Photo by Stefan Vladimirov on Unsplash

Our first family dinner over Zoom.
Back in March.
Dad in Massachusetts alone.
Mom in Utah alone.
Me in Arizona alone.
And my children and their spouses/significant others in Oregon.

We had spaghetti, although Mom and I strayed from the plan and fixed something else.
We laughed about how each of us except the Utahn had brought boxed wine to the party.
We shared what is going on, our stories of grocery story other-worldliness, and my children’s search for farmable land in Oregon.
To build their dream… a family farm… for my three children and their spouses.

My children don’t have strong ties to my parents.
My parents divorced when I was 5 and I moved away from Salt Lake as soon as I married.
Grudges and judgments divided us, mostly on my part.

And look at us… Brought closer because of a virus. A gift. Not even a silver lining. Just a downright gift. I can’t even fathom how big this gift is. My children’s generosity to fold the three of us into their full lives, knowing we are alone. Recognizing what that must be like for us. I’m beyond grateful for this virus… there I’ve said it. No matter what happens, nothing can take away the memory of this first Sunday dinner with my parents and my children. A miracle right there in my living room.

We have met each Sunday but one since.
Is it 11 weeks now?  Time exists differently these days with Covid-19.
I can't wait for Sunday!

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night
Sailed off in a wooden shoe
Sailed on a river of crystal light
Into a sea of dew.

My oldest son loved that book.  I read it to him every night. until he had it memorized at the age of 1.  As his little mouth tried to form the words, he made his own attempt to recite it. He loved knowing how the story ended, the repetition, and the way the words dance.

I find that repetition and familiarity comfort me too. The rhythm of the words calm me. Reciting it brings back memories of happy times of my youth and the dearness of my sweet little boy. Nostalgia and memory are tools in my pocket for managing uncertainty and aloneness in this time of sheltering.

We are each forming new memories to look back on fondly right now.  Which poems will we recite 10 years from now to remind us of how it was during the exceptional time of the Covid-19 pandemic?  The time when the world changed?

Maybe you could write one today?  Feel free to share it in the comments.

Photo by Brett Ritchie on Unsplash

Silent creeping, night sneaks up on me as I work.
Before I realize, darkness surrounds me.
Time to wind down again. Where did it go? The day…
I blink and it passes.

Start again, yet again, tomorrow.
An unending flow of start agains…
Just seems unending. Too soon gone.

Don’t let yourself be fooled by the repetition of another day and another and another.
Seems infinite.
But it is my small mind, small world, microscope of one human life.
A speck of dust in the mighty river of cosmic time.

Photo by Charlein Gracia on Unsplash

The formula for successfully learning a Chinese gongfu form is to practice it every day for 100 days.

Why 100?

I have noticed that something happens on the journey to 100.

The form locks into my body, my muscle memory, in a way that even after years of no practice it is still there.
Like riding a bike.

And the big surprise... I find I can do the form. 
Awkward at first, it gains fluidity.
I have time to work on nuance.
To make that form MINE.
My own expression of the form.

Somewhere along the way to 100, I gain confidence in my ability to create it.
Self-assurance grows one tiny step at a time.

Photo by Stephen Meyers on Unsplash

Obstacles stand in our way.
A mighty mountain looming before us.
It's natural to try to find a way around it.
We shy from the hard work of the climb.

If we can find a way to fight up the hill,
We will have a new view from the top.
A panorama spreads before us
With places to go that we never imagined.

New options is one gift from the climb.
The other is knowing we have the strength
To defy gravity and maybe our legs and get there.
We have the inner fortitude.

It's the journey, not the destination, that is important after all.

I've been creating videos recently and just started a video blog on my YouTube channel called Michelle Miller.  Such a unique name I know...  Here is one of them.
youtu.be/UetvY9asYE0

Photo by Latrach Med Jamil on Unsplash

Each day here on this blue and green globe
I meet new people.
Well maybe not every day...

Looking back I see I had no clue how those people would improve my life when I met them.
How could I know when first connecting?
And now they are treasures, each one.

Some friends from school: high school or college, no less dear for all the years that have passed.
Other friends new know me to the core.
They help me up when I stumble.
Or remind me who I am when I lose my way.
They see me; they get me.

At this moment, when hope comes and goes, I remember that help comes in unexpected ways.
And the gift of friends, old and new, is a treasure beyond measure.
I just need to be open to the possibility of meeting my new best friend later today.

What's the use of doing it if it is not perfect?
But nothing is perfect.  Always a way to make it better.

The Chinese gongfu masters continued to practice
Day in, day out
Perfecting each move, each breath
The way each bone lines up with the others.
Slow practice
Time to become completely accurate
Yet errors persist
Improvements can be made.

Rather than worry about getting it right
Could you just start it?
Do your best?
Open to joy of doing it less than perfectly?

Give it a shot.  Share what you practiced in the comments.