A long-delayed Father/Daughter chat between Gavin and Cilla. Sometimes you can convince yourself that the easy path is the best one, and while Gavin felt he made the right choice for Cilla, at the time, he’d long since realized what he lost by that choice.
And we come full circle from yesterday’s quote about Ford’s shining armor. Do you think think that this would amaze Cilla if anyone stood by her? (Though she was fortunate to find friendship AND romance with Ford.)
Beyond the humor, I like the honesty of Cilla’s question. She’s still getting used to Ford’s straightforward approach (with humor) compared to all the workarounds she faced growing up.
When I chose this quote, Ford’s condensing of Cilla’s observation made me consider this very weird time and space. Do you agree with his assessment? Have you found any good in this spring of 2020?
Cilla builds so much more than a home in Tribute. I loved that Patty and Angie made it so easy for her to find family.
I think part of the appeal of Ford for Cilla is his absolute rejection of pushing her into doing things his way. This comes after her mother approaches Cilla about a three-generation review (again) through Husband #5.
This from Ford, combined with Cilla’s reaction to Ford’s art, make up some of the most sensible life advice you can get from fiction. It’s not failing, it’s trying.
I’ll keep that in mind as we all continue to explore life in this weird new normal.
I loved Steve Chensky’s entrance to the story. Not only was he the person who really knew Cilla, he was completely relatable. Is there anyone you’d be thrilled to meet in a completely unexpected setting?
I know it’s hard. We miss our families, our friends, our freedom to go to the movies, a restaurant, go shopping, have a drink in a bar, work out in our gym, go to the beach or the park–and so many ordinary things we all took for granted.
There are so many people–and some are friends, some are family–who have to go out, every day, to tend the sick, to deliver the mail, to drive the trucks that bring food, to work in grocery stores, to prepare the take-out, to clean, to provide us with safety, care and essentials.
For them, we stay home.
For our kids we stay home. For our parents, for our neighbors.
I know I’m fortunate to be able to work at home, to have land around me so I can go outside without putting myself or anyone at risk. I know there are many, many who aren’t as fortunate.
And still, even for the fortunate, it all wears down, stresses out, this constant repeat of days.
For me, staying busy really helps. It took me awhile to find my writing rhythm again. The minute I’d open my mind, it will fill with worry. But I sat at the keyboard every day, as usual, and kept trying. And I had a pretty decent writing week this week, so that eases the stress.
Doesn’t matter if most of what I wrote is probably crap. It’s words on the page, and the pushing back into the habit. I’ll eventually fix the crap.
Weekends around here have a new kind of routine. Maniacal cleaning. Scrubbing, sanitizing, polishing. (I’m sure I don’t have to add disinfectant is for cleaning, not injecting or ingesting–but I’ll say it anyway.)
BW and I have worked out a loose division of chores–which change as needs demand. It’s working just fine.
I’m holding on strongly to the belief that a clean house is a healthy one. If this is true, we’re very healthy here!
Then there’s cooking. At BW’s request I made spaghetti and meatballs yesterday. And while I was at it, I put together a kitchen sink vegetable soup for Kayla–enough to share with her family if anyone else is interested.
Busy and yummy work.
So Saturday was…
Strip the bed and get the laundry started. Get the workout in early because the day’s packed. Scrub down two bathrooms–BW took the third. Keep at the laundry–a shared chore. Make meatballs, make red sauce, make soup, get it all simmering. Scrub down the kitchen. Dust and polish furniture–we’ve got a LOT of wood in this house, and that’s another shared chore.
By the time I’m done, BW’s already working outside. And when I finish, I can go out, too, and get my hands in the dirt. Start putting in more flowers–wonderfully delivered by my beautiful local nursery.
This is joy–hard work, but just joy. It’s therapeutic, and satisfying, and you can’t think hard, worrying thoughts when you’re planting a faerie garden.
I can only give it about four hours due to the inside work, but it’s a lovely start. Today’s cool and rainy–the flowers will like that, but no gardening today.
And as I’m boiling pasta, Kat FaceTimes so I get to see her and Jason and Griffin. That boy is definitely living his best life right now, everything is happy, is parents are at his beck. And he waves and blows kisses at the end.
I can also see him whenever I like due to the pictures and videos Kat and Jason post daily. Not the same, of course, but a tremendous lift to the spirit. My favorite, so far, is his uncontrollable giggles over a Sesame Street segment where every time Elmo sneezes, the seasons change. He tries to pretend to sneeze like Elmo and laughs and laughs.
I can’t count the number of times I’ve watched it.
My oldest grandson, Logan, turned 16 on Thursday. Hard, hard, hard not to see him, celebrate with him. We’ll make up for it when the world’s sane again.
Today, I’m making my mother’s pound cake–a family favorite. I’ll send half of it down the hill for Logan and family.
My workout’s done, and when I finish this blog, I’ll bake that cake. And since it’s raining, since my house is clean, I’m going to settle in with a book.
I hope all of you are safe and well, those of you at home, those of you on the front lines. And I hope you find the things–so many of them simple and ordinary–that bring you peace and some joy.
Movement as therapy is a personal favorite: working hard really clears my head. While Cilla swings a sledgehammer, I prefer to lift heavy weights. Unfortunately, with my gym closed I do less of that than I’d like right now.
What do you do to get the “ya-yas” out (for wont of a better phrase)? Especially now with so many restrictions to our regular outlets?