I have writing to do and teaching — and thinking to do.
And don’t forget the gratitude list.
There’s a new/old dog to walk and friends to phone. There’s much to do.
And then, again, there’s nothing to do.
A helplessness — a desire to read — to stay in, stay safe, stay put.
And curl into a ball to let this big wave pass.
So we hunker down in this farmhouse in this town that I love with family and friends.
With children and trees. Set to bloom. Set to bud. Set to flower.
Game, set, match.
My mind keeps turning to this twist — my love gov says tennis courts can open.
Where is my nearest tennis court? And does it matter that I have no racket, balls, nor opponents? Or tennis whites? I keep thinking about tennis.
As if I was Billie Jean King. Fierce like that. All women are – for simply surviving this potus abuse.
I cannot get over this administration – the way that man speaks to journalists, to women, to poc.
I must to stop watching his cruelty. It breaks my heart.
I aim to maintain my soft-hearted nature and happy-go-lucky disposition.
I will not let this wave of fear and despair submerge me.
Better days, ahead. Chin up and all that.
Think about tennis and flowers and Billie Jean King.
Family dinners in the farmhouse.