A few weeks ago, my six-year-old and I planted seeds in paper cups.
We stuck the paper cups outside and committed to watering them. Daily, ish.
With such a vague “commitment,” we watered them every few days. In the intense heat of August in SoCal, the seeds failed not only to thrive, but to show even the merest hints of growth.
Last weekend, my six-year-old and I planted new seeds in paper cups.
We planted green bean, watermelon, and tomato seeds. We committed to watering these each and every evening. Continue reading “to reach for the sun”
Today was my sons’ second day of (online) school this Fall.
Anxieties have run high among the adults in my home the last week or so: “What?! We just got the hang of COVID summer. How are we supposed to adapt to school now, when Summer just started … it did just start, didn’t it? Wait, is it still 2020?”
The first two days went pretty well, actually. I was able to collapse the chaos of virtual school-plus-work into a spreadsheet, and then … reality actually conformed itself, more or less, to that spreadsheet!
(That seldom happens, so I take time to savor it when it does.)
The best part of day two involved a summer assignment my older son finished a little late: “As a family, talk about an event in the news and how it relates to your faith.” Continue reading “to show up”
On Monday morning, I spent three hours writing about cultivating empathy in the face of COVID-19.
By Monday evening, I was ranting to my husband about a particular group of people,
a divergence that didn’t amuse me until Tuesday morning.
For months now, I’ve half-heartedly worked on making a habit of morning “RPMs”: Read, Pray, Meditate. The days I begin thusly are often the most manageable of all, a fact that isn’t always persuasive to my 4 a.m. self: “Do I really want to RPM, or do I want to just stay here in bed and half-doze until the kids wake up? I mean, both of these things are good for me, right?”
Until this week, half-dozing has tended to win this morning battle within myself. Fortunately, I chose wisely this Tuesday morning, grumbling as I climbed out of bed and went to find my healing books. Continue reading “safer”
As a longtime professional contract negotiator,
and now-adult daughter of a profoundly impoverished, stigmatized single mom
who died because she feared the costs of U.S. doctor visits,
and newfound public health student,
I’ve been thinking a lot about
the word “deaths.”
A few times daily, I check the L.A. Times for its updates on measurable local COVID-19 impacts. I then check The Guardian for its broader US coverage.
Each time I close these pages, the word “deaths” lingers with me. I’m disturbed by how passive and neutral is the phrasing compared to the reality, which is that Continue reading “extinguished”