Well … quite obviously, regular reader, I am at home. Actually, as I type this, it’s my birthday. We ordered takeout pizza from California Pizza Kitchen which offered gloved, curb-side pick-up … until it didn’t. We were among the last customers, on the last night it was open. Do we know how to celebrate or what?
I imagine by the time you read this, almost everything else will be closed as well. Here, at Casa Baird, we’re a week into our virtual school experiment and our new daily schedule which I created. You might think it’s primarily a schedule for keeping our two teens on track, and it does do that, but let’s not kid ourselves, my 7:30 a.m. to 5 p.m. lineup is mostly about my own sanity. It’s my defense against things going totally Lord of the Flies, with me leading the charge, conch shell held high, as I run into the woods.
Thankfully, our schedule has some constants. We workout, we take walks, we do art and of course school and job work. We can see that, while life is full of twists and turns, there are some things that are certain and unshakeable.
I know since I often write about my faith and job at church, you may think that is a reference to God, and for sure he’s unchanging. But no, I’m talking about the Stupid Llama Puzzle. It doesn’t change because it’s 1,000 pieces of dishwater dreariness in the form of llamas and moss that refuse to be assembled.
I bought it when things were on the verge of collapse and I thought we might have a week or so off from school. I imagined instituting ‘puzzle hour’ so that each day we’d use our brains for something beyond school work. I picked the hardest puzzle I could find thinking the girls and I would blow through it in a week.
Ah, optimism. And I don’t mean the fact that I had the thought we’d go back to normal in a week or two, I mean the idea that we’d be able to even get one single llama completed. I go to sleep at night and see llama eyes (but only half eyes because no one can find the piece containing the other half … where is it!?).
What was I thinking? 1,000 pieces of these utterly obnoxious llamas in the mountains of where? Chile? Peru? Who cares!? Why can’t they be some place with a background that isn’t the color of oatmeal, and untextured oatmeal at that? Put those llamas in Times Square and fix their fur! Do all llamas have to be beige? Llamas are never say, the colors of the rainbow?
When we are not working on the SLP we are doing normal stuff like running an art and painting class. (Psssst, that’s not normal).
Do you know how many times I’ve been inspired to paint? I don’t mean like painting the bathroom wall (not that I do that either) but artsy inspired painting? Twice. In 46 years (since I’m 46 today). Once was a paint and sip, so key point: there was wine. The second time was when our older daughter broke her collarbone and we tried to find fun non-athletic things including going to Muse at Market Street where we painted — to be clear, there was wine there too.
But now? It’s just me. In this house with these teenagers who, yes, have a lot of school time, but also a lot of, “get-off-the-couch-if-you-touch-your-phone-again-I-will-drop-it-in-this-vat-of-bleach” time. So I declared an hour of art each day. First we did two days of acrylics and then we took a stroll into the exciting world of water color. Oh that’s a finicky medium. Good on you, watercolors, you keep us on our toes.
So far we have painted starry nights, palm trees, a pot of lavender (that was a stretch, the teacher on YouTube was brisk and her accent was beguiling but she promised the pot of lavender would be easy and let me be the first to say that it was not) and yesterday, a delightful romp through painted popsicles.
And then, around 4 p.m. when all our hard stuff is over, our fitness, art, and hours and hours of school work, and refreshing walks out in the woods and reading real, tangible books, it’s puzzle time.
We end our day on this high note that is only high because the paint fumes make it so. We’re a week in and we have completed about 10% of the SLP. I literally can not understand when it will ever end and why there is no seeming order to it all. Here in the time of love and coronavirus, there is no love for the llamas.
But if nothing else it is teaching us persistence in the face of obvious ambiguity. The SLP is the metaphor for our times. Steady as you go. Keep moving, share your pieces, look for variety and color wherever you can find it, and keep doing the next thing … even if it’s looking for llamas.