For parents everywhere, a phone call or text from our children can brighten our day. This is especially true since the outbreak of the coronavirus. 

With my three sons in the New York City area and my daughter close by in Connecticut, the 1,200 miles that separate us can feel like an impossible divide. Travel by road or air or train is not a possibility. I want to be with them, and yet I cannot. But isn't that true for you as well, irrespective of where your children might live? None of us can hug our loved ones as we have in the past. 

It is almost as though the virus has changed our way of being family and in the process, we have discovered a much larger group of kin. It has opened our eyes to the caregivers around us - the nurses and doctors, the police and firefighters, the volunteers at the food line, and so many more. We see them a little differently now, for we realize that they are our lifeline, our extended family. 

We watch the news and fight our tears and wonder if tomorrow will bring more of the same. It feels like we are caught in a loop that we cannot escape, but then we see it - life. Robins tugging on worms, squirrels darting to and fro, and eagles soaring high. Life - we notice it now and we want more.     

Two days ago, my eldest son sent me a text that warmed my heart, and that is why I thought you might appreciate it as well. The story he relays is ours as well. Though the circumstances are different, each of us is discovering how to care for our extended family - in this new way of experiencing our life.  
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Just wanted to share some of the work we've been doing to lend a hand to people on the front lines of the pandemic. To date Calexico has delivered well over a thousand free meals to hospitals throughout the city, and this morning we just formalized the program and opened it up for donations from the public. You can see more on our website: www.calexico.com. 

Every week, author Ronovan Hester posts a weekly prompt for budding Haiku poets. This week his prompt is cake and steak. Really?? 

For the life of me, I couldn't think of a way to craft a haiku that was meaningful, so I decided to go playful instead. My attempt is below. If you're a parent or grandparent or aunt/uncle, you know these little guys - and love them! 

Here are a few of my haiku poems. I hope you enjoy them. Stay safe, my friends. 

Weather permitting, I take a long walk every morning. My husband and I live in the Ozarks on a hill above Lake Taneycomo. It's a magical area, a birthplace for dreams.

As I walk, a poem often comes to mind, like the one I share today. Other times my thoughts go to my work in progress. My protagonists, by the way, have just visited an orphanage in southernmost Turkey with over 1,000 Syrian children. Moved by these little ones who have experienced the worst of life, they are determined to end the Syrian war. It is because of their commitment that I purchased a large map of the Middle East and have it taped against the wall of my office. It helps me when I read research papers and newspaper articles focused on the conflicts of that area. Who knew I'd be writing about this embattled area, certainly not me. 

Sometimes a walk triggers dreams, other times, it can take us to places extreme. On your walks, have you been surprised by what you see? 

During these difficult times, we all need a glimpse of heaven. When I listened to this choir, I was deeply moved by their innocence and remembered an incident, which I describe below. Enjoy.
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In February of 1987 a Nor’easter hit the Atlantic States, dumping over a foot of wet snow on Long Island, NY. I was teaching in a small college in Huntington, on the North Shore. The snow fell rapidly and soon the roads were nearly impassable. My youngest was at daycare, and I left the college to pick him up. 

I’ve never liked driving in snow. My old Dodge Dart didn’t like it either. It slide back and forth along the streets like a toboggan without the laughter. Visibility was near zero, and my old windshield wipers didn’t help. Six miles never seemed so formidable. 

“Mommy, I’m scared,” my three-year-old whimpered. I tried to reassure him and suggested he ask the angels for help. Within minutes he was giggling and I questioned why.

“Don’t you see them, mommy? The angels. They are playing games with me.” He pointed to the hood of the car and described each one. I saw only mounds of snow.

When I heard the children’s choir sing Hallelujah, I thought back to the snow storm. Our children see what we often cannot see and through their innocent eyes, we sometimes glimpse heaven.