(I decided to try to write this like a Civil War soldier writing home on this, the first day of the COVID suspension of school.)
The first day of school closing is upon us, and I write this with a heavy heart. While our supplies and sustenance suffice for now, I weep for the future when we run out of apple sauce and Cassius is down to merely hot dogs and cheddar cheese to eat. Luckily, we have amused ourselves and kept our spirits high, though memories of friends both far and near haunt us like sad music on the breeze. We began the day with tears, but then raised our spirits by drawing "The Scariest Monster On the Planet Earth."
We sent the pictures in to an atelier in Paris (of course, thanks to Mami), and Maceo's was chosen to grace their Instagram page!
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The artists at work in their atelier. |
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This is Maceo's monster. |
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This is Cassius's monster. |
Then, we journeyed out into the empty city, bereft of her citizens. We ended up in Rock Creek Park and hiked the Soapstone Trail, stopping to make routes to run marbles down or to throw sticks into the water. It was lovely and reminded me of our carefree days before this pestilence invaded our lives. The children bear it well enough, although they seemed a bit mad and unsure of themselves.
(You can almost taste their terror.)
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You can almost hear their sorrow. |
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You can almost smell his whining. |
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We unpacked our victuals and made camp at the parking lot. |
Upon our return to the house, we decided to make the projects that Grandma Sue had given us for Christmas lo those many months ago. Thankfully, they had not spoiled, and we were able to enjoy them. Cassius made a pendulum painter, and Maceo made his own spyrograph. Truly, the technology of the day is astounding.
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Hard at work reading instructions. |
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I was cooking, and Maceo asked me to help. "I'm cooking, Maceo, so I can't," I replied. "A lot of help you are," he muttered. OOooooooooo. |
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The fruit of Maceo's long and frustrating labor. |
It was a long day both physically and emotionally, and our Lord above only knows what lays in store in the days that drag on ahead.
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Not even a book this night for a tired boy. |