Sunday, August 29, 2021

Lockdown, Vol 4 - Part Two, Some Semblance of Normalcy

"Eee-ooo! Eee-ooo!"

At any time of day the cry of a peacock can he heard echoing through our house. It is a bittersweet reminder of when we were able to travel outside of Colombo, before restrictions against inter-provincial travel and before the lockdown. Our journeys to the beaches, mountains, or rainforests of Sri Lanka were often accompanied by the cry of peacocks. So much so, Peter has become a master of imitating their calls. Which now erupt from his room at any time of day, sometimes in the morning when he first gets up, sometimes in the middle of a class Zoom meet, or lunch. 

The kids are settling into the first full week of online school. They adapted quickly, absorbing the disappointment into their systems and channeling it through their fingertips, onto the keyboard keys, and into the computer. Clementine seems to require slightly less daily assistance or reinforcement. Or we've just gotten used to it. She's doing millions, hundred thousands, ten thousands, hundreds places in math, so ar least it is something I can understand.  Peter is in some sort of pre-algebra wherein the word problems would be irritating if they didn't offer an amusing distraction at the end of a busy day. Think riddles along the lines of, "Betty has four more sisters than Pedro who has two less brothers than Will. How many cousins does Jim have?" type nonsense that can only be solved through trial and error so much as I can tell. 

Over the week, I came to the realization online school is only disappointing when compared to in-person school. There are a lot of different types of learning. Homeschool, lifeschool, vanschool, wanderschool, boatschool, roamschool. Each has its own unique benefits. The current discord, I think,  is that we keep comparing online school to the alternative. Well, that and the fact the kids are home all day, staring at a computer screen which requires running a cafeteria and making sure they get outside when school is out. 

The later is often satisfied by running over to our rec center for some pool time. Inspired by the recent Olympics, Clementine has taken to perfecting her synchronized swimming routine.
Her new routine can be seen here.

It rained on and off yesterday evening. The intermittent spitting and spewing of tropical bands marching down the street. In between two, Elise heard some commotion outside just before she received a text message from the next door neighbor. Evidently, the Sri Lankan neighbors had tied up a thief to the light pole outside our house. 

A small crowd had gathered under the street lights, some wearing light blue surgical masks, most had the masks dangling uselessly under their chins, shirtless in the orange glow, and darts of rain arrogant against the night sky. The thief hands bound behind him. He was, indeed, tied to the cement column. 

The pandemic and the lockdown were bound to push the most despairing to do things they may not otherwise do, resort to the most desperate acts. Abandoned construction sites laid open to the world are too tempting for some to ignore. This guy had spent the last couple of days stealing from several sites around our house according to the raw report from the housekeeper who works next door. 

A maskless man emerged from the small crowd, stepped toward the helpless burglar, and started smacking him on the face. I stepped from our gate where Elise and I and the Sri Lankan housekeeper from next door had been looking on and yelled for him to stop and wait for the police. The housekeeper told me not to do it. "They are bad men, sir," she said. "They are not good men." 

Their heads slowly rotated toward me like owls.. A few in the crowd wandered away. The man stopped. One of the security officers from my work happened to have stopped by the neighbors house for a drink. He came out under an umbrella in the rain and told me to just let them be. "It’s mob justice," he explained. "They won't kill him. The police are slow here. Nothing will happen to him. The worst is, he'll go to jail and get Covid."

I went back inside, feeling icky. I felt icky -- embarrassed maybe -- that I had tried to interfere at all. I think I would've felt worse if I hadn't done anything. 

The lockdown continues, extended a week. The quieter city streets made way for a small herd of escaped cattle this morning, moving slowly by our house like boats that had slipped from their moorings. There were even loose ropes hanging from their necks. It wasn't normal, but you could see how it could become so if the lockdown continues.

Sunday, August 22, 2021

Lockdown, Vol 4

This is our fourth islandwide lockdown of the pandemic, and while we should be experts of navigating life holed up in our house by now, this lockdown -- now only one day old -- has been the most discouraging. I'd have trouble articulating exactly why. Perhaps it is because we experienced a bout of relative normalcy on our trip back to the States over the summer. From the beginning of the pandemic, I was mentally prepared for a long haul. I knew recovery would not be quick nor linear. But it's impossible not to be disheartened by the severe setback caused by the delta variant. It does seems like a cruelty heaped upon a pile of multiple cruelties. 

It's hard, too, watching parents around the world post back to school pictures on social media, smiling kids holding handmade signs "First Day of 3rd Grade!" Or "Back to School!" I am happy for them but also deeply envious. We asked the kids before we returned to Sri Lanka whether they preferred to stay at their old school even if it meant starting school online, and they unanimously said they did. Maybe kids shouldn't be in school yet. Reports from the States point to a messy (politically discordant) return to in-person learning. 

