I tend to come back to this record when historical events happen--I think of that poem by Ukrainian poet Ilya Kaminsky, "We Lived Happily During the War" that everyone is sharing right now. It's a similar impulse. The "what were you doing when ____ happened" impulse. The attempt to fit unthinkable things into your own life. So: the Thursday in late February that Putin invaded Ukraine on, my kid and I had a battle over going out in the cold-- and then another over scooter versus stroller. I won the first, she one the second. We ate cookies in a nearly empty Washington Square, under leaden skies, till our fingers were too cold to hold them. Then we threw the crumbs to the pigeons and ducked into Caffe Reggio's street seating to warm up. They have heaters in there. bambi dictated a story to me about giant flower families. I wouldn't say it was the most ordinary of days. I was acutely aware of the significance--showing up in the dull dread deep in my gut--like March 2020 and June 2020. But it was also quite a nice day. 

Everyone's faces looked wide and blank on the subway-- you could hear the sounds of air raid sirens and Ukrainian voices coming from various phones across the platform. Everyone acknowledging the need to not look away by playing videos with sound on for anyone around to hear. 

But winter carries on. And now it's the weekend. We had some wine. Steaks were on sale. So we ate that while refreshing the news.