My husband has been running for years.  He is a foot taller than I am, almost eight years younger than I am, and I outweigh him by at least ten pounds.  He does marathons (including eight Bostons) and I am Cheerleader-In-Chief.  That's the way it's always been, and I've been pretty comfy with it.

Somehow in the last week or so the cumulative effect of sitting over my computer like the Hunchback of Notre Dame has flicked some switch inside me, so I went for a walk.  I just wanted to stretch.  Really.  But I found myself going from a fairly decent walking pace to jogging and I'm not sure what went wrong.  The scariest part about this is that I rather enjoyed it, so I did it the next day, too.  And the next.  In the past seven days I've run six times, each time around two miles.  The astonishment I feel at not having to stop and gasp at the end of every second driveway is truly mind-bending.  I have tried running before and the internal monologue usually went "OK.  Just to that light pole and then we can sit on that bench in the shade."  But I've been running pretty far without stopping.  Don't tell anyone, but there have also been a few hills involved.  My image is shattered.

The picture of the elegant silver-haired, smiling runner above is not me, by the way.  I don't look anywhere near that happy while I'm chugging along.  Nevertheless, I am pretty pleased with myself.  I bring my mask in case I run into people (because I am a responsible person who believes in science) but I seldom have to put it on because people take one look and give me a wide berth.  Then one day I had what Oprah calls an "aha moment".  It was easier to run because although I am older than the last time I tried this, I'm also twenty-five or so pounds lighter.  During the enforced time at home, along with learning Italian on DuoLingo, I have also finally been paying some attention to the Weight Watcher suggestions I've been paying for and ignoring for years.  It was an effort to feel in control of something, ANYTHING, in a world that suddenly felt very out of control.  There is so much going on that I can't do a thing about, so I'm picking my tiny battles and every now and then I win one.  

I make no vows here.  I have zero interest in doing a marathon, a half-marathon, a 5K, or pretty much anything else that involves people.  Running at my own pace with my own thoughts is a pleasant little diversion and I'm good with that.  For now.  It could all end tomorrow and the inspiration fairy or a twisted ankle could pull me down off this smug little "high" I'm on.  But for right now, for the first time in months, I am feeling empowered.  How about that?  

In the wonderful musical "Gigi" Maurice Chevalier sits at a table with Hermione Gingold and sings a song at which I used to bristle.  The song is "I'm Glad I'm Not Young Anymore", and I thought it was defeatist and sad.  Guess what.  Now that I'm there, my attitude has decidedly changed.

Once upon a time I assumed I'd be retired at my age and sitting on the porch reading all the time, or doing volunteer work somewhere, or finding a "cute" hobby.  None of those things has happened.  During the pandemic I have appreciated having some sort of structure to my day.  Of course, that means sitting in front of the fireplace for hours at a time, hunched over my (well...the office's) keyboard.  Lately it's been dozens of Go To Meetings a week and trying to make my tri-focals work on a spreadsheet the size of Cleveland, but things will calm down again.  

Meanwhile, I was getting tired of being constantly afraid of the virus, and the politics, and the rudeness and insensitivity of people.  So I stopped. Being young these days has no appeal for me.  My sons have both graduated from fine colleges (well...one's still in a PhD program, but it's coming in May), and have a spirit of adventure.  They've each packed (in days "BC", "Before COVID") and taken off for Europe for a week or two with nothing but the clothes in their backpack and an open mind and heart.  In my wildest days I would NEVER have dreamed of doing that.  Hostels?  Are you kidding me??  But now I'm so glad they did while they had the chance.  The future of the planet, politically and ecologically, is looking rocky on a good day.  I try to have faith in the upcoming generations to dig us out on both counts, and I am encouraged, but I don't envy them the job. 

This is where the "age" thing comes in.  I have finally figured out what I can and cannot change.  I can't save the world single-handedly, but I raised two very fine young men who will likely make a dent in it.  I have accepted the odd ache and twinge as part of the privilege of having hung around for so long.  Too many of my relatives and friends didn't get the chance.  There are some things I can change. I do not, for example, accept the stereotype of what a person my age is supposed to do or wear or think or feel.  Which is partly why I'm sharing a picture of myself with purple hair.  Because why not?  It will wash out tomorrow, but I might make it blue or green or pink then, depending on my mood.  I can change how much care I give to my body which, in spite of all odds, continues to carry me through time and space.  I take it walking a lot more often now.  I feed it better.  I try to give it more sleep, but that might be on the list of things I can't change.  We'll see.  During this weird time in seclusion I have dropped close to ten pounds.  More needs to go, but my knees no longer greet me in the morning with "the song of their people".  Little victories.

It is a gift to be old enough to know when to ride the horse and carry the flaming sword, and when to sit and listen instead.  What an awakening it has been to find out how much I don't know about so many topics.  I am humbled, but also grateful.  A calm spot has been growing in the center of my being where God and I chat.  Well, actually, I try to spend more time just being quiet and listening for whatever S/He wants to say.  There's power there, and it is something I would never have thought of at twenty or thirty or forty or...well, you get the picture.

Lastly, death no longer frightens me.  While my heart still breaks every time I have to say goodbye to someone who has been sent into my life, I have also begun to make peace with the fact that death is part of life.  My friend David, a gentleman in his 80's who lives in Mold,  North Wales, lost his wife last year.  When I miss a phone call, he sometimes ends the messsage  with "Greetings from Mold and the Realms of Gold" and when I get a card it is sent "with love from David and the Promoted Partner".  What a fabulous way to look at that.  What a cool way to keep our loved ones present.

So, while I'm in no hurry to greet my "Advance Team" as I call my dearly departed, neither am I terrified at the prospect.  As the unbearably corny saying goes, "Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, and today is a gift.  That's why it's called 'the present."  I hope you find a way to enjoy each day you unwrap, no matter what it holds. 

I will confess, I have never been a beach person.  I don't like the sun.  My ancestors are a mixture of Canadian and Irish.  My skin remembers whence it came.  Gritty sand in my food does not appeal to me, nor do crowds of any description, this year more than ever.  It is not unusual for me to have gone an entire summer without a trip to the beach.  What is unusual this year is that I find I'm missing the opportunity.  Not the beach, you understand, just the opportunity.  
​
I know if I went, there would be people with chairs less than six feet apart and they wouldn't be wearing masks, and that would make me cranky.  OK.  I'd be a little more than cranky.  I'd be just this side of homicidal, because I REALLY want this virus to go away and as long as people continue to pretend it isn't there it won't.  Wearing a mask is not fun, admittedly, although it has occurred to me that when the colder weather sets in they might be "cozy", but it's what grown-ups are supposed to do.  The complete dismissal of science is getting on my last nerve.  Put the damn masks ON, people!  THEY SLOW THE VIRUS.  Nurses, doctors, cashiers, store employees ALL wear them for hours and hours. Suck it up for a bit, will you?  And stop whining about it while you're at it.

I've had to give myself a vacation from writing for a month.  There must be other topics besides COVID-19, the totally disgraceful way this country treats minorities, and the equally depressing political scene.  But I can't come up with much.  I was boring myself.

