Jolene, Please Take My Man
My friend just sent me a meme with the words, “Honey, before this quarantine is over, some of y’all gonna be beggin’ Jolene to take your man!” I can SO, SO relate to this. I sincerely wish I didn’t, but I do. I definitely do.
It has been over three weeks since my husband and I have been holed up in our one-bedroom cabin. We have spent several summers living in our cabin on the pond. Summers past have been nearly idyllic. Early morning kayaks, daily qigong beside the pond, watching the fish jump out of the water as the sun sets, and full moon kayaks.
However, in past extended stays at the cabin we have left the pond to go to our local farm-to-table community restaurant for breakfast, lingering over a second cup of coffee and chatting with the owners. Evenings often found us going to the town hall theater to catch a movie. And after a week spent in each other’s company we would host weekend gatherings of potluck meals, swimming, and badminton and bocce ball games for our family and friends. Sheltering in place we find ourselves unable to do any of these things.
We miss this socialization. We need this socialization. Even I, a devoted introvert, miss and need these times.
I joke with a friend that I may have caused this state ordered isolation. Over the past few years I have voiced, to her, my pressing desire to be in a quiet place in the woods for an extended period of time. A place, unlike our cabin, where people don’t know where to find me. A place for me to unplug from daily demands and commitments. Quiet time. Alone time. A place to reflect in solitude and rejuvenate.
In my dream fresh, organic, delicious meals are delivered daily to my doorstep and my husband is making timely appearances to my quiet cabin in the woods.
Instead, what has shown up is living in my cabin needing to create three squares a day in the tiny kitchen, and 24/7 non-stop, day in and day out, sunrise to sunset togetherness with my husband. Otherwise known as sheltering in place.
My husband is a born risk manager. It’s in his blood. His DNA. He is extremely good at it and has made a career out of it in his work life. He has spent the last few weeks procuring supplies of toilet paper, alcohol, zinc lozenges, face masks, gloves, thermometers, an oximeter, and bhuja nut mix for us and our four grown children’s families should the need arise. I greatly appreciate this facet of his personality, even though I don’t tell him that nearly enough.
When the world is too loud, which I’m finding is the case lately, I need a place in which to retreat. Generally, I find this in the small room on the second floor in my house. It’s my L Room, my quiet space, that holds the hand-picked, heartfelt items that I’ve collected through the years. A private space that even my grandkids know requires a much-coveted invitation to gain entry.
I need a quiet space such as this to sit and integrate and assimilate the new world situation that has shown up in our lives. Our daughter and her family are quarantined in our house, so for the time being, this room is unavailable to me.
When the world is too quiet for my husband he needs interaction with people. Meetings with his customers, or going to a restaurant, or coffee shop, for people watching and conversations with strangers are necessary for him. He needs to talk about the various aspects of the corona virus and how it has impacted the world and our individual lives in order to make sense of the situation.
This is very difficult for us to achieve in a small cabin where we hear every footstep and see every movement. Me needing quiet time, he needing to talk.
The perfect way to describe our situation just showed up while I was writing. I was sitting in one of the two comfortable chairs in the cabin, working on my laptop, wearing my noise cancelling headphones in as close to my quiet space as I can get these days. As I was writing he interrupted me, thrusting two of the face masks that he recently procured asking me if I see any difference between the two brands. Seriously? Seriously? You’ve GOT to be kidding!
Jolene, where are y..
Writing this was interrupted when I looked up from my laptop to see him pointing his new infrared thermometer at my forehead. Thinking he would test it out on me to make sure it works? He ignored the dismissive waving of my hands and words coming from my mouth that aren’t fit to record on this page.
As the saying goes, “You just can’t make this shit up!”
Jolene, where the heck are you? Can you please come take my man? At least for the afternoon.
To be continued….
With Love & Healing Energy from the Pond,
Laurel
