Day #62 Writing Through COVID-19: The Challenge of Balance

This is my 48th post in 62 days, which for me is pretty solid.

Saturday marked eight weeks of my parents living in my basement. We celebrated by playing a game of Suspend, which is a cross between Pick-up Sticks, Jenga, and constructing a DIY mobile for the baby's crib.

I'd say the game was a 7 on our 1-10 success scale.

To position his game pieces, my dad had to reach both hands up above his shoulders, which required physical exertion and concentration. He was motivated through his competitive nature. As we played, I thought about how the occupational therapists at care centers invite residents to join in activities that call for stretching and dexterity. The game met this goal.

I also enjoyed watching my parents think through the positioning of each rod. I watched the thinking on their faces as they anticipated the physics of each move. They grinned when they placed pieces without toppling the suspension.

Suspend, half game, half exercise.

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My mother and I spent a good chunk of the morning on (what has become) our daily puzzle, this time a beehive scene.  The sunflowers were a challenge, as were the multiple yellow hives. "Each piece we fit in is one less piece to go!" my mom said. Then said it again. And again.

It was the third time she said it that her benign comment struck me as ridiculous.

It was as if the puzzle was a chore we had to push through to finish. Each piece placed moved us one piece closer to release from the task! And yet when we finish a puzzle, we'll start another. What is the difference between a chore, a diversion, and entertainment?

The three seem to blend here.

I brought down laundry, warm from the dryer, and asked my mom if she would fold it for me. I thought she might enjoy this little chore. It could be a diversion while serving a helpful purpose. It might break up her day in a not unpleasant way. Can folding warm laundry count as entertainment?

Even if I could provide non-stop high-quality entertainment--a juggling act? standup comedy?--at some point a firehose of fun and games is overwhelming. We need to ask the jester to go away for awhile so we can read or rest or be alone with our thoughts. We need to wash dishes or pay a bill, dust a shelf, take a shower.

Because I am their only artery to the outside world, I feel responsible for managing the flow of stimulation and idleness into my parents' sheltered lives. They never refuse my offers to play a game or read a poem, blow some bubbles, check the asparagus patch. They are so acquiescent that I'm left wondering if they're desperate for any small diversion or if they're wishing I'd give them a break and let them rest a bit.

It's a balancing act; we are in suspension.

A fairy note, delivered with morning meds in a tiny teacup.