There are a few perks to working from home.  First, I've got a job and health insurance, so I won't complain about that.  Sleeping late is nice.  So is not having to dress up or put on a bra.  And Himself is still wonderful company.  We eat well and sensibly.  I've dropped 6 pounds since March without really trying.  Not going out to eat is saving us money.  None of this, of course, is enough, in spite of my being painfully aware of how much worse off most people are.  

There is some sort of spiritual hunger going on.  I feel as though I am supposed to be growing as a person through all of this, and for all I know, maybe I am.  I have more time to pray, but I too often spend that time playing video games on my telephone, Wordscapes being the current favorite.  I am teaching myself Italian via DuoLingo.  But I can't help feeling that what I'm supposed to be doing is discovering what is actually important in my life.  I should be clearing out clutter, both spiritual and physical.  My office has announced that we won't be back on site until at least New Year's, and likely not then.  There is plenty to keep me busily employed meanwhile, but the social interaction is sorely missed, and "Go To Meeting" and "Zoom" calls don't begin to scratch the itch.  So I was wondering, how are you all doing out there?  Am I the only one who feels as though she's accidentally landed on the moon?

Stay vigilant.  Believe science.  Wear your mask.  Avoid crowds.  Wash your hands.  And most importantly, stay sane and don't give up hope.  We can learn from this somehow.  I'm just still trying to work out how.

Courtesy of Disney Plus (and a friend who was generous with sharing her password for same) I have finally had a chance to see what all the fuss is about "Hamilton".  As much as I love musical theater, there was no way I was paying the kind of money they were asking for these tickets, particularly since hip hop music is not exactly my genre.  But DANG!

Lin-Manuel Miranda has been on my radar for a while now, but mostly for his charming demeanor, his generosity of heart, his sharing of his gifts with everyone, and his admirable (and totally undeserved) humility.  Turns out he is also an amazing writer and musician.  This is the first "fresh" play I have seen in..well, maybe ever.  Everything else feels like a re-hash.

Granted I started doing theater when I was seven which was, um, a fairly long time ago, so I've had the bug for a while.  I've been the star and I've been "the wench in the tavern".  It's all fun.  Every community theater group in the world seems to be caught in some Circle of Hell where they all do the same four plays in sequence.  I swear, one more "Barefoot In the Park" and I'm going to cut someone.  But this was refreshingly different, even though I REALLY needed the sub-titles to figure out what was going on.

Every morning I find myself with an ear-worm.  Sometimes it's "I Am Not Throwing Away My Shot" and sometimes it is King George's "You'll Be Back".  Songs from new plays don't often get stuck in one's brains these days, so I'm impressed.

So thank you, "Hamilton" for a delightful diversion from the Pandemic Blues, even if I do sob like a baby at the ending.  Every. Single. Time.  

I have formed a new addiction.  To my surprise, it is not eating salty treats or drinking large quantities of wine (OK...maybe once in a while).  I have fallen in love with five gay men.  

"Queer Eye for the Straight Guy" was a show where a group of gay men helped some non-gay man to clean up his act, helping with his appearance, his house, whatever.  I barely watched once, although it was on for fifteen years, but it held no huge appeal.  Then they revamped the show, renamed it "Queer Eye",  and replaced those hosts with Bobby, Antoni, Jonathan, Tan, and Karamo and the show became something else.  These five pop into the lives of everyday people (male and female) in various situations and Bobby redecorates their homes or church halls, or whatever they need rescued.  Antoni introduces them to the joy of eating real and healthy and tasty food, and teaches them how to prepare it.  Jonathan, with his long hair and high heels and occasional skirts or dresses, is the one who transforms their makeup,  their hair, their vision of themselves.  Tan has an amazing eye for fashion and helps them learn to dress in a way to make them feel fabulous.  Karamo is the gentle life counselor who helps them to understand themselves.  Every chance I get I park in front of Netflix for 45 minutes and watch an episode, or sometimes two.  I think Himself is worried.

I've been wondering why, in the middle of this nightmare we're all going through, I would find such comfort in watching this program, which is so far removed from my experience.  I think I've got it figured out.  These men are so open and vulnerable, talented and giving.  Yes, I would LOVE for them to come to Boston and do their magic with my cluttered closet and ready-for-replacement furniture.  I would love to see what magic Jonathan could work with my gray (I mean "silver") hair.
But what I really find totally addictive is their complete lack of hatred.  At this point I think I've seen them all cry. 

​Since gay life is controversial and not accepted by everyone, they have all faced discrimination, and in many cases, rejection by their families. They share that pain, but mostly they use it to be accepting and empathetic and gentle and non-judging, supportive and kind to everyone they encounter. And they do it with joy. They deal with rednecks in Georgia who have never met a gay person before.  They transform the roly-poly grandma whose house looks as if it's been visited by Visigoths because she spends all her time helping others.  Divorced fathers, struggling single mothers, you name it and they dive in with total acceptance.  There is never an unkind word, never a condescending look of disapproval.  They are unfailingly kind.  This, to me, is their greatest gift. 

In the desert which has become the human spirit during this time of anger and isolation, political unrest and pandemic, these gentlemen provide an oasis of love.  They meet these people where they are and they see the humanity in each soul.  They nurture the fading spark of self-love and self-respect and fan it until it blazes and ignites everything around it.  I need these guys.  If I can't hug my sons or invite my friends to dinner these days, I can at least invite these men into my home where they teach me every day how to be a good human being again, how to put down the fists of disagreement and open my heart to the invisible and often painful realities of other people's stories.  They make me realize how horrible we can be to one another, but also what happens when we greet everyone with love and compassion.

So thank you, Bobby, Antoni, Jonathan, Tan, and Karamo.  This is my love letter and thank you note to you all.  You are, indeed, the "Fab Five"!

Since we appear to be the long-term house guest or prisoner of COVID-19, we are all finding ways to cope with that.  As I have noted before, I think too many people are too casual about the dangers involved with this virus and have declared it "dead" simply because they are tired of it.  I understand, but it doesn't work that way.  What also doesn't work is hiding under the bed and waiting for it to find us.  I remember back in the 70's a helicopter pilot who was a traffic reporter crashed into the top floor of a condominium the next town over.  Not only was he killed, but so was the man sleeping in his own bed and minding his own business.  I've often wondered if the man was afraid of flying.  If it's your day it's your day.

The sheer exhaustion of living in terror wears thin.  I don't tremble when I go to the grocery store any longer (although it's still mostly once every three weeks) and I don't wear gloves.  I have become very aware of where I keep my hands, however, and that would be nowhere near my face until I've sanitized my hands to a fare-thee-well in the car.  I scrupulously keep my six feet distance as much as humanly possible, wear the mask with the filter for these trips, and am very quick to "rat out" the employees who insist on going around with their noses exposed.  The store manager is getting to know me pretty well.  

