Autism sucks, our friend Rona is a drag, and her restrictions to our freedom can crimp the spirit. Every time I look at hiking maps I get sad, wondering when I can reconnect with passions tucked under some rug called Soon. Yet the Coronavirus Trail has such pluses. Ours has been the discovery of local walks – extended family time – a pass on ever-present perfectionism – and tiny buds of newness.

Here’s Saturday Lunch Walk Redux – a 7.3 mile circuit to a local, you guessed it, a Dunkin’s next to a fabulous egg cafe with an emerald-grass carpet, as nodding yellow daffodils cluster and smile on the cul-de-sac beyond. We reward the boys with the java, and pick up the to-go lunch like a brown bag of hope, and spread out in the bright sunshine. This week we lingered for 45 minutes, savoring the specialties of the upscale cafe’s eggs-on-everything motif. My mouth waters just thinking of it. Golden egg yolk oozing into chorizo-sweet potato hash with remoulade dressing, or sunny-sided cheeseburgers and egg, or scrambled-egg burrito with hidden flecks of goodies.

Eggs are the symbol of creation according to philosophers. I’m loving what we’re creating during these hard times. So much I never knew. That there are sidewalks along most of this major 2-lane road leading to this restaurant and another Dunkin’s. That there’s a trail on conservation land right along our path, should woodland walks call. That the boys are calm and well-behaved on these walks, although the years of running into traffic always make me skittish to say that. That our daughter actually likes hanging out with us. That she’s turned into such a lovely human.

Here’s even more I learned this Saturday. That the boys can tolerate real face masks, Jeff better than Will but considering we’ve only just begun practicing, that’s not bad. That after a long week with fractured sleep, I need to take a nap sometimes. That despite funky cocktails that sound hip on web sites, bourbon drinks just don’t do it for me. That Jeff’s attentional issues are profound, and I need to spend more time helping him. That I’m amazed at how everyone else seems to get more household projects done;- then again they probably aren’t chasing Will up and down the stairs to verify he’s wearing pants.

That it’s time. Time for major changes in the boys’ programming and my own priorities on meaningful work, household neatness, my definition of accomplishment. Time for more time, for walks, books, friends.

Rain’s in the forecast tomorrow, and probably many tomorrows on our walk back to reality. But just for today, I’m savoring one little banquet on a lawn under the warm of a loving sky, in a spring of more than flowers.