Day #30 Writing Through COVID-19: Blue Funk

I deliver a poem alongside my mother's meds and my dad's coffee each morning. On Saturday (the 18th of April), I, of course, chose Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: "Paul Revere's Ride." This marks their fourth week in my basement.

But after the poem and coffee, I had to hustle back upstairs to be ready for a 9 a.m. ZOOM meeting for the Iowa Council of Teachers of English. In April we usually meet for a face-to-face full day of work. In the past, we have rented a cabin at Jester Park where during breaks we can take walks in the woods and sit in the sun. It is always a productive, uplifting day, spent with English teachers I admire and enjoy.

ZOOM is no substitute for Jester Park. And as our two-hour meeting progressed, I felt my energy draining. By the time we signed off at 11, I felt wiped, and by Saturday afternoon I had hit a funk. I took a nap. I helped my mom work on a new puzzle. I practiced accordion. I did a little housework. I read. But I felt blue. 

It took me most of the day to make the connection between the morning hours spent in ZOOM planning for the unplannable and my dip in spirits. It feels futile to discuss our annual August Eng Camp. Teachers are swamped with professional development "opportunities" right now. And in August there is a chance we'll all be prepping to start the school year online.

It is hard to plan for Iowa's October conference when it feels like we will never again gather 300 people in the same room. What about the National convention? Eight thousand English teachers convened in Baltimore five months ago, where we packed the convention center to hear Tommy Orange and Tara Westover. I attended sessions by Kenny Gallegher and Penny Kittle that were so full teachers sat on the floor, in what now seems like a reckless failure of social distancing! 

Today, Sunday, the sun helped a bit. This afternoon I took my parents into the back yard where we flew a Spiderman kite. We finished the bird puzzle. 

My days are better if I stay in the moment. 

I'm not ready to think about August yet, let alone October and November.

Enough.
Stay well.
Write.

Allison