My children wrote a song about social distancing before such a term existed.
"This side is my side, that side is your side.
So don't move over, this is along ride!"
They sang, or perhaps yelled it, on long treks up the California coast. Maybe they even muttered it on short trips to the park. It was about staking out their territory in a boisterous family stuck in cramped conditions.
One time when we arrived home from an outing, the kids tumbled out of their seat belts and into the house. Half an hour later, I didn't see the four year old. Where was she? I peeked in her bedroom, which she shared with two sisters, and then the backyard. She was not part of the gang on the floor fitting Legos. Finally I checked the car.
I found her drawing an intricate picture in the back seat of the van. There were the members of our family, with flowers on the dresses, eyelashes on the irises, and chocolate chips in the cookies. It was remarkable in its detail. She could observe the minutia of her family and yet needed space to process it.
We have all been given a time out. At least if you are not a grocery teller or medical worker, your day is buffered from the normal flow of bumping up against many people. Except for the ones you are in quarantine with, human contact is on hold.
Some of us are reaching into the crevices of our cupboards and freezers, to find the makings of a warm supper. Last month we might have hopped in the car to go fetch more. But today it behooves us to plunge into our reserves.
How like the hunger for touch, and laughter. Maybe if we dig into the store of photographs, and songs, and stories that are buried deep within us, we will be fed.
