Dinner of champions. In bed, by 8 pm. Beef stick not pictured.
The title is a reference to a lil’ childhood ditty that I am not sure everyone (anyone?) knows:
Teeter totter, bread and water, wash your face in dirty water.
I think one of the most challenging parts of Pandemic 2020 is the up-and-down nature of it.
How easy it is to be laughing at an episode of Seinfeld or out walking on a gorgeous day and forget for a moment what’s going on in the world before it all comes crashing back in.
Or to wake up feeling mentally/emotionally terrible, have a little boost mid-day, feel once again like shit, then fall asleep thinking that maybe things will be made clearer in the morning.
It’s like the entire world is a 15-year-old and our hormones are out of control. I’d like to see a data visualization of the posts on social media – I would be willing to bet that there is some correspondence to the general mood of the world/nation that follows this fluctuation.
That’s all. I am writing this post from bed Sunday night, eating my dinner, as pictured above, minus the beef stick that I ate because protein, people.
Many people have been fretting about what to eat, what to watch, and what to do. Here are 45 things to do that don’t involve a screen, and new movies streaming from Universal Pictures if you just want to veg for a bit (since the movie theaters are closed anyway). Monday I am going to make kumquat ice cream with almond brittle, and maybe finally recipe test two recipes I have been developing since February.
Some mornings I wake up rarin’ to go do allofthethings, and then that goes out the window and I sloth around the house for a couple hours.
This is all you need today – the sudden beauty of a simple poem.
After Frank O’Hara / After Roger Reeves
Ocean, don’t be afraid.
The end of the road is so far ahead
it is already behind us.
Don’t worry. Your father is only your father
until one of you forgets. Like how the spine
won’t remember its wings
no matter how many times our knees
kiss the pavement. Ocean,
are you listening? The most beautiful part
of your body is wherever
your mother’s shadow falls.
Here’s the house with childhood
whittled down to a single red tripwire.
Don’t worry. Just call it horizon
& you’ll never reach it.
Here’s today. Jump. I promise it’s not
a lifeboat. Here’s the man
whose arms are wide enough to gather
your leaving. & here the moment,
just after the lights go out, when you can still see
the faint torch between his legs.
How you use it again & again
to find your own hands.
You asked for a second chance
& are given a mouth to empty into.
Don’t be afraid, the gunfire
is only the sound of people
trying to live a little longer. Ocean. Ocean,
get up. The most beautiful part of your body
is where it’s headed. & remember,
loneliness is still time spent
with the world. Here’s
the room with everyone in it.
Your dead friends passing
through you like wind
through a wind chime. Here’s a desk
with the gimp leg & a brick
to make it last. Yes, here’s a room
so warm & blood-close,
I swear, you will wake—
& mistake these walls
for skin.
Sicily and I sitting in the house she designed and we built together as her school project. School doesn’t need to look like “school.”Links in this caption tell the story behind the picture.
The school was a lot like homeschooling in the sense that The Child and I padded down the hall to the living room four days a week and welcomed paying students into our house to work on designing and building projects that ranged from a go-cart to a tiny house (above) to a hydroponic greenhouse to a chicken coop (with a DIY-incubator that hatched exactly one rooster – but it worked).
So here’s today’s message, aimed squarely at those who suddenly find themselves at home with grade-school kid(s) who are confronted with the sudden “freedom” that doesn’t feel free and a caregiver who is nothing like their regular teacher and not normally the academic boss of them:
DO NOT TRY TO RE-CREATE SCHOOL AT HOME.
This is crucial for several reasons. First, you have no idea what you are doing. It’s ok. Teaching is an art and a skill and requires training to do for 30 kids in a classroom. That’s how the majority of us experienced school, and so we would naturally think that our kids need this at home also, but they totally don’t and will resist. They may find it fun or mildly amusing for a bit, but we are in this for the rest of the school year (at least), so you might as well just throw that particular bathwater out right now.
So what the hell are you supposed to do, especially if you are also working at home for the first time, and you already want to strangle your miserable children?
Breathe. That’s the first step.
Next, if your kids are old enough, sit down with them and see if you can come up with a loose schedule of sorts. Think about what your non-negotiables are (e.g., set conference calls or meetings that require your full attention and silence), ask them for theirs, and see what you come up with. Maybe they negotiate some daily screen time that can occur at this time, or perhaps you have readers who can use this as set, daily reading.
Your schedule does not have to look like anyone else’s. Maybe you have kids who like to stay up late and sleep in. Why would you try to wake them at their normal school time? Give yourself permission to abandon that daily struggle. You can use this time to do work that requires peace and quiet. Learn your family’s rhythm, and follow it.
And what should you teach?
In my personal opinion, probably 80% of what your kid’s teachers sent home is garbage. That’s not the teachers’ fault. It’s just that you cannot replace such a connected practice as teaching with a worksheet or online course. The only subject I would say to follow if at all possible is math. This is also negotiable, and math is everywhere.
Take this time as an opportunity for your kids to really explore something they are interested in. Have a conversation about what they love and let them go full HAM. How many times have you had to pry your kid away from something (other than a screen) so you could leave the house? Maybe it’s drawing, building with LEGO, music, juggling a soccer ball. Whatever it is, DIVE DEEP. Let them explore, and then let them tell you what they know.
