I have kept the twinkle lights in our windows since Christmas time, one of the best purchases I ever made. Slowly, I pick up projects again, and watch some movies in the long afternoons. Embroidery, simple coloring projects, and reading are also ways I pass the time, and it’s better when someone plays the piano in the background. The pianist in the video is Timothy. This scene is one of my versions of heaven.
I awake to morning light dancing through the leaves of trees. I end the day with small lights against dark sky, all good things.
It was our 25th anniversary a few days ago. I didn’t feel up to celebrating during my molasses-paced recovery, so I suggested we treat the day like it was just another day, nothing special. I couldn’t shop, cook, or wear something with a waistband. I couldn’t even think of something clever to write in a card. I did bake Richard’s favorite bread, and he watched Cinderella with me. Still, we will need to make up for this missed anniversary someday. I indulged in self-pity about my leash of limitations instead of being happy. There is always a choice between happiness and the other thing, but oh, happiness was tough last week!
The Sanchez sisters and my mom are making an isolation quilt from our homes, each contributing hexagon flowers to put together for someone we love. We adopted this hexie obsession a few years ago, and the secret to a good hexagon quilt is the collaboration. Everyone’s style is needed, so we swap fabric scraps at the cabin each summer. The mixing of styles and personalities is my favorite part of this process.
General Conference with everyoneOur friend’s name was read during General Conference. We raised our hands high to sustain him.movie buddy
I pinch myself sometimes to see all the boys home.
Easter activity with the Sanchez family
Easter dinner: pulled pork, baked beans, homemade rolls, layered green salad“Spelling” games from Easter candy ðŸ¤walk
recovering from surgery
Stake Council Zoom meeting, hearing a missionary report
I didn’t post much about family life in April. Days are smudged in my memory, all about the same. Sundays we gathered for dinner and to watch old home movies. Richard worked an unconscionable demand of hours, mostly from home, thankful to be employed. I have watched the clock for entertainment since my surgery, content to do almost nothing. We watched a movie almost every evening. Daniel has been a primary care giver to me, and we have had some good talks. Tim has worked outdoors, mowing and aerating, and has been faithful in completing school work. I learned quickly that I should not ask him about school. He manages his life like a boss. Mark was most content to be home, with days uncluttered by middle school nonsense. He talks through each assignment aloud, frustrations and triumphs sounding in my ears. We have eaten more takeout than usual, hoping to keep our favorite restaurants alive. Also, friends have provided a lot of meals since my surgery. I finished reading The Lord of the Rings trilogy and watched the movies. That was a good choice. April was the best and the worst. I know you can relate.
Our cute neighbors, the Zeigler family organized some entertainment for our culdesac last week: fire dancers! I watched from indoors, and could see my neighbors, gathered as families in their yards to enjoy the Isolation Burn Angels perform. It was so weird and fun.
I am home from the hospital, feeling a little neglected because I am not awakened each morning at 3 or 4 am to stand on a scale and have my blood pressure checked. 😉
I have lost a length of my intestine. I have lost sleep, my appetite, and a lot of weight. But I have also lost a level of fear about this time, its isolation and uncertainty, and illness in general. People really do take care of one another. So, with all the losses, there are gains in perspective and understanding.
I am not able to focus on reading very well, so I have been reading my notes I took during my Book of Mormon study before my surgery. On the day I became ill, before I had any idea my life was about to change, I wrote these notes, under the caption of “Life Instructions during the Covid-19 pandemic”:
Remember God has delivered your ancestors. (Alma 36:2)
Trust God. You will be supported in this. (Alma 36:3)
The Atonement [of Christ] covers the harmful effects of [everything]. Let your mind catch hold on this thought: Christ’s mercy. He will make all this suffering better. He is that powerful. (Alma 36:14-18)
I do not have coronavirus. I did have a bad night and a major abdominal surgery this week. Being hospitalized right now means I have not been allowed any visitors, even Richard. I wore a mask the first day, but they took it off after my surgery. The nurses I have met are covered. I was shocked to meet my surgeon by taking his outstretched, ungloved hand. I know my caregivers by their eyes and sometimes hair, and those with a gentle and healing outlook can’t be hidden by a mask. I have not lacked for anything I really needed. I had a priesthood blessing from Richard and Daniel before we rushed to the hospital. I partook of the sacrament last Sunday. I have the things I have learned about the Spirit’s voice, Christ’s atonement, and my Heavenly Father’s love in my heart. I have been given to know what to do and when, alone in my hospital room, to help myself deal with pain and make improvements in my condition. I have not been lonely, somehow, although I miss my family. Just a day or two more.
I follow Geoffrey Walker’s Instagram account because of the way he delights in his wife’s sewing projects. This man is so good-natured and happy. Pauline is his sweetheart and he often says, “I love that girl!” They post snippets of a simple life, full of love and faith.
I follow this Instagram account because this father daughter duo is talented and loving.
These are amateur photos of Paige’s paintings of The Secret Garden, but they give you an idea what they look like.
Oh, this pandemic. I find my opinions and moods shift like the tides. I keep a copy of Paige’s paintings on the front of our kitchen cupboards to remind me that things will get better. When I am dealing with complex emotions, I ask myself where I am in The Secret Garden spectrum, and just being able to place myself in the story helps me see there is a resolution coming. Some days, I am painting number one, contrary and pessimistic. I like the painting with Collin in bed, with Mary illuminating the room with her candle. I want to be like Mary, sharing light, even though I am a little fragile, too. Richard likes the doorway opening into the garden, reminding us to keep a sense of wonder and hope. Clearing flower beds with the family was our best activity all week, and in a month or so, there WILL be pink flowers on the tree outside my living room window. Where are you in the spectrum today? Where is your robin leading you?
