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Welcome To The Magical Friendship Squad!
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The Children

The children are all so ridiculously beautiful.

There are maybe six of them on the screen, each one perfect, like a painting by a great master. Each one radiant, emitting light.

It’s 10:30 in the morning and Rachelle’s sister is about to lead them in a kind of video conferencing play session. The sky so blue outside, the sunlight pouring through the window. The children, all around four, are excited and unruly. Delighted to see and hear one another, even if only on video. Each child bursting with secrets that must be shared.

“I am not drawing a tree because I am drawing two E’s.”
“I like beans more than rain.”
“One day my mom hit a pigeon with her car and the pigeon stopped flying.”
“I’m a Werewolf!”
“My daddy said we can’t go to the park because of the Corona sands.”

And what will these children remember of this time?

I hope it’s this.

This love I feel right now. So powerful it’s almost a colour or scent.

This world, so strange, so astoundingly beautiful. Everyone pitching in to help one another. Raising barns in whatever ways they can. People becoming larger in crisis rather than smaller–more present. And these video glimpses of parents and their children, these small communications wash over us like the relief of good news. Like hope. And I need the children to remember that they were not alone, and somehow understand that life is a house built by the people you love.

Heidi Fight

Today I have given the Blog over to Heidi, our Miniature Dachshund:

*************************************************

Listen Two-Leggers.

Heidi know a lot about quarantine.

Relax.

Not worst thing in world.

Dog’s life all quarantine. If want out have to make big scene and bark, and then Two-Legged slave masters put dog on chain so that social distancing is strictly enforced. Very humiliating. Dogs no good at social distancing. Not our nature! Social distancing for stinky catfaces! Some may say speciesist to that, but Heidi no have time for bullshit today.

Heidi truth teller.

When Heidi in quarantine, Heidi like to lick herself, lie on sofa and bark at window.

Not bad life.

Not like Heidi have to wiggle into tiny hole and fight Badger for blood victory every day. Don’t get Heidi wrong. Heidi LOVE blood victory, but Heidi also love treats with no blood victory. Heidi don’t know what right sometime. Very confusing time for Heidi.

Heidi see FB full of Two-Leggers bitching about looking after own litters now. Not easy. Many treats required. But dog do it all time!! Litter of 9!! All with four leg and no tail control! Does dog complain?

No.

Dog just get shit done.

Dog just show teeth.

Everybody get it when dog do that.

But listen Two-Leggers.

There will be hard days.

Days that smell like cats.
Days that smell like fear.
Days that smell like the sick.

Find chew toy or squirrel to bark at each day.
Make you feel good.
Love something in each day.
Maybe meat treat.
Heidi love meat treat.
Blood meat treat even better.

Heidi also want to tell she going to fucking tear virus to death. Bloody virus bits everywhere. So fucking gonna destroy that virus. No forget, Heidi man’s best friend. Heidi save you.

Don’t be scared.

You will wag tail again

You will lick again.

Heidi got this.

A crisp Monday morning

A crisp Monday morning.

Jones abandons our Leggo project and runs to the front window.

It’s Ted!

Ted works for our landlord– who owns several properties on the street– as a kind of handy man. He salts the sidewalks, moves garbage bins from one spot to another, waters bushes, and generally makes himself present and helpful in all the small ways that matter. He’s small, bent. Ancient, like he came from a land that no longer exists. It’s impossible to know his age or understand his language, but everybody adores him, thinking of him as a kind of mythological creature who might just vanish into the earth each night.

Jones is banging on the window, shouting out his name.

Ted looks up from the garbage bins he’s pushing down the street, sees Jones and starts blowing kisses. Jones blowing kisses back. Me, also. And it goes on like this, the three of us blowing kisses to one another through the window, everything urgent, everything small and true.

The video is of the Italian Air Force flying maneuvers while a recording of Pavoratti plays. Deeply moving.

College girls

College girls doing kart wheels in front of our apartment, alive and happy in their bodies, the sun shining down upon them.

Virus

The information is paralyzing. For every theory or argument you hear, you can find a counter-factual thread that sounds entirely convincing. You might think that since most people won’t be exhibiting symptoms, let alone die, that you will walk through this invisible panic without any problem. You might be right, but it would go contrary to the experiences of China, South Korea, Iran, Italy and all the nations wobbling and tumbling in on themselves right now. If you believe in the public good, as many in my network so clearly do, then now is the time to exhibit that in the living world. Socially Distance yourself. Self-quarantine. Don’t go to that big thing. Work from home. Wash your hands. Be brave and do the difficult things. You’re not going to like it. None of us are. It’s going to be hard, very hard, but so many lives depend on this. I, for instance, have one damaged lung and live on oxygen support. If I get the virus, it is likely I won’t survive it, and depending on the timing and resources of our excellent health care system, might not even receive any treatment, as chances of recovery would be so slight. Every single person you see has some story like mine, something unpredictable and unimaginable that they have already gone through, and something unseen and brightly loved to still live for.

