as I type this

I’m working on my first full week of Covid. As I type this, I’m propped up in our bed, two small dogs curled up near me. It has started to rain and thunder. George, the shi tzu, keeps growling at the thunder. It’s a close competition.

Just after Elsie got on the bus, a weather alert blared through my phone, saying that at 8:30 a.m. there would be baseball sized hail. She called right away, bordering on panic, belting out questions. I reassured her she would be to school by then, it’s okay. We’ll see how it really goes, the weather people are not always right. Okay, she said. Okay, I love you. There was still fear in her voice, but with a touch of surrender.

Meanwhile the wind had begun to blow hard, knocking over my parent’s recycling bin next door, at the end of their driveway. I went out there in my pajamas and bedhead, ran around picking up cans and cardboard and throwing it back in while the thunder and lightening made an ominous back-drop. I pulled the bin back into a standing position with all of its contents back inside and figured it would soon blow over again. Maybe. I could be wrong. Let’s hope I’m wrong.

This activity wiped me out so hard, I’m gonna need a morning nap. Covid can suck it.

Now the thunder is crashing and the lightening is closer. Thankfully the kids are in the school, away from any impending baseball hail. It’s become dark like dusk at 8 a.m.

Little George is captivated now by the pouring rain and booming and blowing, his head up, looking out the bedroom window from the foot of the bed. He’s jumpy, but not entirely afraid. He’s alert, but not panicking. We can hear the hail on the roof now, sounding like pebbles, not baseballs. George keeps looking over at me, here and there, to see my reaction. I tell him it’s okay, we’re inside, it’s some weather. Get used to it, little guy. The things outside us do what they will sometimes, nothing you can do but watch and wait.

We think we know, right? Baseball sized. (That’s a guess.) Covid? You will feel like this or that because so and so had this or that and it was for this long so get ready. (No, you won’t, it’ll be your own.) Aging? They say midlife will be like this, or that. or like this. (No one can predict it.) They say the golden years, they say falling apart, they say the best years of your life. (Sometimes.)

People don’t like the saying “it is what it is” and I get that. It’s frustrating. But I don’t think it means you just give up. I don’t think it means your shrug and bend over. It means shit happens. It is quite literal. This thing that is happening is happening. It means there are things we cannot control. It means there might be baseball sized hail, or not. It means that so much of the time we’re riding things out, as they are going to be.

It is what it is will be super annoying unless it comes after the Serenity Prayer, I think. Give me the courage to change the things I can change, man. You see, there is still some empowerment there. I’m not going out to bat away some baseball sized hail that never comes anyway. I’m watching and waiting and comforting the creatures in my life.

I think that’s what it means. We don’t always pick. We play a part, sometimes a much smaller part than we’d like. It means giving in, in a freeing way. Sometimes it means nothin’ to do here but wait. Or see ya later, or goodbye.

It is what it is. Still fear in our voices, but with a touch of surrender.