I Love You. The End.

In Ireland, they're calling this cocooning. In America, it's shelter in place. Quarantine. Extreme social distancing. Those terms say"hide in fear." Cocooning says "Just sit down a minute and have your tea," with the promise of emerging as something even more beautiful, without even saying so. Cocoon says butterfly. Shelter says hide. Ah, culture.

Today, another bright sunrise that, like cocooning, suggests hope. Sunrise says yes. Yes, every morning. Yes, always there but sometimes obscured by giant clouds of "no" or at least "probably not." Those clouds always pass if we wait long enough. Trapped as it is under 342 days a year of clouds (I made that up, but I think it's true), how has Ireland named this quaran-time with such optimism? The answer is obvious: leadership...  but let's leave that for now. I don't do politics. I do culture and meaning. 

So, I wake before sunrise every day, not with an alarm clock but with a pair of sneakers strapped into my brain. They lace themselves as I begin to open my eyes and they are fully in place to drag me to writing the moment my feet hit the floor. If I've learned nothing else here in my cocoon, it's that I value our morning time together. My only regret is that we can't sit together later and chat over the daily discussion prompts the universe happens to offer. I love to hear what you have to say and how you are feeling, and I am so grateful for the follow-up email and text conversations that we have sometimes, when you happen to have time to write back. And I apologize that by the time you write back, someone else is poking at my cocoon so I've moved out of morning listener into harried parent, and my brain is held captive in the Pokemon torture chamber until 5 am tomorrow. 

My friend said he has been called a "reluctant parent." Everyone loves their children, of course. You remember parenting, right? Parenting is tough, unless you're trapped in a 10x10 jail cell with a five year old boy and a young teenage girl, in which case your life is a dream. Another friend shared yesterday that the only people she knows who are thriving in cocoon are those couples without children. This is where I chuckle out loud. It's because those people don't have to homeschool. And referee. And pour apple juice. All day. Tough, but we can thrive anyway, and we do. Matt Damon is cocooning in Ireland with his wife and three kids, with a private teacher. He said Ireland in cocoon is a fairytale. Sure it is. Because he's not the one fighting to force a five year old to watch a seven-minute video about persuasive writing. He's fine.

We're fine, too, actually. But fine has no comedic value.

I love you. The end.

Ireland, one balmy July day, 2019.