WHAT IS THAT

New Old Dog finds the giant Peep to he EXTREMELY SUSPICIOUS.

At Least One Of Us Is Relaxed

Hole

Herself speaks.

There's a hole in the back yard, in the area of pea gravel where the swingset used to be once upon a time. Some kind of squirrel lives there; I've seen a tail disappearing into it. I haven't seen the squirrel out in the yard, though. Perhaps it keeps different hours than I do.

With the "Stay Home, Work Safe" order in place here, it's hard to escape. I love the people in my house tremendously -- and yet I desperately miss my time Alone. I want to cook when I feel like it, without having to wait for other people to move out of the way in the kitchen, while listening to my music or my Harry Potter audiobooks without interruption. How I took for granted that simple pleasure. I'll bear that in mind when things return to whatever the New Normal will be, in weeks or months from now.

I wish I could just disappear into a hole, like the squirrel, and have a bit of peace in the dark and the cool underground. How lovely that would be. 

On Love

Spotted on the sidewalk while out for a constitutional with the small dogs:

Love is not love until you give it away.

For the Love of Pete, What Next?

Bud

Pandemic Thoughts

Herself speaks.

A few weeks ago, my Saturday looked like this: go to the bank; go to the gym; go to PetSmart to pick up the dog food that Tiny Dog likes best; go to the home goods store and look for a certain type of basket for a particular purpose; go to the specialty grocery store to get rice milk; and finally, go to Sam's Club and do a big shopping for the household for the upcoming week or two.

What a luxury that day was. How little I appreciated the ability to go where I wanted, when I wanted, and purchase the things I wanted, without incident.

How things change.
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Now, I do one anxiety-laden shopping trip, just to one carefully-chosen grocery store. Shelves are three-quarters empty. Every person I pass is suspicious. There is a child sneezing in line in front of me, and the checkout clerk is coughing into his elbow. I scream internally. There is a new plexiglass shield between the clerk and me. I carry a disinfectant wipe clutched in my hand, to wipe the cart handle, the keypad to pay. I forget items on my list. I rush through and out.

And yet, I am still lucky. We do have food -- meat, a few eggs, plenty of dry goods. We have toilet paper. I have the luxury of working from home if necessary. My loved ones are safe, for now. It could be worse.
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The news outlets reported yesterday that effective immediately, no visitors are allowed in hospitals. This makes my blood run cold as nothing else has done yet.

I am terrified of my loved ones being sick and alone. The very thought chills me to the bone.

I know I am just projecting. In truth, I am terrified of being sick and alone.
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I am very aware of everything I touch.
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I am worried about finances. Not only for me, but for everyone. Will the economy recover? Will we be able to afford what we need in the meanwhile? If one of us is hospitalized, the cost will be terrible. So many Americans are but one serious illness away from financial disaster.

I may never be able to retire.
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I plead inside my head: please, keep us safe. Help us all. I am not sure who I am asking. I ask anyway.

I am reminded of Psalm 18, which I first encountered in the aftermath of 9/11. I feel the weight of humanity's sorrow and fear now, as I did then. It is no wonder that we call out for help.

Lord, have mercy.

The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer, 

my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge,
my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.
I call upon the Lord, who is worthy to be praised,
and I am saved from my enemies.
The cords of death encompassed me;
the torrents of destruction assailed me;
the cords of Sheol entangled me;
the snares of death confronted me.
In my distress I called upon the Lord;
to my God I cried for help.