The restaurants are opening up, both inside and out, and more and more businesses are back at work.  I still canceled my haircut appointment for tomorrow and although my back muscles are screaming for attention I haven't booked a massage yet.  I will eventually, but not quite yet.  I listen to Anthony Fauci attentively and defend him on Face Book all the time.  I'm not sure why I bother, because those who are attacking him do not have the ears  or the common sense to listen to science.  And my friend and guide Dr. Fauci says that this is still Phase One.  And that if we act sensibly (i.e. masks, distancing, and thoroughly washing hands), we may be able to avoid a Phase Two, or at least to mitigate its effects.  I insist on having faith in tomorrow, and in the goodness and kindness of a great many (if not all) people.  

For now I'm working on walking more, on praying more, and on reading and watching uplifting books, videos and television shows. I watch the news mostly for the weather.  Beyond that I fear for my blood pressure. I'm working on calming down and on reaching out to my friends on a rotating list so no one feels neglected.  And this might (just might) be the weekend when we get take-out food for the first time since early March.  I will feel like a warrior princess!

Cope with it as you need to cope.  Do not let your friends push you.  And perhaps it's still a good idea to be just a little more cautious than even you think you need to be.

It has become clear that there is no end in sight to the current COVID-19 crisis.  Until there is a vaccine we are just going to have to learn how to deal with it.  For each of us that means something different.

The nice weather is not helping all that much.  People are going to the beaches and going to protests and visiting with family and eating out and basically pretending that it's all over. I understand the "why" and some of it is admirable, but the crisis is not over.  It's really, really not.

The masks, which are among our few weapons going into battle with this monster, seem to have become political.  Wearing a mask can make one a target of anger, for reasons which I genuinely don't understand.  I get nasty looks on the street.  When I have to go into a store (which I avoid as much as possible) I often have to remind employees or fellow patrons to cover their noses with their masks, in addition to covering their mouths.  The sheer annoyance and hatred which comes flooding  back at me would kill a lesser woman.

I have already admitted the thought that this may be the first Christmas of their lives when my sons can't come home to be with us.  Sucking it up for the long run, with an eye down the long road to when I may have a grandchild I want to meet (none on the way that I know of at the moment) is not a lot of consolation, but it is the mature, sensible, responsible reaction.  I will go so far as to call it an obligation.  To not wear a mask in public is to advertise the fact that you either don't know the science or just don't care about other people.  A lot of people don't like wearing seat-belts either, but we do it because it works.  There are "no shirt, no shoes, no service" signs on stores all over the place and we don't even think about it.  Why is this such a big deal?  Because we have been pitted against one another for the past three plus years by the Instigator In Chief who sets a horrible example. We can't afford to drink this Kool-Aid.  Republicans are not evil.  Democrats are not evil.  We can have differing views on how to approach things without turning on each other.  We are Americans.  All of us.

I don't like wearing a mask either.  It's not really comfortable, and they often slip.  But I'll do it until we have a vaccine because that's what we need to do.  And for those of you who don't like the masks, you're going to really hate the ventilators.  

Let's work together as one nation for a change.  We're out of practice, but it can still be done.  The soul of this country is hanging by a slender thread.  One thread can't withstand much.  But if you join many other threads to it, hanging on for dear life, you've got yourself a rope to hang onto.  We're all tired.  What we are not is "done".

I have not one idea of where to begin.  There are no words to cover times like this, probably because there never should be times like this.  We, the whole country, witnessed a murder on television.  There is no doubt about that.  Like many, and I hope most, I was not happy, or even relieved to see the officers involved arrested. Nothing about this whole situation should make anyone happy. I'm not sure what I was.  Surprised, maybe?  Because the murder of innocent black people has been going on for so long it was not a "given" that justice would be served.  Of course, it still hasn't been served.  That remains to be seen.  But at least there is the semblance by those in authority that Mr. Floyd's life mattered.  How much it mattered is becoming more obvious each day.

Those who took advantage of the legitimate protests to loot, and destroy, and fill their own pockets (and they were both black and white) damaged but did not destroy the message.  Violence is not the answer.  It never has been and it never will be.  But I can certainly understand the rage, or I can say that I will do my best to understand the rage.  No one who hasn't felt the weight of decades or centuries of daily discrimination in big and small ways can begin to really understand.

Stupidly, I who was in high school during the 60's and remember well the death of Dr. King and so many others, thought we had made so much progress since then.  People who had never changed would make jokes about "having to be politically correct" and what an annoyance that was, but they wouldn't dare come out and speak of the hatred that was in their hearts for anyone who didn't mirror back their own image.  Any difference was seen as a challenge, an attack on who they were and what they thought.  There were repercussions for saying what they really felt.

Then there was a change in tone.  White Supremacy was a "thing" again.  And African Americans were not the only targets.  Suddenly it seemed as though we had gone back 50 or 150 years, and Jews and Asians and Latinos, and anyone who was immediately identifiable as "not one of them" also had reason to be afraid.  The hatred between races, between political parties, between the US and other countries has been exhausting sane people for too long.  Enough already.  We've had enough.  We've had so much, people of every color  and party and religion are willing to come out and march in the middle of a pandemic to express their grief and rage and hunger for justice.  I wish they'd all worn their masks, but that's another essay.  This has to stop.  Now and forever.

There is no "bright side" in any of this.  My heart aches for Mr. Floyd's family, and for my African-American friends who are not the least bit surprised by any of this.  I called several the other day and had nothing to say except "I love you".  That's all I had to offer.  I don't know what it's like to live with this fear, this knowledge of being hated for no reason, every day of your life.  How could I?  But  I am hopeful, seeing the depth of the pain and disgust we are feeling these days, that many more people will at least be making more of an attempt.  Donate to social justice groups.  Donate to Black Lives Matter, or anyone you like, to help level the playing field.  Do some homework on black history, and not just in February.  Read.  Learn. Help.  And for the love of God and of one another, VOTE.  That's how we can begin to change this.  That's how we can honor George Floyd.

It was confusing enough before.  Then there was a holiday in the middle of it all.  And they gave us half a day on Friday.  I was glad they sent out an e-mail to inform us of their largess, because otherwise I wouldn't have had a clue.  I don't know about you, but these days I don't know if it's Tuesday or Christmas.

We were just informed that our working at home will continue until at least the 6th of July and quite possibly throughout the summer.  After that, we're not really sure.  I never thought I'd miss structure.  I'm liking getting up two hours later than I usually do, but outside of that it's just getting weird.  While I actually am busy from 8:30 to 5:30 most days, the rest of the day seems to evaporate.  All those things I thought I would get to when I had the time remain undone.  I guess time wasn't the problem.  I just don't want to do them.

Cooking is not a real challenge.  We go shopping roughly once every three weeks, trying to keep away from the virus as much as possible.  We don't even get take-out.  Not so much as a pizza. Luckily, Himself likes to cook and he's wonderful at it, and although it will never be listed as a "hobby" in my resume, I'm getting better at it than I used to be (faint praise at best).  There would be things to do if I made myself do them.  I have a piano, and trust me, I really should practice because I am horrible at it.  I like to read, but I am astounded at how little I have read in the last three months.  After two pages my head nods and that's the end of that.  I spend too much time on Facebook, but even that is getting boring.  I feel like an envelope without an address and I don't know what to do with myself.