Otherwise? Read. Read out loud, to each other, and talk about what you’ve read. Read comic books, novels, non-fiction, magazines, the back of cereal boxes. Read plays out loud, as they are meant to be read, or let your kids write their own and read those out loud.
Kids can’t read yet? Let them illustrate a story, dictate it to you, and then you read it to them.
Don’t worry about sight words, phonics, worksheets, spelling tests.
Throw out comprehension worksheets and ask them questions about what they have read that you actually want to know the answer to. Have them point out what made them think their thoughts about the reading. Let them write alternative endings, fan fiction.
Have your kids write letters to family members currently in quarantine or just far away. Let them start a journal or design a blog, or both. Consider adding morning pages to your routine (modify the suggested number of pages as needed, of course).
As much as possible, involve your kids in your daily activities. Teach them how to cook and bake (baking is real chemistry, BTW), or learn with them if you are clueless in the kitchen.
If you have projects around the house, let your kids help. Who cares if it takes longer? Where are you going? NOWHERE, friends. You are going NOWHERE.
So slow down, live into where you are RIGHT NOW.
Finally, don’t ignore your health. We may be getting close to a time where we find ourselves actually confined to our houses (or maybe you are already there). There are a variety of practices that can keep you connected to your body and ease your mind during this time.
Shameless plug: the studio where I teach yoga (Yoga Tree in Baltimore) is offering classes online, at an introductory price of $39 for two weeks. Sure, you could get yoga free online, but if you want to support a small business and practice with me online, check it out. My first class is tomorrow night – Sunday the 22nd – from 5:30 – 6:45.
Bottom line: your kids don’t need you to be their teacher.
They need you to be connected, present, and healthy.
You can do it. If you take the time to slow down and figure out first what makes sense for your family instead of forcing something that just doesn’t work, you will be surprised by what everyone learns.
If you are a parent, what has helped in these early stages of our new normal? Please comment below or on Instagram @charmcityedibles.
Just in time for allergy season, a little opportunistic horseweed on the balcony. Nature is wise.
Now back at home from Casa Weeks, alone in my studio with the kitty and the inexplicable hum of 83, which has heretofore been mostly silent, the one thing I keep coming back to is nature.
I have the deepest urge to plant something. It’s a deeply hopeful act – shoving a tiny seed into wet, dark soil, believing that it will rise its face to the sun over weeks or months.
Meister Eckhart said, “What we plant in the soil of contemplation, we shall reap in the harvest of action.”
This dovetails nicely with yesterday’s urge to slow down, be still, reflect.
So I will head to Falkenhan’s in Hampden to pick up some spinach and mixed greens, maybe radish, which I don’t love but which comes up very quickly and gives nearly instant gratification – a comfort always but especially right now.
What are you planting these days – literally or metaphorically?
I am perhaps more excited about this than I ought to be.
Just this morning I was writing my morning pages and berating myself for my lack of writing. A familiar trope that I revisit frequently: that I am never doing enough creative work, even when not social distancing and with ample time.
And then Khristian Weeks shared this Instagram post with me:
“Notes from my last residency in Ontario, Canada: A whole bunch of materials is waiting for its transformation into something we commonly call ‘works of art’. Not only these from Canada, but a lot of other findings from Italy (sea and forests) reside in my studio suspended in this motionless moment. On top of that, new projects and conceptual works reside in my mind for the warm season, and one could think right now, given the quarantine, an artist should have an abundance of time to dedicate to his/her practice. • What I want to say is that I just don’t feel like doing anything. I just prefer to spend my time deep into this crisis rather than distracting from it. • Suddenly my work has become something far from what I’m living, something off-topic from what I’m through right now. Everything feels useless or distant. And in the compulsive ways socials are pushing people to do, do, do (on-line courses, exhibitions, flash mobs, virtual gatherings and whatever may sound productive, which I don’t criticize), I want to allow myself just doing nothing. • It’s strange how death is the only certain thing in this life, jet it shocks and upsets us so deeply. • I hope and guess that my mood will change again soon as everything is changing fast and I will be going back to my art practice with a different attitude, but for now I’m living through my mood with the effort to not feel guilty about it and it feels good I’m succeeding in this.” @francesca.virginia.coppola
I alternately love it and hate it when someone beats me to a public expression of how I am feeling.
The idea that we (the big, U.S. of A “we”) are being pushed to be productive and busy at the same time this virus has forced us to slow down seems counterintuitive to me, and, for creative people, a direct contradiction to the quiet reflection that is necessary for deep work.
I am a big fan of the idea that creative work is more than just the production of stuff and encompasses the whole wide network of action that includes inaction as well. And that there is tremendous value in removing all of the distraction of busy-ness to sink into creative practice that may or may not have a final product.
People: you don’t need to organize your closets and deep clean your house. You don’t need to re-create your child’s school at home. You don’t need to go into high-speed production of your art, or learn a new skill, or attend a class.
You could, but this is not required.
Nothing is required of you at this moment in time except that you wash your hands, cough/sneeze into your elbow, and don’t touch your face.
Literally, that’s it.
Today, we are watching movies and working on a puzzle (‘shrooms, natch). It will be warm but cloudy, so maybe we will stretch our legs around the block, but maybe not.
Do you feel pressed to “do, do, do,” or are you letting this forced slowdown sink deeply into your bones?