Sticks

Sticks play a large part in most days.

Today is one such day.

The kids are schooling in a little patch of trees, each one grabbing a stick and becoming something fierce in the world. Jones’ stick must be at least six feet long, maybe more. The flush of delight on his face a kind of music. He leaps to the sidewalk like a creature from Dr. Seuss. He touches the tallest thing he can see. His imagination now alive in the physical world, his reach vast, he marvels at his powers. He is a T-Rex! A giant! He is Talos, the great warrior!

And then there is a puddle. It’s like finding a million dollar bill. It is the cure that washes all bad news away. IT IS THE BEST THING EVER. Jones jumps in with both feet, begins kicking the water like Gene Kelly. It is a song, for sure, and as we continue toward home he experiments with icicles and slush, closes every garbage can lid on the street.

And then he spots a plastic clip on the ground. He points it out, exclaiming that it looks like a J, like in his name. And then he sees an N on a license plate and points that out, too. “That’s an N, daddy, like in my name, too!” And then he points up at a tree, at a knot between its branches, “There’s an O,” he shouts! He is spelling his name from the world around him, and somehow the knowledge that he is alive in everything, still lingers within him.

Map

The other day my wife and I set our four year-old son Jones down before a blank map of Europe, and asked him if he could locate Ukraine. This is what he produced:

Jones morning

Rachelle and I are sitting on the sofa.

The winter not yet over.

We’ve passed through some pretty rough weather, and know there will be more to come. But right now there is a pause, and we sit within it like sketches of ourselves– ghosts.

But Jones doesn’t see this. He sees only the forms of love.

And fresh from the bath he is glowing beneath his little, white housecoat. He could not look healthier, he could not be happier, and as if to illustrate this he starts to run around the dining room table. Look at him go! Such velocity!

And every time he rounds a corner, I yell something out:

I think it’s the Flash!
A supercharged zombie!
There’s a shark coming our way and I’m not sure it’s friendly!

And Jones is laughing and running and laughing, and every time he passes us he give us each a high-five. And he just keeps going. Nothing can stop the force of his delight. Smiling and laughing and running, assuming a different character with each lap.

A dinosaur.
A lumberjack carrying milk.
An evil chicken.

He is perfect right now. Absolutely perfect.

This living room a merry-go-round, his laughter music.

And whatever we have endured to get to this point in time, to be a part of it, has been worth it. What a goddamn privilege. Really, to live in this light. And Jones keeps running and running, dissolving time with each step. Every jubilant cell within him is aflame, every one of them propelling him toward the waiting world, but for now he throws his body into mommy and daddy and the three of us sit on the sofa, hugging.

Safe.

The dream, miraculously, having come true.

Superman

Jones runs into the bedroom.

He’s wearing Spiderman pajama’s and has a Batman action figure in his hand.

His eyes are wide. He has important news.

“Batman ate Lizard Man! Batman ate Lizard Man!!”

“Really?” I ask.

“Yes. He ate him.”

“Wow. That’s really out of character, that’s not like Batman at all.”

(In an evil voice ) “Batman is very evil.”

“I wonder what Lizard Man tasted like?”

(The evil voice returns) “ He tasted like pepper. Batman likes pepper.”

Jones runs out of the room, returns a moment later with more news.

“Batman ate The Green Goblin!”

“No way! Batman’s eating everybody!”

(Still in a very evil voice ) “Batman is very hungry,”

“I wonder what The Green Goblin tasted like? ”

(Now in his evilest voice, his words a demonic revelation)

“Pineapple.”

Winter

I am standing outside after a winter illness.

I look around and see my neighbour sitting on his stoop smoking a cigarette. A single man near 60. He was the victim of a hit and run about a month ago. He was following all the rules, doing everything right, but it simply did not matter. Suddenly, out of nowhere, he is flying through the sky.

And when he landed his jaw was broken, his face covered in lacerations, his body traumatized. They probably told him he was lucky in the ER. Upon release he was so ashamed of the way he looked that he would not answer the door or come outside, and the soup Rachelle made for him had to be delivered through an intermediary so she would not see the man inside the dark apartment.

His quiet pain.

He doesn’t see me yet, and looking at him I notice how much thinner, how much sadder he looks in this unguarded moment. And then he spots me, and I realize that he is probably thinking exactly the same thing about me.

And so we just nod at one another.

And saying nothing, let the thin sunlight of the day fall upon us.