Peter began middle school this year. We had to buy him a laptop over the summer for the move. It's a tangible (and expensive) investment in this advance in his learning. He already seems more engaged. In sixth grade, he moves from classroom to classroom and has a different teacher for each subject, the biggest change from fifth grade where he had the same teacher all day and often seemed to completely zone out. It's understandable. 

Clementine still requires the most assistance, likes to maintain a running, stream-of-consciousness soliloquy of her entire day which makes getting actual work done challenging, and nearly had her first complete meltdown not five minutes into the school year when she couldn't figure out how to spell 'people'. She immediately claimed her stomach hurt and she felt like she was coming down with dengue. I taught her how to use a pocket dictionary. That seemed to help. At least, temporarily.  

The hardest part about a lockdown is having our access to the only outdoor space available to us restricted. A sign up sheet was posted, limiting trips to the pool to an hour and a half once a day. The impact is more psychological than physical. Economics 101 dictates when you limit supply, demand will increase. The sign up sheet incited a mad scramble for pool slots, magnified by the fact the only viable pool slot for the kids is right when they get out of school. It's not fair to keep the kids at a screen all day doing online school, then deprive them of the opportunity to get the wiggles out, running around outside or climbing on the jungle gym. 

Perhaps I'm most discouraged because of all three lockdowns this seems to be the one that really counts. Hindsight is 20/20, but likely we may not have needed to lockdown the previous three times. Of course, we'll never know for sure. Maybe the three previous lockdowns kept at bay the wave cresting now. Sri Lanka looks as though it is headed down the same path as India and Indonesia, a devastating spike that will take lives, rip families apart, create new wounds where those from civil wars, tsunamis, and bombings have yet to heal, then come crashing back down to Earth when there's no one left to infect. We can only hope this lockdown will save lives. As discouraged as we are, it seems like a small price to pay. 

Saturday, August 21, 2021

The Clouds Have Edges

The other morning I woke early to go for a run. I ran a few blocks when the sidewalk suddenly turned wet. It rained. Not only rained. It had poured just a few minutes earlier. I had to dodge giant puddles, weave between water reflecting orange street lights. But it had never rained at our house just a block away. The rain cloud had a clearly defined edge. It rained on one side of the street and not the other. 

I know this well from Florida. Sri Lanka has rains like this, too. A rain you can see coming down the street, then just stops. Dead in its tracks. And you stay dry. Then, the sun comes out, creating a puddle of sunshine and a rainbow. And in that bright light everything is going to be okay and everything is going to be all right. Sometimes. Or the rain marches on, soaking you. 

We've been underneath fast moving clouds, sometimes menacing and foreboding. Sometimes, they break, and rays of sunshine filter down upon you, warming your skin and lifting your spirits.  Both moments of darkness and light can be fleeting, coming and going quickly, sometimes even occupying the same minute or hour. 

The clouds have turned darker recently, the edge of the thunderstorm creeping over us. 

We're under (yet) another islandwide lockdown. The kids are starting school online (again). There's little to feel optimistic about today. We know it is bad everywhere,  but most places don't seem as bad as Sri Lanka right now. 

But the clouds move quickly, as I said. The dark clouds roll in unimpeded, but also recede just as easily. A break in the clouds can come at any moment, unexpected, but welcome. 

Sunday, August 15, 2021

Summer Blues

I tucked Clementine in, pulling her sheets up to her chin, her fingers curled over the top.

"Do you want me to sing you a song?" I asked.

She nodded. I whispered quietly across the covers. 

When I was done, Clementine threw the covers off her and raced for the bathroom where she vomited. 

Shortly after our return to Sri Lanka, Clementine complained of near constant stomach aches. We couldn't really figure out what was bothering her. 

She said she was worried and nervous. Had the stress of the pandemic finally wore her down? 

Elise and I played dolls with her, read her stories, cooked with her in the kitchen. She was better when she was engaged. We told her she was healthy and safe. That we wouldn't let anything happen to her. But the stomach aches wouldn't go away. 

We've been back in Sri Lanka a little over three weeks now. It's nice to be home, but the summer days are long and perhaps a little boring. 

I'm quick to acknowledge the grass is not always greener, but in this instance, I'd be lying if maybe we wouldn't have been a little better off extending our summer sojourn to the States. Though the lockdown has lifted, we still can't venture outside of Colombo due to travel restrictions, and there really isn't all that much to do here besides go to the pool which the kids have done pretty much every single day since we've been back. 

Our trip back to the States was meant to restore. We were supposed to return rested. And we were. We had created memories we could draw upon, pull energy from, a safe place in our heads to go back to when our lives in Sri Lanka became hectic again. But how long would the aura last? Is it already fading? I stand in the kitchen in the early morning. The sky just beginning to lighten to a dark, mournful purple and conjure the psithurism in my head. I can hear the leaves on the trees in the forest susurrating and feel the peace cover me. But how long will it stay with me? Likely not as long as I need it to.