After last week's entry on the wonderfulness of the written word I opened my mailbox today and found a Christmas card from a dear friend.  It said "Merry May Christmas".  She knows I light the tree every night just to solidify my reputation as the neighborhood "character."  My pep talks are getting less and less believable, even the ones I give myself.  

Well, confusion or not, here we are.  COVID-19 is not done with us by a long shot.  Many people are dropping their guard because the weather is good or the boredom is intolerable, or I don't know why.  We're not ready to do that.  We can't afford to take off the masks and run to the beach, and I know that.  So I won't, because I am a person who cares about other people, and I'm also not quite through doing what I have planned here on the Blue Marble.  No, I don't know what it is, but I know I'm not done.  So out of my concern for myself and for you I will stop whining and continue to exercise caution, wash my hands, stop touching my face, wear my mask, light a candle in front of a picture of Tony Fauci and hang on.  It's a fascinating time to be alive.  The books after this will be interesting.  I just hope I can stay awake long enough to read one.

I was planning on a discussion of the upcoming holiday weekend (What's a "holiday"?) but when I tried to sign in everything had changed since Saturday.  The sign in is different.  The "interface" is different.  I don't like different.  I never have. For the last 45 minutes I have been doing a "live chat" with about six different people, located God only knows where, who have been trying to help me get onto this page. My blood pressure, never good, is getting worse by the minute.

It occurs to me how completely dependent I (we?) have become on technology.  I still write a letter once in a great while and stick a stamp in the corner. I did that the other day when I came across a friend's name in my prayers and realized I didn't have a phone number for him.  Yesterday I got a return card with a little note inside.  My first thought was "I know that handwriting!" and it was a nice, intimate feeling.  My second thought was how many people I care about whose handwriting I have never seen.  It made me sad.

My older son loves to cook and also loves his grandfather (as do we all).  For his Christmas present a few years ago I had my father-in-law write out the recipe for pancakes my kids had been helping him with since they had to stand on a chair to stir the batter.  I put it in a frame and it is hanging in his room to this day.  This year it was a hand-written copy for Papa's squash pie which is a family staple.  That one is in a frame and on top of the piano, but pictures have been taken and are frequently consulted when he needs to throw something together for a party in San Francisco.  The actual framed copies are treasures for him.  I found a recipe one of my teachers gave me when I got my first apartment.  Everyone seems to be digging deeply through piles of memories as we spend the pandemic tidying up.  The sight of Rosemary's handwriting warmed my heart and made me both feel her presence and intensely miss her at the same time.  No one has ever put a blue ribbon around a pile of e-mails.

So although I seem to have temporarily stumbled into the section of the site where I needed to be in order to put this thought together, I have also stumbled onto the urge to write more letters and send more cards.  As we need to touch one another to feel connected, part of the reason this social distancing is so horribly difficult, we need tangible evidence during the dark hours which we can read and touch and commune with.  There is a special kind of magic in the token of love which is still there when the power fails.

Today was a lovely day and we have been cooped up for so long we decided to make a break for it.  Himself decided we needed to see the Herring Run.  It's only the next town over, and we arrived, wearing our very sensible, not to mention fashionable, masks.  No one was there when we arrived, but after about ten minutes a man (without a mask) rode up on the sidewalk on his bicycle.  As he walked towards me I gave him the straight arm and he walked around me.  Still, I wasn't happy to see him.  A few other people drifted in (with masks) about ten minutes after that, and although I'm sure they were lovely I was not in the mood to play "Social Distance Enforcer" so I suggested we leave.  And how long CAN you watch fish swim upstream on their way to their romantic encounters anyway?  Not that I don't admire their commitment, because they really had to work at making those jumps up the stairs.

I felt slightly wicked for being outside in the middle of the day (Saturdays feeling just like workdays now), and even though we followed all the rules suggested by Dr. Fauci, I was a bit nervous.  For my next adventure I decided it was time to brave a liquor store and get some very nice blue gin and a bit of tonic to keep it company.  I put the bottles in the trunk of the car and slathered my hands with antiseptic goo when I climbed  back inside.  Mission accomplished!  I have become such a daredevil.  Except when I was walking around a car in the parking lot a woman (unmasked) had her driver's window rolled down and made quite a production of coughing at me out the window.  I think this was her way of expressing her disapproval of my submitting to the authoritarian regime who won't let her go out with her friends to get her hair done or eat pizza at an inside table.  I didn't say what I was thinking, although I did mutter it under my breath inside my calico mask.  She was not nice, not considerate, and not very smart.

I don't like what's going on "out there".  People are getting bored with COVID-19, but COVID-19, unfortunately, is not getting bored with us.  The fact that we want it to end will not make it end.  It stinks, but there you are.  Not wearing a mask in public has become a dare and a confrontation.  It's the "I'll show YOU who's boss!" mentality and the nicer the weather gets, the worse the attitudes.  I won't be going to the beaches, or the park.  I won't be playing tennis (OK, I never really could, so that's not much of an example), or even sitting six feet away from friends in a circle to chat.  I'm not sure when I'll feel comfortable eating in a restaurant again.  It will be a while before I will even get take out, and we all know how I miss my Chinese food. We are entering the most dangerous period of the virus; the part where the novelty of living in a historic time is wearing thin but the danger is as big as ever.  Until there is a vaccine we will just have to show consideration and courtesy and caring for one another.  And quite frankly, that's not looking very likely.

So today, no talk of masks or gloves or curves or social distancing.  Today we talk of romance.

Twenty-nine years ago today, in a chapel overflowing with lilacs and friends, I married this guy.  He is calm, tall and diplomatic (all the things I'm not). I was in the third grade when he was born, and I was convinced he was "not my type".  He chased me for several years before the light went on in my head and I realized who I had here.  The Real Deal.  A certifiable gem.

We exchanged our vows, having absolutely no idea what we were in for.  We had never discussed how many children we wanted, or whether we would be strict or lenient parents.  We had no clue that we would face the deaths of both our mothers, my father, my younger brother, and several dear friends.  Or that the clergy would figure so largely in our lives.  My "priest collection" was part of the dowry.  When our two fabulous sons came along we would spend two weeks in Wales every summer in the rectory (or "presbytery") of a brilliant and absolutely delightfully wacky priest whom I met through my eighth grade history teacher. Our boys grew up comparing castles and discussing which one most resembled the one from Fisher Price.  (It was Conwy.) "Uncle Jim" would visit us in the fall sometimes.  Our younger son was named after him and also after the priest who married us.  They knew both priests as "Uncle __" and loved them like family.  Neither clergy nor Wales was in our initial life plan. Many wonderful things never get into the first draft.

Our kids turned out to be the kind of men I would want to have as friends if they weren't already stuck with me as their mother.  They are funny and smart and athletic, like their Dad, the "Marathon Man".  They are theatrical and poetic and irreverent, like me. The years in between then and now went by too quickly, the way they always do, and I miss Little League, music lessons, and high school productions that were beyond amazing.  I certainly miss having them around now, but it's their turn to fly.  We're the bow; they are the arrows.

