A House Transformed
We are 5 weeks in to the quarantine and I am amazed to find a small rocket ship in the back yard, made of lawn chairs and the grill cover. The house, usually spotless, is cluttered with hand-drawn pictures of dogs, kittens, elephants, monkeys, stars, flowers, and paper hearts inscribed with each of our names: Mom, Dad, Lilli, Mr. McGee, and Kira.
The well-visited art closet is a magnificent disaster that threatens to explode a lifetime supply of glue, crayons, trinkets, yarn, glitter and all kinds of paper every time the creaky door opens. Right now, that door is stuffed shut. But three tiny pink pom poms have rolled out of the gap at the bottom, an enticing invitation to let that world open up. I am tempted to be taken into the depths of the unlived hours that wait in that closet.
The writing is literally all over the walls of my office, on giant sticky-pad sheets. Living proof of the fervent inspiration that has washed my mind clean of any reasonable notions. All of the tools are outside of the shed, strewn throughout the garden in anticipation of the next fit of digging, building, weeding, planting, pruning.
The floor is dirtier than it has been in a very long time. The counters are full with unopened mail, heart rocks we found on our walk, and the cookies we baked before bed last night.
My daughter and the dog are dancing in the living room.
We are 5 weeks in to the quarantine. The ride of my life as I knew it has slowed to a stop, and I am amazed to find a small rocket ship in the back yard. You see, as I have been stumbling around in the shock of the waning momentum, this house of order and control has transformed into a house of creativity and play.
I think I will leave the floors for another day, join the dance party for a bit before calling everyone to dinner in the fort underneath the dining room table.