More thoughts in the time of COVID-19 …
One of my grandmothers often said … Better to be a day late and a dollar short than to never arrive.
Oh well …
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It is day 390 since the lockdown here in California and the daily death rate in the US has slowed.
As a result of my vaccination a week ago tuesday, last thursday I felt tired and the injection site was sore to the touch, a bit swollen, and just a touch feverish. At other times, when I’ve taken the “flu” shot, by this time I’d still be sore all over, feverish, and flat abed. So this is an improvement.
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Yesterday was interesting.
We are in the process of selling this land as is … no bargaining … cash and it’s yours.
I choose to not be around when someone is here to look. I no longer do funerals either. I prefer my memories to end with something other than sadness … sooooooooooooooo I went away yesterday morning and found a spot in the surrounding trees where I could sit and read. Hence no blog.
But today is another day.
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Current read is titled The book of two ways (sic) by an author I’ve never read and about whom I know nothing since the bio blurb at the end of the book tells nothing but the titles of her other books. No personal information.
This book’s center is death, but not at all morbid. There are parallel story lines set in Boston and an archaeological dig in Egypt. In one the main character is a death doula. In the other she is a grad student working on a dissertation.
Lots of ideas and beliefs presented, such as the sameness of birth and death … i.e. the transition from a known environment into the unknown. I anticipate some of those ideas popping up for contemplation and exploration at unexpected times.
A challenge …
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Spring continues to advance. The red maple is trading bright red buds for softer red new leaves. The meadow is greening. Iris leaves are breaking through signaling only a month or so until blooms. When the dog is in the house, the does are returning to wander across the meadow through my view out the south windows. The sand cranes are back. I heard their raspy cries along with the calls of the migrating geese and saw the first of the ducks on the reservoir.
Storing up memories.
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Mark was called for jury selection last week. He has never been called. He was still underage for jury duty when he left home and all the years in between he was ineligible, as per New York State laws, either as an active law enforcement officer or a pastor.
There are currently three murder trials awaiting hearings in this county. That feels so foreign to me. I don’t remember any local murder(s) the first thirty years of our residence here.
As a result of the pandemic, legalities backed up and, since New York exemptions don’t hold here, he was called. He is honest, moral, and intelligent. Those attributes could work either way when lawyers are selecting jurors.
Stay tuned.
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Paul is back in the classroom full time. They wear masks all the time “except when we’re eating”.
There is one troubled child in his class who is disruptive and Paul’s evaluation of his own day is often couched in terms of what kind of a day M had.
Lessons come in many forms.
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I had some “bored” time earlier this week and found my way back into genealogy. As a result I found a new kind of boredom.
I was researching the family Bigod who provided two of the Surety Barons who impelled King John to sign the Magna Carta back in 1215.
The overall history is captivating.
The personal history became boringly repetitious. Names were Richard, Hugh, Roger, William, Maud (Margaret), Alice, Isabel, Agnes, Eleanor, Joan … traded with families Marshall, deClare, plus one or two others and they repeat in various combinations over several generations as do titles. I need a huge wall on which to plot them out with push pins and colored strings.
How can something be both boring and intriguing?
I anticipate many more hours sorting.
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As a result of that research, the following observation seems fitting.
Time is a great circle: there is no beginning, no end. All returns again and again forever.
So ‘til next week …