our lives don’t get as much appreciation as they should.

I have a one notebook approach to journaling. My long form journal entries are in the same book as To Do lists, jotted down phone numbers, and random notes. I began this notebook on June 2, 2019. Today I close it and call it done. That means this book exactly brackets all the chaos of the past 8 months. All of the insurance claims, construction, financial fears, putting kids into college, pulling kids out of college, child becoming engaged and married, acquisition of a new family member, holiday planning, and wedding planning. All of that happened while I was filling these pages. The book is battered and worn. The art I did on the cover has mostly worn away. It will now go on a shelf next to a dozen other notebooks. I am grateful for every single thing that is recorded on the pages of this book.

And I am grateful to move on to the next book.

I’m still wandering around in a bit of a brain fog today. My brain can only hold onto one thought at a time. Fortunately I know this simply means I need to rest and before long my usual capacities will return. However, I did have time (when I was looking at photos from the wedding again) to realize that we had zero mental health meltdowns on the wedding day. I can’t tell you how many photos I have of happy events where I also have a clear memory of the hard things which also went on during that day. This time, everyone was happy. We all reached points of mental and physical exhaustion, but no one was clobbered by depression, anxiety, imposter syndrome, or panic. We were just… happy. For once I can look at the pictures and only think about the events in the picture. That is a huge gift for which I am exceedingly grateful.

So very tired today. But happy. I slept poorly after the reception because my brain was too full of unprocessed things, but mostly I was able to keep my anxiety from latching onto anything and making up terrible stories. It was a lovely day. All the bits that were boring, or hurried, or stressful mostly fall away and I’m left with memories and photographs of the best bits.

Obviously I love the beautiful professional art shots, but there are also the moments I caught with my own camera.

The moment with them smiling and the bride’s ratty slippers peeking from under the gorgeous dress.

Descending the staircase while carrying a snuggly blanket to stay warm.

And in a huge labor of love, which was kind and sensitive to our desire that the newlywed’s car be left alone, a large group of extended family rented a truck and decorated the interior as a honeymoon suite to greet the couple as they exited the reception.

All these moments and hundreds more. So many treasures to process, but through the fatigue, I’m just happy. It was all so beautiful. Everyone who came to the temple or came to the party, or sent kind thoughts via message, they were all beautiful too. I can’t think of a better start for a young pair than to be able to see how very surrounded they are by all the people who wish them well.

It took me almost two weeks longer than I wanted, but I found words to help me shape how I want 2020 to be. I wrote them in my first Newsletter for 2020:

Thus I return to the idea of creating a portion of joy and peace that I can carry with me no matter what surrounds me. I’ve tried visualizing it like a bubble, but bubbles feel fragile and of necessity keep everything at a slight distance. Instead I envision a cloak of joy and peace that I can wear across my shoulders and back while my hands do necessary work. A cloak I can wrap around myself and vanish into on days when everything feels like too much. Inside this cloak I need a pocket to collect the words of friends who value me and the words of those who inspire me to be better. Words that shine when the pocket is opened. At times I can pull out these shining words and release them in a cloud around me to be a shield of fireflies to protect me and light my way when things feel dark. So this year I guess instead of having an intention, I have an image to carry me through the months to come.

(You can read the full Newsletter here.)

I’m glad a focal point showed up. This coming week will be full of things. Wedding events begin tomorrow with relatives arriving in town for a bridal shower. Then there are the last pieces of preparation for Wednesday. We’ve almost reached the point where things are either done or they aren’t. It is a relief to getting to this point, because now instead of planning and preparing, I can just roll with whatever comes. I don’t know what feelings are ahead of me for the remainder of this week, but I have a cloak I’m going to wear through it all.

Tonight I feel quiet. I’m aware that outside my house, in national and international news, there are events that have many people stressed and upset. Yet I am focused on the inside of my house and the inside of my body as both recover from mild traumas. Most people pay no attentions to the sensations of swallowing, I’ve had to for a couple of years. Since Friday’s procedure the sensations have all changed and I don’t know yet which changes are part of the healing process and which are my new normal. I haven’t choked on food since Friday, so that is something.

In a similar way, I’m putting my house and family rhythms back together after all the upheaval of 2019. School starts again tomorrow, which would usually be the moment when a new year settles in and establishes itself. But the one kid I have who is still in school is currently sporting a temperature of 102. He’s going to spend another day or two on the couch recovering from flu. And our path to normal life patterns is still on hold. I don’t think we’ll get anything resembling normal until after my daughter’s wedding in ten days. For me 2020 doesn’t begin until after the wedding is complete.

This next week is littered with small preparation tasks for the wedding. I have jackets to alter, a haircut to schedule, a kid in need of hair dye, printed materials to order, catering to finalize, some airport pick ups, and I should probably pick out what I’m going to wear. Yet none of these tasks are mission critical. I could fail at all of them and the wedding will still go forward. I just hope no one else catches the flu. (We’ve kept the bride and groom quarantined away from the sick kid.)

I’ve been home from my scoping procedure for four hours now. I’m not loopy but I’m forbidden from driving for twelve hours, and I can feel enough grogginess to understand why.
Good news, we have a firm diagnosis and it is a familiar problem to my GI doctor with a range of standard treatments. EOSINOPHILIC ESOPHAGITIS (EOE) Most human throats are 20mm wide and flexible. the base of mine next to the stomach was 8mm wide and stiff. (For reference, 8mm is the size of a drinking straw.) They stretched out the constriction to 12mm which was as far as the doctor felt comfortable without risking a perforation. Now I get to heal up for a few weeks and see what that does for me. It is possible that this will solve my issues. It is also possible that I’ll need additional dilation. Some people with this condition have dilation once per year. Others once every five years or so. Others only once ever.

For right now I’m home, on my couch. My throat is sore, my voice is hoarse, and I’ve got people to take care of me. Everything else can wait a day or two.