But getting back to Himself, in no crystal ball I can remember was there any intimation of what we're going through now.  We've been alone together for 24/7 for the last two months and somehow we haven't had the tiniest spat.  He really is the best of company, for Pandemics and for life.  I cannot believe how incredibly lucky we have been for all these years.  We are "chalk and cheese" in many ways, i.e. as different as two humans can be, but somehow it still works.  And it works better all the time.

We now return you to our previously scheduled Pandemic.  Himself and I are going to open a bottle of wine, light some candles, and enjoy a lovely dinner for two while we block out the rest of the world.  Because in the midst of all this fear and sorrow, it is necessary for all of us to stop and feel good about something.  

As much as I try to sing the optimistic songs, and support my friends, and allay their fears, the truth of the matter is that I am as worried about all this as anyone else.  I've kept myself very busy with work and keeping in touch with people who live alone, with writing, reading, and playing WAY too many word games on my phone. I thought I was doing pretty well and being the good soldier until I took my blood pressure a couple of days ago. The top number was larger than my highest weight by at least thirty (and I'm talking about when I was  42 years old and nine months pregnant).  The lower number was a score I would have been proud to get on any high school test.  In short, the stress was announcing its sneaky presence in my body, even if my head was not giving it any room.  A change in medication will help the blood pressure. Now I need to learn to let all this into my conscious mind where I can see it and deal with it.

There are things to do.  I have given up walking because of people without masks, and horror stories on television, and, oh yeah, my own laziness.  That has to change and it can change.  I'll start with a 30 minute walk, rain, shine, or snow once a day.  I can build on it from there.  I can spend more time praying or meditating, or whatever calms me down.  I can get more sleep and eat healthier food.  None of this, of course, will make COVID-19 go away.  Some of it will protect me.  None of it will hurt me.  And if I plan to continue to bring any comfort and strength to my friends and family (and I do) I can't enter the battle unarmed.  

My silly Christmas tree is still lit every night and is still the talk of the neighborhood.  I have shared my brilliant idea of sewing buttons on my baseball hats (just above each ear) to make my masks hurt less.  And if I'm a little slower than usual getting back to those of you who reach out to me, don't worry.  I'm just following my own advice and spending some time taking better care of myself.  My mother was right. You can't pour from an empty kettle.  

So far it's been a very long, often scary, and usually (luckily) boring pandemic for us.  Himself lost his job, but he's had nibbles.  I work from home and keep quite busy.  To fill in the time Himself has created a sour dough starter.  Apparently this is a "thing" people do.  Personally, I would go to the bakery, but here it is in all its glory (well...that's not him, that's a stock photo, but the resemblance is uncanny and I suspect it must be a relative). 

People who get into this spend a lot of time feeding it, adding flour, and taking out big liquidy clumps to make room for further developed liquidy clumps.  The pint glass filled with pale bubbly gloop looks deceitfully like a milkshake.  While I haven't fallen for this ploy, it does make me miss milkshakes, and that makes me cranky.  People also give their starters names.  I'm not making this up.  I have better things to lie about, like my age and my weight and where both bars of Lindt Dark Chocolate went.  Our little friend is "Tim".  

I get several reports every day on how Tim is doing.  "He looks perky."  "He has more bubbles since I put the sous-vide in the water with him."  "He looks better today than yesterday.  Yesterday I thought I'd killed him."  We have such fun with our COVID roommate!   Happily, Himself has also become even more interested than usual in cooking truly amazing meals, all more adventurous than the boring "same old/same old" I am prone to cooking.  There is even a rumor that within the next couple of days we will have an actual loaf of sour dough bread.  I'll let you know how it turns out.

Meanwhile "Tim" continues to upstage me, and if you know anyone who has ever done theater (even dinky community theater) we do not enjoy being upstaged.  So watch it, Tim.  But I have to be nice to him.  Because somewhere in the back of my head is a gloopy mixture in a science fiction movie.  And it didn't turn out well.....not at all.

Don't get me wrong.  I actually do like bagpipe music.  The only problem I have is that one note, the one that never varies, which underlies all bagpipe music.  It doesn't matter what song they are playing.  The one note carries on like a mosquito visiting a darkened bedroom in the middle of a summer night. I love Scottish music, but after a while that one note is all I can hear.

I am tired of writing about COVID-19.  I'm tired of reading about it, thinking about it, worrying about it, and being bored by it.  But whatever other interesting thoughts try to fight their way through, they are blocked by that never-ending drone.  Understand that I do realize how incredibly lucky I am, or at least have been so far.  There are, of course, no guarantees that such luck will continue.  I am also well aware of all the people who are not as lucky, either losing loved ones, or trying to find a way to make ends meet with no income, or working on the many front lines of this war. I do not wish to complain.

Today I got the word that my company is extending their work at home policy to the end of May.  May!  It's been hard enough to keep people from erupting during this cold and rainy spring.  When the weather turns nice I am afraid the people will turn ugly.  And dangerously so.  Demonstrators are painting depressingly inhumane slogans on their cars such as "Your health is not more important than my liberties."  Really.   Keeping us away from one another is not a vendetta by the government.  It is a scientific way to insure that when we are allowed to reconnect we will all be together.  Otherwise, there will be many missing faces in that circle.  We have to stay calm and breathe through this.  We have to follow the rules and keep six feet away from one another and wear the masks.  For how much longer, you ask?  No one knows yet.  But they'll figure it out.  This cannot last forever, even though it often feels as though it will.  

I understand the frustration and longing and boredom and anger.  I do.  When my twenty-five year old son got sufficiently bored he went off for a sunny Sunday afternoon with his friends for six hours.  And for the first time in his quarter-century life I was truly enraged at him.  He was shocked to hear Mom drop the "F bomb" (more than once) while telling him how selfish and stupid he was.  I yelled it from six feet away while standing in front of his apartment, but he (and his neighbors) knew I was angry.  And frightened.  More than I ever remember being in my life.  He seems to have escaped unscathed, and we're "friends" again, but the incredible fragility of my world became achingly clear in that instant.  We are all in serious danger, and even though it's getting "old" we cannot afford to lose our focus. Not for one ill-advised minute.

I will confess that I'm finding it a bit frustrating that my favorite time of year has been "tainted" with all the fear and grieving and lack of companionship, but there we are.  The lilacs (which were our wedding flowers) are starting to bud outside my window, and the magnolia trees are showing off their glorious colors.   I've seen pink and white before, but never yellow.  I was very impressed.  There's a lot going on out there that I haven't noticed before.

Maybe this is part of the gift.  Since we're not going anywhere anyway, we have time to actually look at where we are.  Walks tend to be pensive and quiet.  Wearing a mask gets in the way of my inborn ability to chat until your ears fall off. My husband may consider that HIS part of the gift.  My brain, however, continues to whir like a helicopter blade, slicing from this thought to that one, from one image to another.  What, exactly, are we supposed to take away from this extraordinary period of our lives?  Surely, there must be something we are supposed to learn.

