Grandma's Woes

Doing good feeds my soul.  Right now, I'm running on fumes.  Grandma needs her Prince kiddos hugs for fuel.  

This is the time of year when I'd contact Albertsons and remind my friend, the grocery manager, that I want all the baked goods in the land.  I'd pull out my list of What to Deliver Where and In What Order, and retype it so that the additions I made last year are available in a big, bold font, readable as I cruise through Tucson, dropping off goodies and checking in with old friends at all ths chools in the District.

I won't be doing that this year.  No way I'm going into building after building, exposing myself to others and surfaces and particles floating in the air and landing on me. I don't think I could keep my (now very long) hair out of my face without swiping at it with hands that might be infested with the virus.

I know that contracting it from surfaces is unlikely.  But the likelihood increases with the number of contacts, and the Back to School Love Feast requires a lot of contacts.  I don't go into stores any more.  I have curbside delivery even at our local diner; I leave the mney under the windshield wiper and they put the food on the hood of the car.  We wave, the server leaves, and I get out and retrieve lunch.  Safeway and Walmart put the groceries in my trunk, Whole Foods and DoorDash leave sustenance on the pony wall by the little black gate.  

I interact with almost no one in person.  I can't see the sense in changing that ..... although skipping it this year, for the first time in 10 years is making me very, very sad.

But that's nothing compared to the garden.  I drove by on April 30th, and this is what I saw.

Lonely. Overgrown. Untended. drowning in greenery, smothering the tiny veggies yearning to breathe free.  

I went with the intention of weeding.  I left after taking these photos.  I can only imagine what it looks like now.

I am thinking about collecting pots and trying to salvage anything that can be transplanted.  I am thinking about potting them up and distributing them to the students.... how, I do not know.  I am thinking about creating a Zoom Grandma's Garden Club and having the kids interact with their plants and their friends and me, all on-line.  

My USDA/UofA contact sent me an email with links to webinars about school gardening.  I sent back an email asking for pandemic guidance.  I feel comfortable with the garden part.... it's the disease that's got me flummoxed.  I am sure that I can make something virutal feel like fun, but I'm missing getting my hands dirty, seeing the bugs they find, cautioning them that tools stay below the shoulders. 

It's not the same, but nothing is the same.  Little Cuter quoted Oprah for me - anxiety is wishing that what is, is not - and that helps, a little.  But as the weeks dwindle to days before what would have been the 10th anniversary year of my volunteering at Prince, I'm having a hard time ot wishing for this all to be over.

Now.

Right now.  Vanishing.... in just the magical thinking way our President is counting on.

A girl can dream, right?