Virtual Palm Sunday

Virtual Palm Sunday

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I’ve been getting by this Lent with recorded services, special sermons and spiritual readings. But beginning today and for the next week, it will be, to say the least, quite strange.

A virtual Palm Sunday? Good Friday on the telly? And Easter with no live Mass, no big feast with ham and deviled eggs? And what of my decades-old yellow suit with the shoulder pads. I guess it will be staying in the closet this year (which, to tell the truth, is probably where it should remain).

Human beings are nothing if not adaptable, though. We’ve already begun planning Zoom family gatherings to touch base and check in. We will each make our own deviled eggs this year, our own hams and asparagus. We’ll show off our feasts and toast each other in cyberspace.

But for today, it’s the start of Holy Week and I sit in my living room scrolling through services. Do I want to live-stream from St. Patrick’s or the Shrine of the Immaculate Conception? How do I want to celebrate Palm Sunday … other than with no palms?

Viva La Cite!

Viva La Cite!

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Into my inbox this morning comes news from Jeff Speck, whose occasional newsletter I signed up for after reading one of his books on urban planning. Speck’s headline “No, Cites Aren’t Over,” was a welcome counterbalance to my own recent post “Solace of the Suburbs.”

When the question of urban density was raised at a public hearing about transit-oriented development, Speck says he reminded people that some of the countries that have best controlled for the virus are exceptionally urban ones — Japan, Korea, Hong Kong.

Also, he says, denser cities have the most patents. “Cities exist because they solve problems,” he writes. The Black Death didn’t do much to slow urbanization and was followed in short order by the Renaissance.  “So even though much of the ruling class has slipped off to their country houses a la Boccaccio, the future still lies in walkable urban places.”

I want to believe that, too.

(From the Boston Globe via Jeff Speck’s newsletter.) 

Day 21 and No Novel?

Day 21 and No Novel?

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The headline caught my eye yesterday. “We have a lot more time now. Why can’t we get anything done.” What’s happening with that novel? Where are those sonnets?

They’re no further along than they were before, perhaps because we’ve lost the usual markers that make us more efficient, says the time management expert who wrote the article. Or perhaps — and this explanation is infuriatingly accurate — we just don’t have the will.

The author, Laura Vanderkam, quotes the caption of a recent New Yorker cartoon: “Day 6. Couldn’t decide between starting to write my novel or my screenplay. So instead I ate three boxes of mac and cheese and then lay on the office floor panicking.”

Not exactly my life — but the windfall of time I thought would appear without commute, appointments or social engagements has not exactly materialized. I’ve tried to figure out where the time has gone. I’ve slept a little more and cooked a little more and worked a little more. Could that be where the days and weeks have gone?

Maybe living through a pandemic is not when you should expect to get caught up on all your creative pursuits — as well as staying in touch with friends and family and strategizing grocery store runs like battle campaigns. Maybe I should be content with whatever words I can eke out of the day, and with this as with so much else … simply soldier on.

(This is an old photo of stickies pulled off page proofs I read with my old job. But they remind me of — sigh! — completed tasks.)

The Lounge

The Lounge

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From my seat on the new living room couch (I still think of it as new even though it will be a year old next month), I can see the monitor I drug home from the office. It’s sitting right where I put it on March 13, when I brought home file folders, plants and an extra pair of shoes. It’s sitting on a table which was itself placed “temporarily” in front of the mantel.

With shelter-in-place edicts in force until June 10 in Virginia, it seems like a wise time to create something more akin to an office. But I’m so comfortable on the couch. And when I want a break, I stand up and work from the counter or take a quick stroll to stretch my legs. When I return, I plop into oversized chair that is, if anything, even more comfortable than the couch.


I think about the ergonometric chair I inherited back at the office, how tall and straight it made me sit. I examine my posture as I type these words, stocking feet propped up on the coffee table, laptop in lap. 

The question is not, can I lounge while working … the question is, can I ever not lounge while working again?
April Fools!

April Fools!

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With deep respect for the unprecedented situation in which we find ourselves … today the universe has a chance to tell us this is all a big joke, that we aren’t actually living through a pandemic. I doubt a chorus of “April Fools!” will be forthcoming, though.

In fact, I’ve heard that Google and other big companies will not be concocting their usual April 1st pranks out of respect for those fighting the coronavirus. A sound move for corporate PR — though not for those of us trying to approach the situation with the occasional leavening of humor.

So on this day I’m calling up the funny memes sent by my colleagues, including the ones you see here.

Happy April 1st … or something like that!

(Thanks to all the members of the wonderful Winrock Comms Team!)

No Banner

No Banner

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I haven’t been keeping an official count, but by my haphazard reckoning, today is the first in weeks when the Washington Post has not had a banner headline. Instead, there was a five-column head, “Stay-at-home orders for capital region,” to explain yesterday’s announcement from the governors of Maryland and Virginia and the mayor of D.C., that residents can only venture outside for essential business. You had to turn go page A5 to learn that Virginia Governor Northam’s order extends to June 10 — which was big news around here.