Himself has explored some very creative recipes, is starting a sourdough feed (whatever that is), and is growing apple seeds and basil in a small pot on the windowsill when he's not becoming the King of the Arduino (a computer thing).  But that's not what I mean.  Some friends are feeling as though they are "wasting" this given time when we should be learning to know ourselves better or master a foreign language or finally unclutter the house.  This time is too important for just that.
Not unlike the flowers which have been lying dormant all winter, waiting to explode in a joyous chaos to the eye and nose, we, in our enforced solitude, are growing and changing in ways we neither understand nor control.  We are the caterpillars, tucked into their cocoons, looking like withered pea pods, but hiding a secret and eventually erupting in glory.  The changes are slow, but they are unavoidable.  We are none of us who we were in March.

We are beginning to understand the importance of friendships, of voices, of touches.  We have been forced to find ways to distract and amuse ourselves without the usual noises and habits.  A great many people do not have the luxury of time to think.  They are dealing with small children, or having to go out to work amidst the crippling fears and real dangers.  They are fighting to keep us alive, whether we are sick or healthy.  Doctors and food handlers, truckers and trash collectors, postal workers and grocery clerks, they are all out there making it possible for us to keep going.  And while it's nice to tell them we appreciate their work, I find many have become resentful.  They do not think of themselves as "heroes" as much as "victims of the economy" and can you blame them?

Some of us will emerge at the end of this time having gained or lost weight.  Hairdressers will be in great demand as graying roots give away our little secrets. Some marriages will likely end, while others will be stronger and deeper than they have ever been. And those of us cut off from our religious services for all this time will have either worked out a stronger, if less formal, relationship with God, or we will choose to hold a grudge for whatever pain we have endured.  And of course, some of us will have to learn to live with the incredible ache of having lost someone whose value we didn't appreciate until they were gone forever.

The skies over much of poor Mother Earth have noticeably cleared with the shutting down of factories and the diminishing number of cars on the road.  From dolphins in the canals in Venice to cheeky deer and foxes prowling through city neighborhoods, there have been many changes.  And they just happen.  I don't think we are supposed to push them, but rather to feel them, to notice them. And somewhere down the line, to celebrate them.

Many people are growing weary of the quiet, of all this time to think.  Some are starting to protest and are willing to take life-threatening chances to push this period to an end and to re-start "normal" life.  This approach will not work.  We can't end this on our schedule.  We can't afford to get "sloppy" or complacent now.  The reason "it doesn't look so bad" is that so many of us have been following the rules.  If we rebel now we will certainly find out why the rules were there to begin with.  

Take a deep breath and be patient.  Let the changes happen, in nature, and in yourself.  We may not be mastering a new language or our musical ability, but oh, how we are growing!  

It is common knowledge that social distancing works.  That it saves lives.  Every scientist has confirmed that we should not be eating in restaurants, going to ball games, going to the beach.  The pandemic is far from over even if we've "flattened the curve."

I understand people are getting bored.  I'm bored.  But I'm not bored enough to risk my life.  I watch these protesters on the news as they confront the hospital staffs, as they block ambulances, as they wave their flags, and I don't get it.  People are worried about paychecks and certainly that is understandable, but the venom that is coming forth from these people is beyond me.  Some of the signs actually say it's OK to "sacrifice the fragile to save the economy".  Really? Have we gotten to that point?  Meanwhile, although flags are many, masks are few.  Do they realize or care that they are making themselves vulnerable?  Someone, and probably many someones, will contract this deadly disease by piling together to make their point.  The point, I guess, is that money is more important than people.  

And then there is the absolute hatred emanating from these crowds.  They are angry, but it is not clear at whom.  At the governors who are trying to save them from themselves? At the lack of freedom to carry on "life as usual"?  There IS no "life as usual".  What will it take to make them believe the science behind the regulations?  There are a lot of Trump MAGA hats in those crowds, which doesn't surprise me.  He tends to attract very angry people.  I wish he would stop them.  I wish he would speak rationally about how important it is to follow the directives of the CDC, how essential it is to let the hospital workers carry on with their incredibly difficult and draining work of saving lives. I don't think that's going to happen. After all, it's his fault we were unprepared in the first place.

Perhaps when they or someone they love falls victim to the virus they'll get it.  But I wish we could make them understand before that happens.

Has it really come to this? The "loss of our freedoms" is temporary.  What frightens me is that I think a lot of us have also lost our humanity.  And that appears to be permanent.

I've been thinking all week of how lucky I am.  I grew up in the top floor of a three-decker house in Boston and for the first fourteen years of my life we had no central heating, no rugs, one bathroom, five kids, and a father who went into WWII at 18 and probably suffered from PTSD for the rest of his life.  He sometimes exploded in rage, making my childhood less than idyllic.  It took me a long time to figure out it probably was out of his control, and it took longer to forgive him for what he really couldn't help.  I would dream of the day when I would have a "real house" with an upstairs, a fireplace, and a piano.

Staying home all this time for the last month has given me time to realize that I actually am "living the dream".  I don't play the piano well, but it's there, right next to the stone fireplace.  My husband, the gentle, calm soul whom I love, works upstairs, using our younger son's bedroom as his office, and while he's looking for work like so many others these days, I still have a job and sit in the rocker in front of the fireplace trying to keep up with the demands of being in the periphery of the health-care industry (paperwork side only).

May God forgive me, I have complained about boredom, or lack of variety of food, or missing visiting my friends for a meal and a cocktail, or how nervous I get going out to buy groceries.  A dear friend of mine posted something this morning which stopped me dead in my tracks.  She didn't write it, but whoever did deserves some sort of medal.  The author asked people to stop saying "We're all in the same boat."  We are NOT all in the same boat.  We are all in the same STORM.  My boat is very comfy.  I still have food, a job, my family, a roof over my head.  There are people out in tiny rowboats on this stormy sea, who have zero income coming in, who don't know how they will eat, or pay the light bill, or keep their apartment.  There are people out there who are in an abusive situation, and I remember what those look like.  The longer the tension builds the angrier people get. There are people trying to work full time from home and also teach their small, baffled children in the middle of this chaos. And there are all those on the front lines, bagging our groceries, selling us gas, filling our prescriptions, caring for our sick and dying.  Some are being incredibly brave and selfless, and many have absolutely no choice in the matter if they want to eat.

May God, who knows all about calming seas, calm this one, and may He give courage and comfort to all those in the smallest and most fragile boats.

Lately I often don't leave the house for days on end. Himself goes for a run almost every day, but I don't even enjoy walking the neighborhood, and when I do it's more of an "ought to" than a "want to".  Since tomorrow is trash day and they are beginning to pick up yard trash, I decided it was a good time to make a small dent in all the leaves under the front hedges which have been the refuge of squirrels, mice, birds, and I don't want to know what else for the whole winter.  There was fresh air and exercise and an audible sigh of relief from my neighbors with their manicured lawns.  I filled three bags and felt pretty good about it.  I'll fill more tomorrow.  Maybe.

