Made blueberry muffins to the sound of sirens. For awhile, Dot said, “An ambu-lamps. Helping people” after each one that passed, since we’ve told her that ambulances are for helping people. But they got so frequent that she stopped mentioning them. Another one is passing as I type this. I’ve been trying to build in routine to our lives — blueberry muffins on Sunday morning — but reminders of what’s going on are never far away.

They don’t give the B.C. stats for COVID-19 on Sundays, and if these ambulances are any indication, I think we’ll see a big jump in numbers tomorrow.

On our outdoor adventure today, we kept receiving reminders to notice nature. First, Dot found two rocks with the words “Still, sit. Tastatlaw invites you” written on them. There used to be a storytelling bench here, before it crumbled, and the place where it was has been seeded with bright green grass. A nearby plaque tells that tastatlaw is a river that runs underneath the street. It’s good to think about the land, and whose land we’re on.

A toddler in a pink coat bends down to investigate two rocks, one of which is painted with "Still, sit." and the other "tastatlaw invites you."

Later, we were smelling trees (as one does) and I told Dot that the tree is cedar. She said, “Cedar is a good friend to me.” I’m not sure where that came from. We do talk about only patting plants — not grabbing them — the way we pat the cat and don’t grab her. Wherever it came from, I hope she continues to think of trees as friends.

Not content to merely smell trees, Dot insisted on getting up close and personal with the earth by kicking off her boots and running into a puddle before I could stop her.

A toddler in a pink coat runs in a mud puddle in only her sock feet.

When I came home, I learned that John Prine is currently intubated due to Coronavirus. He’s one of my favourite songwriters. When I was introduced to him in university, I thought that “Angel from Montgomery” was one of the most beautiful songs I’d ever heard. I had to get older/weirder/sadder to really appreciate him. So now I’m spending the night with my cat at my side, listening to John Prine, and sending him good wishes. I wonder if there will be a time when I say, “John Prine was the first celebrity death that really hit me.”