What this says to me — the monumental announcement and the lack of banner headline — is that this is the new normal. You can’t keep slapping a huge headline across the top of the paper day after day even though the news continues to shock, amaze, sadden and befuddle us. At some point the shock, amazement, sadness and confusion becomes the way things are now.

I realize I’m one of a vanishing few who even read a hard-copy newspaper, let alone pay attention to the width and point size of the lettering across the top. But what this says to me is that we are becoming inured to this upside-down world. How inured? Ah, that’s the rub. The trick is how we adjust and what we lose as we do.

(Empty roads: part of the new normal.) 

Blossoms Remembered

Blossoms Remembered

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It’s been years since I’ve missed seeing D.C.’s famous cherry blossoms. It’s one of my own personal rites of spring — walking beneath the massed pink flowers, petals falling gently on our heads, seeing the city transformed.

There are always crowds: picnickers, photographers, little kids who stray too close to the Tidal Basin. Many people dress up for the occasion, and it’s a favorite for engagement shoots. But the clamor and craziness of it is part of the experience, as are all the times I’ve gone before with my family and with my parents years ago. Those earlier visits are with me each new year when I brave the crowds to see the blossoms again.

This year there are no tourists. Roads are blocked off discouraging congregation. Those who venture down are masked and gloved. They’re maintaining social distance.  I will not be one of them.

But I can imagine what it’s like, can take a virtual walk beneath the trees.

The Sunday Funnies

The Sunday Funnies

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The pandemic is creating many strange situations, some terrifying, some exasperating and some … unexpectedly funny. I just experienced the latter.

The humor came not from one of the many memes circulating via group text, nor from a streaming late-night comedy show but from the videotaped Mass provided by my Catholic parish.

The service was conducted with utmost respect and solemnity, but a series of little blunders left me chuckling by the end. First, the voice track of the video lost sync with the action, which made all the speakers look like they were being dubbed. Next, church bells started ringing loudly toward the end of the service, which seemed to surprise everyone on the altar.

And then there was today’s presider  — a puckish older man who brings smiles even on ordinary Sunday. When it came time for the sign of peace, Father Dick shrugged, looked around and finally settled on a jolly, window-washer-type wave. Next, he had to be reminded to alert parishioners to the food van in the parking lot today (a whispered reminder from the pastor that was transmitted to the listeners through the mic Father Dick was wearing on his vestments). And finally, he began the dismissal before giving the blessing. When he realized his mistake, he knocked on his head and said, “Well, at least some things are happening like usual around here.” It was a splendid self-deprecating  recovery that left me laughing out loud.

I’m not sure Hollywood will be calling my church anytime soon. But … maybe they should.

Bingo!

Bingo!

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The line stretched past the supermarket and the auto parts place, almost to the furniture store by the time I got to the store, pulled on my rubber gloves, picked up a cart and stood in line this morning. It’s grocery shopping in the age of COVID-19.

Once inside I was making my usual rounds when I suddenly remembered I ought to make a beeline to the paper goods aisle. And there, almost mirage-like, were a couple dozen packages of toilet paper … and even more of paper towels. There was liquid soap, too.

I grabbed one package each of toilet tissue and towels and some hand soap. My shopping trip would  have been complete even if I ended it right there.

But I was able to get everything else on my list — picked up not in the usual circular way, around the perimeters first then aisle by aisle but by zigzagging from one potentially scarce set of items to another. Skim milk. Check. Spaghetti. Check. Bread. Check.

Back home now, with cans and packages wiped down and put away … I’m ready for a nap.


(Another day, another store. This week I was able to find everything on my list!)


Revisionist Thinking

Revisionist Thinking

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I’ve never cared much for March, an opinion formed in my young adulthood, when I lived in Chicago and became acquainted with the unique form of misery known as a Windy City Spring. March was when the snow melted and you started to see what was lurking underneath. March was known for winds so strong that ropes were strung across open plazas so you could hold on while trudging your way to the bank or bookstore.

But in recent years I’ve been mellowing on March. Global warming may have something to do with it. Or living in the mid-Atlantic. Or perhaps greater tolerance. Whatever the case, I’ve come to understand the unique advantages of a month that can offer you snowstorms and cherry blossoms in one day. I’ve come to admire the variety and bluster of the month.

One word of caution, however. I came up with this post idea while strolling through a drop-dead gorgeous March afternoon yesterday. Every bush and tree seemed to shimmer with seasonal cheer, with growth and forward motion. It was divine. But it’s the 27th. It’s easy to see the advantages of March when it’s almost April. The moral of this story? Beware of revisionist thinking — especially at the end of the month.