Remembrance of the Past in an Uncertain Present
Waking up, the first rays of light stream through the window. My eyes reach up to catch them and then fall to the pillow beside me. My husband has been up since dawn, with his coffee, working … I push back the covers, the cool morning air brushing my skin. The girls are sleeping, but I will wake them soon. They have a lecture this morning at 7am, so I will need to have their breakfast ready. My elder daughter opens her eyes as I walk toward her bed. “Hi Mama,” she says sleepily, her sweet voice ringing through the still morning. My younger daughter is still motionless, her little chest only rising and falling faintly, with her slumbering breath. She loves to sleep. Even now, when she has an extra hour to sleep, it feels so early to wake her … I get the girls ready. They wash and brush their teeth, and get dressed in freshly ironed clothes. Then, I brush their hair. I now have time for all the special braids: French braids, fishtails, waterfalls. We all have time. I’m still thinking about what that means: to have time. Things are different now. We have time. Sometimes, I question why we are keeping such a routine? But I know: it’s the need for a rhythm, the orchestra of one family, a vibration of music our actions create that travel out into the air and the world beyond. With the chaos and the craziness of these times, our peace in our home, in our family, is our greatest contribution to the symphony of the world, of life. These are the first days of quarantine. We are living in quarantine. Yes, I remember. That’s why we have time. I get the girls all situated in front of their iPads for their Zoom meetings. I know they rarely show their faces, but they are clean and fresh for their day. I shower and dress and brush my teeth for my own meeting, as though I were going to work. I am going to work. Working at home.
79
Made with FlippingBook - professional solution for displaying marketing and sales documents online