In the golden hour, we decide to go for a walk with the kids along Wall Street and catch the industrial view of the Vancouver harbour. The teens have loped ahead with their long legs and their passionate conversation about…hm…music I suspect. Today I was introduced to Tame…llama…or Gentle Impala…Friendly Iguana? Careful Alpaca.
The cherry blossoms are now in full wedding gown bloom and the magnolias are popping, giving the red lipsticked camellias company (sloppy drunk on their own beauty, sprawling across front lawns). Pert iris leaves poke out of the ground and heather’s shoulders are pink. A young bulldog plays slobbery “fetch” with a basketball. A mother pushes her adorable stripedy tights baby on a swing, legs so chubby I’m not sure they bend. A young hipster woman in woven fabric yells at the young whiskered plaid clad man beside her, “No fighting during a pandemic!”
I am soaking up every precious second of this evening with my husband while we discuss his quarantine. As we walk, he decides what his isolation will look like. He’s heading back to the firehall tomorrow as a first responder and he wants to keep his family and those connected to us, safe. It’s ridiculous. It is utterly right. It’s dramatic. It’s appropriate. It’s extremely responsible.
We walk all the way to New Brighton park. I am grateful for my new running shoes. I bought them before I lost all my jobs. We discuss how long we could last on our savings. Fascinating to think we’re having a world wide conversation. What’s the worst thing that can happen? We lose everything. We die. Okay, now that we’ve faced that, let’s enjoy the ducks paddling languorous circles in the outdoor swimming pool.
When we get home the kids decide to start in on some water colours. One paints a cabin, one paints a tree. We sit on the end of the bed and tell them about Fellow’s decision. Their faces fall with dismay as they slowly shade in their sunsets.
I make dinner and we hold hands for grace. We play cards. We share a plate of fresh baked brownies. My husband hugs the kids goodnight. I kiss him and kiss him and kiss him because I have no idea when I’ll get to do that again.
I wait until he’s asleep and then I patter back out to the kitchen to make myself some tea. It feels like he’s going off to war. I suppose in a way he is. Imagine the doctors and nurses, the paramedics. How are they handling their home life? God they are brave. God they are good. They are living up to their oaths today.