I've also been toiling away inside on washing the winter clothes and the spring clothes, and finding out what really IS in that enormous pile in my bedroom (I'll let you know if I ever get to the bottom).  I have been tidying the linen closet and tossing expired prescriptions and cough syrups from the medicine chest.  Nothing is terribly obvious yet, but I am beginning to see a difference.  And it's mostly in my head.

I seem to be finding relief in order.  It's a catharsis to shovel out the Tupperware without the lids, or the socks without a mate, or the twelve wooden spoons when I might need three.  Eventually it will show to the naked eye, but for now it is enough that it is giving me a feeling of being in control of something at a time when absolutely nothing feels in control.  This, at least, is something I can do, something concrete and healthy and necessary on several levels.

I have often told my husband that if I ever got really sick he was to call Merry Maids and THEN 911 in that order.  Living in chaos is not fun.  It hasn't been fun in my physical space, and lately it's even less fun in my emotional space. It's daunting to try figure out how to manage the anxiety about the virus, and the economy, and the rapidly changing state of the world.  So I will do a little something positive each day, both to fill the time and to calm my spirit.  And as the saying goes, "How do you eat an elephant?....One bite at a time!"

This whole Covid-19 thing is endlessly rubbing me the wrong way.  So far at least, I haven't been more than unnerved and inconvenienced.  We have food. I have company.  We hear from our kids. I have friends who have lost relatives.  We've been lucky. But it rubs and rubs like a wet sock in a long race.  It's never off my mind.

Beyond the usual worry about who will catch it, and how the first responders, and everyone else who is out there making our daily lives possible, can keep going at this pace, there is a sadness attached to this.  Going for a walk has become an emotional challenge.  I wear my mask and endure the looks of those who think it's "overkill".  Hey, my degree is in French.  Anthony Fauci's is in medicine. I'll take his word for it.  I feel exposed in many ways when I'm out walking, and it is easier for me to stay at home.

We all wish we knew when this stage would end.  But no one does, so we don't know how to steel ourselves for the challenge of living in fear and doing without our comforts and our hugs.  My tears come quickly these days.  I think about the people I've lost in my life, brothers, parents, friends, and I have learned to make a space in my heart for their memories.  Over the years I've come to make peace with that and to carry them with me.  How do you feel the presence of the ones you love who are still here, but aren't really? Seeing them on Zoom is like watching a movie.  I see them, but they don't feel real.  Nothing does these days.

I was chatting with a friend of mine the other day (on Zoom) who asked if I was singing.  I hadn't realized that I'd stopped singing, in the shower, in church, around the house, everywhere.  Music is a great healer and I have cut myself off.   So I was listening to some Judy Collins songs on Amazon the other night and  heard for the first time a song written by Randy Newman.  It's called "Feels Like Home".  One of the phrases is "If you knew how much this moment means to me, and how I've longed for your touch.  If you knew how happy you are making me.  I never thought I'd love anyone so much."  It's been playing on a loop in my head ever since.  This is how I will feel when I can hug my sons again. And I am looking forward to embarrassing them in public with my tears.

I watched the Easter Sunday Mass on my computer this morning.  Easter has always  been a very important holiday to me.  The Resurrection has always been such a powerful reaffirmation of all my values and my beliefs.  It has also been my comfort.  I will confess, however, that watching it onscreen and not being able to be present was no comfort at all.  In fact, it hurt.

I hate the distance required to keep my children safe, but I understand it and I enforce it.  Talking to them on WhatsApp or Google Chat, or whatever it is, helps, but doesn't heal the pain of separation.  Being cut off from the Church (physically, that is) is a  very different thing.  Maybe it's because I can hear their voices.  I don't know. 

What is there that makes me long to kneel in a church?  I am not very particular about which one, I just want to be there in person. It's the only place I stop pretending to be stronger than I am.  All pretense falls away and I crawl up onto God's lap and feel His welcoming arms around me.  I'm a child again, not the gray haired lady who gets to shop early at the supermarket.  There are no long poetic prayers. Sometimes I don't say a thing to Him.  I just sit there in the silence and let Him love me, understand me, forgive me.  All the hurts of my life come with me, the deaths, the disappointments, and the fears.  I also bring all the joy, all the gratitude for getting me this far, for answering some prayers "no" when He knew better, for sending me the most amazing people to guide me and love me and fascinate me and to keep me company on my journey.

I was thinking yesterday how Holy Saturday, which to me has always been a "place holder" in Holy Week, is a good analogy for what we're going through with Covid-19.  We're cut off from one another, disappointed, lonely, afraid, and unsure.  I wonder what it was like for Jesus. For the Apostles the dream was over.  The leader was gone.  I can't imagine what Jesus must have been thinking wherever He was.  A tomb is a strange place to be thinking "Whew, I made it!" but He did.  He finished what He came to do.  And when He appeared to his followers He warned them away from Him.  Maybe He was still figuring it all out for Himself and needed some space.  The original social distancing.

When we emerge from our "tombs" I think it will take us a while to think about how to handle it.  We will look at things with new eyes.  We will care about different things.  Hugs will be more important than they have seemed in years.  For a while every shared meal with a friend will feel like a sacrament.  We'll get jaded again, of course.  That's what humans do.  But there will be a transitional time similar to when a blind person sees for the first time.  Or when a person with profound hearing loss gets a cochlear implant and can hear, and feel part of the world again.  They are aware of the miracle that is life.

Meanwhile, we wait in the tomb for a while longer, pondering the big questions. This stage will end, too.  I will take for granted the joy of sitting in the second row, aisle seat.  But not for a long time.

Happy Easter.  He is still risen.  And He is still here with us. Alleluia.

There was thunder and lightning in Boston today.  In April.  In Holy Week.  In Passover. In the middle of the afternoon.  
A dear friend of mine, when he got bored with a conversation (which often occurred) would change the topic by saying in a very loud voice, "My, my WHAT a lot of weather we're having!  Great gobs of it!"  I find I'm getting to that point with the topic of the pandemic.  It's very far from over, and while different places around the world and around this country are facing their "peaks" at different times, ours is due about a week from Saturday.  So not only is it not over, but it hasn't really landed with both feet yet.  Still, surely there is something else to discuss.

How shallow of me, I know.  I need a break from the stress and the paranoia, however justified they might be.  This Saturday will mark one month since I've been in my office.  The work hasn't ceased, in fact it's being heaped on and I'm busy all day long.  We have enough food in the house to resist the urge to go shopping for at least one more week if not two.  Going to the shops just to have something to do is not only irresponsible, it's out and out stupid.  There must be a book around to read, or something to write, or a game to play, or a show to watch.  I'm not budging for quite a while yet.  Even my walks outside have become fewer and further between.  It's not that fear keeps me inside.  I'm just bored.  So let's talk weather.
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While the daffodils and forsythia are painting the town yellow out there, the majority of trees haven't begun to put any effort into popping out a leaf.  My lilac tree is making a fairly valiant attempt, but the maples and elms and oaks around here are just slackers.  And I'm cold.  No matter how many sweaters or fleeces I pile on I cannot seem to get warm. And I want a cookie.  Or several.
Even Mother Nature can't keep track of the time anymore.  What day is it?  What month is it?  Unless you're getting out into it I suppose it doesn't matter much.
We have two sad folding chairs which we plunk onto the front porch when the weather is warm.  I usually read or write and Himself has his laptop open and humming.  But we can't even do that yet because it isn't warm enough.  Then there's the thunder and lightning and rain, so much rain. But it will get warmer.  And we will get out there. You will, too.  And after every good storm I expect a rainbow! Peace out.