Part of travel is to explore new possibilities, to ask oneself, "What if?" To explore alternate universes or timelines where we didn't live in Sri Lanka or, perhaps, I didn't work overseas. What does that universe look like? Am I fighting wildfires in the Cascades or foaming milk to perfectly-pointed frothy peaks like hilltops in Dr. Seuss books? What if I had taken that job with the Forest Service in Portland instead of the one I have now? What if we lived in a camper van down by the river?

But we can only commit to one path and must have faith that universe is the one we belong in. 

We may all be suffering from a mild case of the summer blues. Knowing the kids will start school online doesn't help. But Clementine is getting two new molars which at least explains the stomach aches. Fortunately, we didn't figure this out until we had already signed her up for horseback riding lessons. 


Sunday, August 8, 2021

North Cascades by Camper Van, Part Five - A Good Kind of Work

Towards the end of our trip, tired but happy, I commented camping was hard work. 

Elise, folding camping chairs nearby, noted, "Yes, but it's a good kind of work. Like waiting tables."

I immediately knew what she meant. It's not a feeling that is reserved for veterans of the restaurant industry, but anyone who has waited tables, tended bar, or worked the line would instantly understand certain types of work reap their own reward. Helping others or providing an experience to be remembered is such a reward.  

I usually don't mind washing dishes, but washing dishes while camping pushed the definition of 'a good kind of work'. The first night we fried hamburgers on the Coleman stove, and I made the mistake of not pouring the hamburger fat out of the pan as soon as the burgers were done. When I went to wash the pan, I was faced with a centimeter of solid white grease. For the rest of the week, everything I touched that came in close proximity of that pan felt greasy, the spatula, the plastic bottle of dishwasher soap, and practically every towel we had to dry the dishes with. 

We left Baker Lake on a cooler, Cloudy day. The snowy cap of Mt. Baker hid in the grey overcast, and Elise cursed my name for not stopping for photos of the peak the cloudless day before. We drove through the small, touristy town of Concrete, near the entrance of North Cascades National Park where we would spend the next two nights. We may have stopped at the roadside burger place twice and pizza place, Annie's Pizza, once, the later as we were leaving the park two days later. 

Dan and Janice had driven ahead and gone down to Diablo and the day to give Danny more time for his car nap. When we met them at Newhalem campground, they were parked in the a spot reserved for a walk-in campsite. Uh oh. What had I done?

The last time we camped, two years ago, I made all the campsite reservations months ahead of time, in January and February. This year, we didn't decide we were coming back to the States until a few weeks before we left, and I made all the campsite reservations at the last minute, no mean feat considering it was the week of 4th of July. We got lucky, though,  and found some good spots sprinkled throughout the Cascades (we were originally planning to explore the Olympic Peninsula but most of the campsites there were first-come first-serve. Given the demand, we opted for a sure thing, instead). Well, when we arrived in Newhalem, our sure thing turned out to be a walk-in site. I totally missed this when I booked the sites online. They wouldn't at all work for the camper van or car camping. 

Fortunately, we were able to find an unclaimed site we shared with Dan and Janice. This ignited the taco cook-off. Dan's spicy ground beef tacos versus my steak tacos (tortillas warmed on the grate of the Coleman stove) and Elise's idea to warm bathwater on two stoves for Danny's bucket bath. 

The last night of our trip found us back on Whidbey Island at Fort Ebey campground. It was the first and only night we were genuinely cold. 

Tuesday, August 3, 2021

North Cascades by Camper Van, Part Four - The Mythical Super-Gooey








The mythical super-gooey is a s'mores of legendary proportions.  Words do not do it justice. 

Monday, August 2, 2021

North Cascades by Camper Van, Part Three - Wading in Waist-High Water

We spent the next two nights at two different campgrounds on Baker Lake, Swift Creek and Horseshoe Cove. 

On the way to Baker Lake, Mt. Baker stood tall in the background, and we saw a bear scoot across the road. 


It didn't take us long to get down to the lake, despite -- or, perhaps, because of -- the promise of cold water (Elise would even do a swim workout the following morning). Sam found a log and like Natty Bumppo rowed himself out into the middle of the lake. He would repeat repeat feat, too, the next day, only that time with his fishing pole in tow. The wind would keep him away from shore until it was time to go; he would have to abandon log, as it were, and swim one armed back to the beach. 

As the afternoon wore on, the shadow of the ridge slowly climbed the bluff. As amazing a sight as it is, you know it happens every night, and is no less amazing in any other night.  The branches of the birch trees keep a tenuous hold on the leaves. They flutter like eyelids, exposing the lighter underbellies of the leaves.