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Small is Beautiful?

Small is Beautiful?

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It was a different kind of Academy Awards ceremony last night, but I still watched the whole thing. Set in L.A.’s Union Station, the nominees and their guests sat around little tables, as if at a supper club. All of which made the event seem warmer and more intimate, though admittedly strange, without the usual glitter and fuss.

With no host and no big song-and-dance numbers, the event focused our attention on what matters most: the awards themselves and the people who receive them. Though a few recipients went on too long and there were the usual political diatribes, I enjoyed the relatively unscripted moments. You could tell people were speaking to a small audience (only 170) from the way they talked. 

By now most of us are ready for a return to normalcy, watching movies on the big screen — something Frances McDormand urged us to do when she accepted her Best Actress award — and maybe even the four-hour-long extravaganza every year that honors those films. But the performances at this year’s Oscars make a case for small over large. 

(Info booth at Union Station, pre-transformation. Photo: Wikipedia Peetlesnumber1 

Just Marveilng

Just Marveilng

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You know the days when they come, days that stand out from others not because they’ve been set aside as holidays but because they have not. They’re naturally delicious from beginning to end with no agenda other than spending time with the people you love. 

I just had one of those days. Apart from an hour or two in the morning when I finished up work tasks from yesterday, there was nothing on the calendar but a quick trip to the store. Otherwise, it was a block of time reserved for hanging out and staying in. 

By 11 a.m. the babies and their mamas arrived to spend time with their aunt and sister.  It was loud and chaotic, with gurgles and shrieks from the infants and laughter and conversation from the adults I still call “the girls.” 

Copper, revved by the unaccustomed activity, patrolled the gathering like a shark in the water, looking for plump infant toes to nibble. We managed to contain him, but barely.

Now it’s evening. The babies are at home in bed, their parents are pooped, and we … are just marveling at it all. 

(“Sock letters” welcoming Celia home.)

Reunions Now

Reunions Now

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I haven’t hugged our youngest daughter since August, when she flew back to Seattle. That’s one Thanksgiving, one Christmas, one Easter, several birthdays (including hers) and one new baby in the family ago. It other words, an eternity. 

As I look forward to our reunion today, I think about others taking place across the country, families and friends long separated by work and pandemic restrictions. 

Just yesterday, dear friends from college texted me a picture of their gathering. Was it my imagination, or were their smiles brighter than they would have been had this not been a post-Covid meeting? Doesn’t everything seem a little more significant now? And if it doesn’t, shouldn’t it?

Easter Saturday

Easter Saturday

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I write today as the eggs are boiling, before the bulk of the cleaning starts and the cake goes in the oven. There will be 16 people here tomorrow. That’s a big gathering when the number is usually two. 

And it’s a big moment in this slow return to normalcy. It’s not exactly like the opening of the gates in Oran from Camus’ The Plague. Our experience with disease has been longer but less acute than what those poor fictional souls experienced. 

But it’s been enough, thank you very much. And our hope that this might be the beginning of the end will make tomorrow’s alleluias ring out all the louder. 

Popped Blossoms

Popped Blossoms

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Well, that was interesting. The month of March, I mean. It seemed to last forever.  There was plenty of wind and rain, the University of Kentucky was not in the NCAA Men’s Basketball Championship, and I was under the weather on St. Patty’s Day. 

But it’s a new month, the cherry blossoms have popped (though I can’t think of a way to see them unless I ride downtown on Metro at some way-too-early hour) and with more vaccines being given every day, life seems to hold the promise of normalcy in the months to come. 

Then again, this is April Fool’s Day! 

(Photo of popped corn in honor of popped cherry blossoms.)

20,001

20,001

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Over the weekend I learned that the daughter of a former neighbor, a man I watched grow up, was gunned down in broad daylight just steps away from her middle school outside Richmond, Virginia. 

This was not one of the mass murders we’ve experienced recently; there was “only” one victim: a young girl who brought happiness and light to all who knew her, who was stepping up to take more responsibility on her family’s farm, who had all of life ahead of her. 

Police have the alleged assailant, also a juvenile, in custody, but have released no further information. We can be sure, though, that his life will also never be the same, nor will his family’s. 

I think of the unimaginable pain this murder has caused, and of all who are grieving for this young girl — hundreds if not thousands of people — and multiply it by 20,000, the number of people who lost their lives to gun violence in 2020. 

I know it’s not only about guns. But it’s a lot about guns. How many random shootings and mass murders will it take? How many more lost lives?

P.S. After posting this early yesterday morning, I read about another young life tragically ended. And the next day, there was this. 

An Irish Walk

An Irish Walk

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There were cobblestones and spongy soil, rocky fields and urban trails. The walks of Ireland took us from Giant’s Causeway to Trinity College — and many places in between.

One of my favorites, which I’m reliving today, took us from central Kinsale to Charles Fort. It was a sun-dappled paved path with jaw-dropping views of the harbor that winked at us every now and then. 

Seeing the landscape up close, at walking pace, has kept it close to my heart. The memories of that walk are embedded there, to be pulled out at special times — like St. Patrick’s Day — to remember and to cherish.

Ash-Free

Ash-Free

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It’s an ash-free Ash Wednesday here. Instead of spiritual reading, I’ve been trying to change a password and perform various other online acrobatics with all the attendant trials of patience that requires. 

Perhaps there is such a thing as a prayer for online patience. There are indeed prayers for calmness in the storm and for patience in times of confusion. I don’t see exactly what I’m looking for, though, something like this:

Oh Lord, I know that in the vastness of your creation there are answers to the technological problems that beset me. Fill me with calmness and understanding as I yet again attempt to _____(change my password/check on my order/request information/insert need here). I know that these bits and bytes are but a small part of the marvelous world we inhabit. Help me to put them in perspective as I live a full and meaningful life in the real world. Amen.

Floating

Floating

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It’s President’s Day, a celebration conflation closer this year to Lincoln’s day (February 12) than to Washington’s (February 22). 

Up until last year it was a holiday on my work calendar. This year it has been nixed to give us one floating holiday, which we can use to celebrate a birthday, religious observance or whatever we want. 

I decided to take my floating holiday today, since I’d already been planning on it and since it is, for me, more of a “Beat the Winter Doldrums Day” than anything else. 

With one ice storm melting away and another gearing up for later in the week, I plan to hunker down, to read, write and organize (not too much of the latter, I bet). In other words… to float.

The Shot

The Shot

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In the end it’s no more than a pinprick, but into it has gone the world’s hope and desperation — the former more than the latter, I believe, but you never know. 

The second will come four weeks from now, and then … what? A sort of freedom, to be sure. But still no old life as we know it. 

Maybe in time, when enough of us have had what I was lucky enough to get yesterday, and that due not just to science and ingenuity but also to the kindness of a friend, who alerted me to the arrival of vaccines in a hospital where I had not checked for them. 

It was a longer drive than I would have liked … but it was worth it.