Obviously, we are all still where we are, which is where we have all been since early March and THAT is the most philosophical I can get about about all of this. At this point, I am pretty much expecting giant locust-dragon-babies to descend from the heavens and swoop us up, take us to a faraway planet made of horse-shit and pigeon feathers and leave us there for a while until Planet Earth sorts itself out.
Also, it was my birthday.
June 9 is never an easy day for me. Partly, because I will have to wait an entire year to be Queen again and mostly because I always fall victim to my own unquenchable expectations. I was not Queen for a day. I was queen for several fantastic hours, which I know is quite a good amount of time, but not when you are expecting a diamond chariot to show up and whisk you away to meet Springsteen for lunch in your brand new beach house.
I know, I know. I’m a tough customer. (Medals to M, for being a trooper. Really, it can’t be easy.)
In betters news, the pigeons, um chickens, are coming along nicely and will soon be ready for the great outdoors (in a coop, of course), which is a good thing because they stink. Right now, my nine year old works in the guest room/office which is also where the chickens live and it pretty much smells like chicken anus in there all day long. Also, this nine year old is the only girl in New York to wish for a quarantine puppy and get nine stinky chickens instead.
I meant to buy seven chickens, because you should always buy one more than you want, in case they don’t all survive the trip. This means I wanted six chickens but got nine, which makes me bad at math and is also sort of the story of my life – biting off more chickens than I can chew. (An odd thing for a vegetarian to say.)
While this feels like a lot more than any of us can chew – folks, I will be running with this metaphor until I collapse – I am hoping the communal aspect of all of this chewing, the fact that we are all entering this long, hot summer together… that unity will provide a lot more than cold comfort.
In the meantime, you can wash your hands if you want to. Put a mask on if you go outside. As it turns out, you have to do a lot less grooming with a mask on. Zits and stray facial hairs can grow with reckless abandon beneath a warm, cozy, and often sweaty face mask. You can practically turn into a spotty teenage goat and nobody will notice. (Not for nothing, guess who just Googled, “How to raise baby goats?”)
Long, hot summer, indeed….