A Brick and Morter Womb

When I was a little girl, I loved the story of Rapunzel, and the modern version of it, Tangled, captivated audiences as much as the earlier version did.  Throughout the story, we all sympathized with the poor girl’s plight; being locked in a tower year after year, while longingly wishing to venture out into the world beyond.  As the story goes, the maiden is eventually set free and lives happily-ever-after, thanks to her liberator.  And, as is often the case of life imitating fiction, this past year has made Rapunzels out of the vast majority of us.  But, now that we have more freedom to step out into the world again, thanks to our liberators—Moderna, and Pfizer,—many of us are doing so with some hesitation, if not down-right trepidation.  Ah, how quickly the new normal becomes the comfortable normal, and how slow we are to return to the old normal even though the tower walls are crumbling down around us. 

Much like being in the midst of a winter storm in Minnesota, when the pandemic hit, we closed ourselves safely away in the warmth and safety of our homes, put on our most comfortable clothing, tried our hand at new culinary delights, and learned how to make a Zoom call, then we pretty much stayed that way for most of the year without having to apologize or feel guilty for staying put.  And, while we did that, we also found different ways of coping with a newly scripted way of life.  

I was talking with a friend the other day and telling him how my husband and I had found new ways of enjoying ourselves while having to keep the world at bay.  

“Jersey Mike’s has been a saving grace for us,” I explained.  “Each time we go down to check out the progress on the building of the lake house, we get take-out at the sub place and then eat in the car.  To tell you the truth,” I laughed, feeling a little silly, “it’s been really nice—kind of like being on a date.” 

“That’s eating between the lines,” my friend nodded knowingly. 

“Huh?” 

“Eating between the lines,” he repeated, as though saying it a second time would make it all clear to me. Obviously, the look of confusion on my face let him know I hadn’t a clue.  “You park your car between the lines and eat,” he explained. “Eating between the lines!  My wife and I do it all the time and thoroughly enjoy it.  And we usually do it after taking a ride down some half-hidden little side road we never took much notice of before.  We’ve discovered some pretty cool little places, too.  It’s been a great little escape.” 

I knew exactly what he meant, and I knew how badly we’ve all needed that.  But, I also knew that after taking a little discovery trip down those roads less traveled and eating between the lines somewhere, I was usually ready to go on home. 

During this pandemic, home has taken on a whole new role. Though it was always a safe haven, and one I looked forward to returning to after a busy day “out there”, coming back to my brick and mortar womb has somehow become even more comforting; for it’s there that I can leave behind an oftentimes unrecognizable world and enter a place where my footing feels familiar, solid and sure.  

I have filled my home with many lovely pieces of artwork over the years (most of which were locally made by our tremendously gifted artists in the area), and I have countless flameless and real candles sitting in numerous cubbyholes, on tabletops and shelves throughout my house.  I often play light, almost ethereal instrumental music on my satellite TV, and have numerous bookshelves filled with a vast assortment of books that can always take me anywhere I want to go without passports, money or fear of some strange pandemic zombie-fying me.  I have surrounded myself with those things that comfort and lift me; things that act as a kind of counterbalance to those things beyond my control outside my door that so easily wear us down today.  

As I’m slowly reemerging into a semi-recognizable version of Old Normal Land, I can’t help but think of the usual little quip people often make when a baby’s due date comes and goes without the slightest contraction: “Well, the kid knows what kind of world it is out there and is happy to stay put!” I’m finding that so many of us aren’t in too big of a hurry to leave our brick and mortar wombs either. Perhaps it’s because we’ve just simply gotten out of the habit of constantly running around and allowing our days to be controlled by a calendar filled with very specific times to be at very specific places.  Or we’ve come to realize that our homes are more than just a giant battery recharging station that allows us to re-energize before bursting through the front door again the next morning.  Maybe we’ve found that the place where the best things in life can be found is right in our own backyard—literally—, and the home that rests upon it will continually be there for us, welcoming us in, like a beautiful beacon in life’s many storms.