I am not afraid of mice. There's a picture of one inside a flower which is kind of cute. Mickey and Minnie are fine.  But when I am housebound due to circumstances beyond my control and I finally find out that the odd smell from the corner cabinet is what is left of a furry friend who went for a midnight snack (apparently quite a while ago), I have to draw the line.  I did not scream.  I also did not remove it.  Himself not only cooks like a dream, but he indulges this one seriously strange revulsion of mine.  I have no idea what shape our former tenant had.  I wouldn't look. Suffice it to say that "Elvis has left the building."

So in the middle of the virus of the century I am surprised at how much time I'm thinking about the poor little thing. Nature is looking better and better the longer I can't go out and play in it, and this was, after all, one of God's little creatures.  We don't own pets (although at the moment a cat wouldn't be a bad idea) because I've always thought it was presumptuous.  What right do I have to "own" a breathing, walking, living thing?  Or a flying one, either?  Cats are different.   No one owns a cat.  They just let you feed them and clean their litter.  And let's face it, fish are just boring.  You can call them forever; they will never come.

Life is life.  It's all precious and fascinating and brief. Even this tiny, smelly little mouse who decided to invade my space was just trying to get along.  We're all trying to just get along.  Everyone wants to be loved. Everyone wants to fit in. Everyone wants to feel special. Everyone wants to be seen. Everyone wants to be happy.  Between self-absorption and cell phones, many people have become invisible.  This isolation we are all going through is painful, but it is also fascinating. Our isolation has just become more obvious. With all this time on our hands (those who aren't out on the front lines making life possible for the rest of us, that is) everything is coming under scrutiny.  What makes life special?  What makes it worth living?  Who makes it worth living?  What happens when we stop living?  

The global pandemic, more than anything I can remember, has truly made me feel as though we are all just citizens of Earth.  Just going for a ride on the Big Blue Marble.  It's getting very "Zen" in my head.  I am beginning to feel the connected-ness of every country, every creature, even my stinky little mouse.  We're all pieces of the puzzle with jagged little edges and inscrutable colors and shapes, but somehow we are meant to fit together.  There is no reason why we shouldn't.

 I can't look at the big death tolls.  They're too scary.  Thank you for giving me a microcosm  to contemplate.    RIP, Mousie. And sorry about the trap.

Apparently, the darkest days of Covid-19 have finally arrived.  The numbers of people afflicted are multiplying exponentially.  After having this creepy monster slinking across continents to get here, it seems to be doing its Godzilla impersonation and stomping on whatever and whoever it can find and sweeping the rest away with a scaly tail. 

I am not a good waiter.  Among my many charming attributes almost no one ever mentions "patience".  But throw me into a battle and I'm the one you want at your elbow.  Once stuff gets real I develop an eerie calm and the pit-bull comes out. I'm short, chubby, and getting old, but I'm not afraid anymore.  

I'm trying to control my outrage at the actions of Mr. Trump, advocating using drugs when he has absolutely no medical background, and in complete ignorance of the medical implications of what he's advising.  There are a great many people who are showing what they are really made of.  It's not all flattering.  The religious leaders ignoring the self-distancing directives, the millionaires too eager to get back to business, even if it means sacrificing a large number of senior citizens, the leaders of the states who STILL haven't ordered quarantine, or who have forced people to endanger their lives to vote, they all have shown what matters to them.  It's money. It's always money.

However, there are so many examples of people riding to the rescue, from Governor Cuomo to Lady GaGa, from the musicians and artists to the grocery clerks, from the exhausted medical personnel to Bob Kraft and the Patriots' private jet flying in supplies, these are the people who are worth watching.  There are also people who will need to be dealt with. I hope we as a country will not forget the wonderful things some people have done through this, the sacrifices made and the courage shown.  I also hope no one will forget the cowardice, avarice, and ignorance exhibited by so many politicians.  I'm not afraid of dying anymore.  I know I have a mission.  I'll crawl to the polls in November to vote them out if necessary.  I hope you will too.  

This picture of Jesus, Self-isolating with the Disciples "Zooming" in, has been making the rounds.  It's clever, and funny, but it's also so sad.  This Passover Seder, which Christians call "The Last Supper", became the foundation for the Mass and is a huge deal for Christians, as Passover is a huge deal for Jews.  Jesus, as almost everyone knows, was a Jew. He followed the laws of Moses.  He remembered with his friends the liberation of the Jewish people who fled the land of the Pharaoh after their years of harsh treatment. He celebrated their relationship with God.  

Christians believe His own relationship with God was a bit more complicated, and we remember all this week what followed; the betrayal by Judas Iscariot, the "trial" before Pontius Pilate, the  gory crucifixion on Good Friday and the power and joy of the Resurrection on Easter Sunday.  Our ancestors (Jewish and Christian) celebrated the coming of Spring, the coming of hope, and, in the case of Christians, the coming of the Messiah.

We are called upon this year to celebrate in a very different way. Chocolate bunnies and Easter egg hunts, new clothes for services, and dinner with the whole gathered family are not going to happen.
Neither are Seder plates, with bitter herbs, salt water, and lamb shanks. We are trying to save our own lives and the lives of others by staying apart, by facing the loneliness and the anxiety and scariest of all, ourselves.  While the First Responders, the grocery clerks, the postal carriers, the gas station attendants, and so many others risk their safety to provide healing and sustenance, many of us are "stranded" at home (if we're lucky enough to have one) with more time on our hands than we have had since we were children on summer vacation.  We have an awful lot of time to think.

I'm missing the ability to go to church in person.  Watching Mass on my computer depresses me in ways even I don't understand.  I'm also missing the chance to sing "Dayenu" at my friends' seder, and to read from the Haggadah.  I'm missing connecting with everyone.  I am trying very hard to look at this quiet time as an opportunity to reflect on what and who we are. I refuse to think about the stock market or the fact that my husband has been laid off.  I am avoiding political divisions and concentrating on the humanity we share.  We are all here on Earth for such a short time.  And while we are here we are citizens of "The Big Blue Marble".  The things that we have in common far outnumber the things that divide us. Then there's my relationship with God.  Where do I encounter Her/Him in my life?  How much time do I spend connecting there?

This is a scary and lonely time for all of us.  It can also be a time for growth and compassion, understanding and stretching beyond our comfort zones. It can be a great gift if we open our hearts and our minds to it.  Chag Pesach sameach, and a Blessed Easter.  Next year, together!