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Things Not Seen

Things Not Seen

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“Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” 

This quotation popped into my head this morning. I had to google it to learn that it’s from the Old Testament, not the New (Hebrews 11:1). But surely what it expresses is perfect for a day when Christians around the world celebrate the resurrection of Jesus Christ.

We are still in the tomb. Four weeks into quarantine, with a death toll that’s just put the U.S. into first place in a tally we didn’t want to win, it’s easy to feel hopeless.

But — I remind myself on an early walk, looking at the purposeful new leaves of the dogwood — it’s when we’re in the tomb that we need hope the most.

 

Adventure Stories

Adventure Stories

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Maybe it’s because I just read a book about exploring caves and catacombs, but I’m finding myself drawn to adventure stories these days.

Which is why Into Thin Air is on my nightstand and in my backpack. Jon Krakauer’s tale of the 1996 climbing disaster on Mount Everest is nothing if not gripping. Even though I’ve read it before, even though it’s dedicated to the ones who didn’t make it, I’m still pulled along by the power of a good story well told.

Adventure books are good for pandemics, inspiring in their accounts of adversity overcome. Some day, people will be writing stories about this time. They will know by then how the virus behaves, how long it lasts on surfaces and why (thank God) it spares children. They will know how we handled it here in this country, what we did wrong and what we did right. They will know how it all turns out. But for us, right here, right now, the adventure story is still being written.

Counterbalance

Counterbalance

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The coronavirus has arrived along with the crocus and the daffodils, the sweet woodruff and forsythia. It’s arrived along with the balmy breezes and the occasional rumble of thunder.

I’m wondering if there’s a connection between the two, the virus and the early spring, and have decided that only in the most general, humans-messing-things-up kind of way. That and how they both heighten the disjointedness I’m feeling these days, a sense that the world is out of kilter.

Still, the one can be a balm for the other. Pulling into my driveway last night, I glimpsed the blossoms that popped during the 70-degree day and felt all tingly and alive again. Yes, I still rushed in to wash my hands — but then I rushed back out again to snap this photo.

ISO Hand Sanitizer

ISO Hand Sanitizer

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I’ve read enough psychology to understand when my actions are simply seeking a little control over a situation that’s beyond any. And for me, these last few days, it all boils down to hand sanitizer.

No matter that I’ve been washing my hands like a fiend. I want hand sanitizer to carry in my purse and backpack. I want to know I can slip a glob of it in my hands when soap and water aren’t available.

Of course, as anyone who’s been shopping knows, there’s no hand sanitizer to be found. Not in pharmacies or grocery stores or anywhere else. When I enter a store and find no hand sanitizer, I buy paper towels or bleach or something else. This is getting expensive!

Which is why I’m glad to hear you can make the stuff. Combine two-thirds cup alcohol with one-third cup aloe vera gel. Of course, you must have aloe vera gel, which strangely enough, I do. It was buried in a bag in the garage where I keep sunscreen and insect repellent.

I still feel out of control … but not quite so much.


(Photo chosen for serenity enhancement)

Not So Super Tuesday

Not So Super Tuesday

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Yesterday began with a meditation session — a few minutes of peace that were quickly blotted out by the panic in the air. Had I bought enough staples at the grocery store? Should I pick up extra dog food? What about dried beans and noodles? And hand sanitizer? I hear there are runs on that in the stores.

At meetings and at the water cooler, talk of Covid 19 alternated with talk of Super Tuesday, with a similar degree of cheer, which was none at all. Disasters seem to be looming on both fronts.

One searches for a center of gravity, for normalcy, for what passes as calm. Is it better to be informed or stay ignorant?

At this point, I vote for the latter.

Doing Nothing

Doing Nothing

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A day that comes but once every four years ought to be celebrated. We ought to do things on this day that we do on no other. What could this be?

For me, it would be to do … nothing.

Copper is quite good at it. I could learn from him.

The Plague

The Plague

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And so it begins. The averted handshake at this morning’s Ash Wednesday service. The shunning on Metro of anyone who’s coughing or sniffling. The headlines and newscasts and public health warnings.

It will worsen, no doubt. There will be closures and restrictions, dire predictions. There will be confusion and panic. Truth will be elusive.

It’s no less than what other eras have had to bear, but for us it will be novel (in more ways than one).  Because we were raised with vaccines not quarantines.

I’m reminded of the ending of one of my favorite novels, Albert Camus’ The Plague:

He knew what those jubilant crowds did not know but could have learned from books: that the plague bacillus never dies or disappears for good; that it can lie dormant for years and years in furniture and linen chests; that it bides its time in bedrooms, cellars, trunks and bookshelves; and that perhaps the day would come when, for the bane and the enlightening of men, it would rouse up its rats again and send them forth to die in a happy city. 

By George!

By George!

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It’s the birth anniversary of our first president, and I went in search of his words, thinking they might shed some light on the craziness of our current politics.

Here is an excerpt from his farewell address — in one paragraph a plea for peace and harmony, in the next a desire for forgiveness, and finally a request for a well-earned rest.

Observe good faith and justice towards all nations; cultivate peace and harmony with all. Religion and morality enjoin this conduct; and can it be, that good policy does not equally enjoin it? It will be worthy of a free, enlightened, and at no distant period, a great nation, to give to mankind the magnanimous and too novel example of a people always guided by an exalted justice and benevolence. 


…


Though, in reviewing the incidents of my administration, I am unconscious of intentional error, I am nevertheless too sensible of my defects not to think it probable that I may have committed many errors. Whatever they may be, I fervently beseech the Almighty to avert or mitigate the evils to which they may tend. I shall also carry with me the hope that my country will never cease to view them with indulgence; and that, after forty five years of my life dedicated to its service with an upright zeal, the faults of incompetent abilities will be consigned to oblivion, as myself must soon be to the mansions of rest.


Relying on its kindness in this as in other things, and actuated by that fervent love towards it, which is so natural to a man who views in it the native soil of himself and his progenitors for several generations, I anticipate with pleasing expectation that retreat in which I promise myself to realize, without alloy, the sweet enjoyment of partaking, in the midst of my fellow-citizens, the benign influence of good laws under a free government, the ever-favorite object of my heart, and the happy reward, as I trust, of our mutual cares, labors, and dangers.

Many Loves

Many Loves

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On a day dedicated to love, I think of my people and of love’s many faces. Of romantic love and parental love, the love of friends.

I think about the love we have for those who are gone, and the love we have for animals. The love we have for place, for movement, for moving through space, which I celebrate on these pages.

So many loves we are given. Loves that light the way. Even when we don’t see them, they are there.

3,000!

3,000!

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A few months ago, when it became apparent that I was closing in on the blog’s 3,000th entry about the same time that I would celebrate its 10-year anniversary, I stepped up my posting schedule.

I’ve always written a post every weekday and usually one on weekends. But once I realized how close these two moments would be I started posting every day.

When I did the math I realized it would be close, really close, but I would be off by four — 2996 posts on February 7, the blog’s tenth birthday.

So I had a dilemma. Should I actually post twice a day for several days? How obsessive was I going to be?  Apparently, thankfully … not enough!