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Author: Anne Cassidy

Going Nowhere

Going Nowhere

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I’ve considered and forgotten several post ideas as this rainy day makes me sleepy. So far I’ve spent way too much time reading the newspaper. I’ve looked up recipes, made vague notes about what ingredients I would need to make them, then decided salad for dinner again isn’t such a bad idea.

I’ve answered emails, tidied the kitchen, refreshed the cut flowers, written in my journal, eaten yogurt and strawberries, and brought my crocheting downstairs — though I’ve yet to touch the hook.

I tell myself that when one is normally a tightly scheduled person, it’s healthy to do nothing for a few hours  — but of course, I don’t believe it.

Outside, the world is green and dripping. I was out in it early, committing to the walk before I knew it was drizzling and not wanting to miss the birds calling to each other at daybreak. My shoes won’t dry for hours.  But that’s just fine — I’m not going anywhere.

(A rare photo of the house without cars in the driveway.) 

Ascension Thursday

Ascension Thursday

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Today is Ascension Thursday, a liturgical marker that I often forget but maybe, because of the strange way I’m “going to church” now (which is online), I noticed.

I heard an excellent sermon on this topic last Sunday, one that talked about the way Jesus leaves his disciples before he ascends to heaven. He says “I will not leave you orphans,” explained the minister, who zeroed in the use of that word “orphan” with all the abandonment and grief it entails. She shared stories about the loss of her own parents, who died 11 months apart, in particular the passing of her father, whose death was the most difficult and yet also the most spiritual.

What the minister emphasized is that Jesus wasn’t leaving his followers without a helper. He was sending them the Paraclete, which in this case means the Holy Spirit, part of the Triune God. The word paraclete, lower case, means “advocate” or “helper.”

I like to think about this day, then, not as one of clouds and trumpets, or of loss and dismay. But rather one in which assistance is foretold, is part of the package. In Greek the word “paracletos” means “one who comes alongside.” What a lovely way to look at spiritual help.

Rough Winds

Rough Winds

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Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May 
And summer’s lease hath far too short a date.

So go the third and fourth lines of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18, which begins with the lines “Shall I compare thee to a summer day?/Thou art more lovely and more temperate.”

They’ve been in my mind lately as the brisk winds continue to blow and the gray clouds continue to blot out the sun. It’s been one of the coolest springs on record, and is beginning to bother me — not that there’s a thing I can do about it except try to see the positive side.

And that brings me back to Shakespeare. Because the buds, though shaken, are staying buds longer than usual. They aren’t flowering and fading as quickly as they would if our temperatures were topping 80 each day.

A cool spring may try the patience of one who loves warm weather, but it will, for a few days at least, keep time at bay.

(If the bottom photo looks blurry, it’s because the wind was indeed shaking these fully bloomed knockout roses.) 

Running Start

Running Start

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Animals, in their vigor and innocence and lack of self-regard, often hold some deep and true lessons for humans. I was thinking of this today while watching Copper climb the deck stairs. He doesn’t do them slowly and gradually, but quickly — and only with a running start.

There must be a physiological reason for running starts, something in the motion of muscles and mobility of tendons. But the psychological component is large, too.

There are the running starts that precede a dive off the high board, the quick steps that introduce a tumbling run — and then there is that scene I’ve always loved from “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid,” where Paul Newman and Robert Redford dash and then leap off the cliff into the roaring stream below to escape their pursuers.

The running start is not always easy — I can see Copper pause at the stairs, as if to gather his energy before the effort. But there is much to be said for it: how it screws up our courage, helps us hew to our original intentions, how it commits us to action.

Roaming Free

Roaming Free

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What happens when a post idea flies through my head while I’m trying to participate in the meditation  program my office offers at 9 a.m. most mornings?

It flies through, that’s all … and is lost to posterity.

Meditation means clearing the mind of not only worry and clutter and pointless rumination, but also of the ideas that are sometimes worth developing in this blog.

There’s always a chance that this idea will reappear later, of course. Ideas do that sometimes. But there’s a greater chance that it’s never coming back. And that’s all right. Harvesting thoughts can be a tiring business. Better sometimes to let the mind roam free.

Sunday’s Rhyme

Sunday’s Rhyme

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Monday last was frantic-paced
Tuesday slowed, was still a race.
Wednesday came and went so fast
And Thursday zoomed by in a blast.
Friday to-dos meant more working.
Saturday had no time for shirking.
So now we have the Sabbath Day…
I hope to slow down, fi-nal-lay!
(With apologies to the nursery rhyme.)  
Speeding Along

Speeding Along

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There are fewer cars on the road than this time three months ago — but more on the road than this time last week. And many of the automobiles out there are apparently speeding.

Not to condone these scofflaws but I can understand the lure of empty pavement. It’s such a departure from our normal state of affairs (see above).

I found myself putting the pedal to the metal a few weeks ago when driving down an almost empty Dulles Toll Road. But I slowed down after I spotted this sign:

“Speeding tickets available ahead.”

At least the police had a sense of humor about it.

Newest Room

Newest Room

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I write today from the newest room in the house, the one that is added every year about this time (usually earlier, since we’ve had such a chilly spring). That room is … the deck.

It comes in especially handy now, as the other rooms are, like the poet said, “too much with us.” I work in them, eat in them and sometimes (when napping, which is rarely) even sleep in them. In short, I am almost always either in the living room or the kitchen, and since these rooms have no door to separate them, this can become a bit monotonous.

Enter the deck, which runs two-thirds the width of the house and which has two distinct divisions of its own — the sunny section, where there’s a chaise lounge, a grill and two wooden rocking chairs; and the shady section, where there’s a glass-topped wrought-iron table and four chairs.

I’m sitting in the shady section now, having wiped the evening’s moisture off the glass and parked myself and my two computers at the far end, where I can look over the yard, the garden and the Siberian iris. It’s good to be back.

After This?

After This?

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Sometimes I try to envision what our lives will be like coming out of this. I believe that eventually, once there’s a vaccine and treatment, they will be somewhat the same. More chastened, more grateful, I hope, but similar to what we used to have. People are social creatures, after all. We want to be together.

But until we feel safe doing that, we will wear masks and stay mostly to ourselves. This is a poverty. It’s a shrinking of our lives rather than an expansion of them. It’s hard to stay aware of all the possibilities the world holds while we’re in this cloistered state.


The life we had is a world I miss every day; we all do. A world we lost so quickly, almost with the hair-trigger quickness of a bomb exploding. All it took was a wily, tenacious pathogen.

What I hope most of all is that this pathogen, like so much else, doesn’t succeed in pushing us farther apart, but instead pulls us together. All evidence suggests that it will split us up. But I’m an optimist; I like to believe that common sense and human kindness will prevail.

Fresh Flowers!

Fresh Flowers!

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For Mother’s Day, a harvest of cut flowers. What is it about them? What a joy they are, what an extravagance — a snapshot in time, catching beauty on the fly.

With several bouquets, I’ve been able to scatter them about the house, so that no matter where I look, I see lilies or freesia or mums or tulips, all in pinks and purples and spots of orange.

I know they won’t last, so all the more reason to celebrate them here.