The Musings of a Latte Queen: Narratives of Everyday Life

I've been thinking a lot lately about how we measure our days. Today is Monday, another Monday in Covid19. At the top of my planner is a note, "Tentative last week of Covid-19." That is what they told us when we entered the still-unknown-world of what the spread would be. March 22, driving back from Kansas City, we received the news that the stay-at-home order was issued by the Mayors of both major cities. Effective March 23rd, all schools, non-essential offices, stores, etc. were to be closed and except for trips to the grocery store or medical appointments, everyone was to stay home. When the order was issued, we were still in the gray area. We had been in Kansas City the days prior because our oldest son had been shot and was not expected to live. He was in the ICU and that hospital had begun Covid19 shut-down earlier that week. He was shot on the night of March 17. They let us in to see him but once he was stable after the third day, they told us no more visit...

One month. It has been one month since we knew something major was happening. March 17 was St. Patrick's Day. We were at home, trying to figure out if this was only an extended Spring Break of what. My daughter was supposed to be in another state, visiting one of her choice colleges. They informed us on Thursday the 12th that all on campus visits were suspended. She and her classmates were in Orlando, Florida for an orchestra performance. The school had assured us that at the time they left on March 11th, there were only a handful of cases and not in Orlando. We had only had one reported in our suburb and that young lady had traveled from Italy. It has only been one month since the world as we knew it came to a crashing halt. I am like so many that I know who are trying to make sense of this. An extended spring break turned into virtual school for a few weeks that ended up being for the remainder of the school year. The seniors were informed they would not need to take fina...

The days are melting together like ice cubes on the table. It doesn't feel right. Was it meant to be like this? Just sitting there, not where it belongs, refusing to leave. Until it has succumbed to the atmosphere, outside it's element,  and gives up its existence. The days are melting together like ice cubes on the table. This is another Covid-19 Monday.  I think I'm beginning to lose count of the days. My daughter said she feels like she is in an endless loop of Groundhog Days. When do we wake up from this nightmare?  When do we know that we can start the day and not be greeted with news of yet another one passing? When do we get to open our doors and be human again, together? There have been attempts to try to keep a normal schedule. I certainly have. Morning greets me with her gentle kiss and I begin the days in hope. My routine begins and ends with coffee, time in meditation in the ancient wisdom and poetry of the Hebrew Bible, and ends with a nod to th...

I have to still believe in the possible. Even if I have been home for a month. Even as the ravages of Covid-19 sweep through households like a death angel. Even as high school rites-of-passage are cancelled. Even as graduations are virtual. Even as toilet paper has become the hotly traded commodity. I still have to believe in the possible. What if this season of sitting down - being at home, being among the things we've accumulated, eating the food we cooked, seeing the people we love, and enjoying the spaces we curated - was the thing? What if it was the intention, after all the running Ragged for the purpose of chasing some arbitrary thing  measured in dollars, was to remind us of what life was truly about? The possibilities. Absent the constant running to reach some unreachable goal called success, what if the real meaning of being was in how we related to each other and loved each other and considered what was best for each other? This is Holy Month for thre...

Unknown - Facebook/Instagram Source 4/6/2020 What in the world is "normal" anyway? I woke up in the wee hours of the morning, my quiet time, my muse time. Per usual, coffee was made, and I had a moment to just be in the stillness of a sleeping household. We've been in here for days, weeks. Yesterday, there was a mention of returning to normal. It had me thinking, what in the world is that? If it is rushing through life to meet some arbitrary timeline to make some arbitrary meaning out of racing past myself, it is not something I want to return to. Life is an incredibly precious thing.  Even more so if we stop and think that over 10,000 Americans from all walks of life have perished under Cover-19, and hundreds of thousands more are directly impacted either through recovering from it, losing employment from it, and upsetting what was their daily routine from it. Life is a precious precious thing, not to be wasted in scraping by trying to ekk out a living ...