Thank you, thank you, thank you, and oh, thank you, and thank you too

Frantically scrolling in my inept way through Nextdoor posts on my phone last night, I kept accidentally thanking people, sometimes 3 or 4 times a piece, en route for more neighborhood sharing about safety, community, and connectedness amidst so much unrest.

How many otherwise nameless, faceless neighbors did I thank for their offers of free wood, gutter tips, inciting political comments, cross country skis for sale, complaints, calls out for lost keys, wanted mulch, unidentified insects and shrubs, vandalized or stolen cars, missing packages, rants about social distancing, designer facemasks for sale, alarm system recommendations, private conversations, salon recs, lost souls, vigilantes,  disgruntled, privileged, curfew breakers, Lake St cleaner uppers, immunosuppressed, recovered, heart opened, looted, lucky, lovingkindness, fearful, mamas and papas, sons and daughters, yogis, gardeners, bankers, lawyers, mowers, tea makers, drummers, all alone, all one, freaking out, keeping calm, all and none and more of the above? Who knows.

 But why not? It feels good to be thanked for our offerings, however big or small or mundane or unworthy.  Spirit lives in those offerings. So thank you everybody.  For everything.

Sending love

Hello Writers,
I hope you're all doing ok. Please write if it helps. Feeling anxious myself, I keep coming back to the stream of words, the river of words and the love they carry-yours, mine, ours across the ages-and I let the rhythms and melodies guide me, ac accompany me from one moment to the next.

Write if it helps. Tune into the river of words we've written and shared together and to those you keep in your hearts. I'm listening.

What's still going on

My son is dancing on the Wiii to The Final Countdown
We got quite a large delivery of mulch today
I just ate a really juicy mango over the sink while admiring my neighbor's garden
We chatted with our neighbors outside and I told them about this envy
We used a green wheelbarrow
Mail came
It was beautiful out
Lolabelle ate heartily
I am going to take a semi cool shower
And practice piano
And ice my herniated neck
And revive my electric fingers
And maybe have some lemon water
And sleep ok
All of this is thorny with guilt and also bittersweet

My son got his Wiiii back

Who knew he was such a good tennis player? TCF ain't bad either. Look at me: I got a front row seat!

Zoom PTSD?

Hello Baby Zoomers!

Can you hear me? Can you see me? Am I coming in okay? Did you hear that? Did you catch that? Should I start again? Where was I? Should I start over? No... go ahead. What? Who's talking? Should I turn off the video? Can you see me? Hold on... I'll be right back. If I cut out, hang in there. I'll be back. Ooops. Sorry... internet cut out. I can see you, but I can't hear you. I can hear you, but I can't see you. Can you see me? Can you hear me? Hello? Hello? Anyone? You guys are talking as though I'm not here. Hello! I'm here! I'm here! Okay. I'll try my phone. Is that better? Hello? Hello? Sure... go ahead and write without me. Yes! That's good. I'll be back as soon as I get reconnected. Hello? Can you see me? Can you hear me? Really? Are you sure? No delay? No scary glitch grinding gears sound? Are you sure? You can see me? Okay. Just making sure. Just making sure you're still there.

Day 1 of Xfintiy Internet
Better.
Lasted all class long.
There may be hope.
Can I trust this?
Will it run out?
Is is safe?
So far, so good
But when the "your internet connection is unstable" warning came on and your voices started to warble, I got that old new abnormal panicky feeling again.

Complaint

I caved and signed on with Xfinity because my Zoom connection is so awful with my hotspot. I have to call them to activate it when I have all the supplies, which I'm cobbling together from Nextdoor, Amazon,  and Dada, immersing myself, once again, in all the techno micro details and vocabulary for which I have no room in my brain as it is and which interest me not in the very least (last week it was a dryer "baffle"; remember that?). Even so, it may not work because the cables they might need might be the ones we cut off of the house, thinking at the time there was no way in hell we would ever get cable. No way we'd ever use Zoom, whatever that was. Who knew a pandemic was coming? Maybe the cables are underground? Under water? In my head? Isn't that how it works these days? Do you think this pandemic is forcing tech people and dryer fixers to learn all the ins and outs about writing memoir? One can hope.

Did that man just yell at us?

Is it just me (and I'm okay with it if it is), but can you feel the vulnerable air? The ripe and hungry  and mutant air where anything and everything can hide and breed? Is it just me, or does it freak you out when the person ahead of you hangs out of her open car door at the drive-up window, sprawling toward the intercom seductively, like something you might see bellied up at the bar at closing time, spilling out her personal, private facts for all to judge?

Is it just me (and I really hope it isn't), or do you sometimes hoard righteousness for following the rules? For your mindfulness and your "right action"? After all, we brought along our masks, our sanitizer, our common sense and goodwill toward all. We planned ahead.

Is it just me, or are you afraid?

"Is he yelling at us?" I asked TCF after we yelled back the numbers he shout-demanded from us out of the Walgreens window intercom.

"Copay and ID," he said.

"We prepaid," we said.

"COPAY! You also need COPAY! COPAY!" he insisted.

"But we prepaid," we said again.

"Then you need the CODE! The CODE!"

Naturally, we had it ready and took our cue, said our line, the one we prepped for. "3—"

"Wait sir! Wait sir! Wait sir! I'm not ready! Can you wait a minute? Wait sir!"

We turned off the car. We waited. We hung out of the car like drunks at closing time and shouted back the code when he was ready. Meanwhile, the cars lined up behind us shook their heads, righteous in their obedience.