Buoyed by several days of perfect Spring weather, I spent many hours in the yard weeding, trimming and tending to my garden beds. Yesterday, I put up wire trellises, dug in Paydirt compost and planted sugar pea seeds directly in the soil. According to the package directions, if I sow in early Spring (how much earlier can one get but the day after Equinox) I will harvest in 68 days. I also tucked in some leftover celery seeds that grew last year without a fuss.
Thus, I committed an act of faith—I will be alive and well at the end of May to pick these crunchy, vegetal treats.
At five p.m., a huge black tent of cloud blew over from the east; it unloaded a flashing, crashing thunder storm and sheets of hard, cleansing rain. The twin teenage girls who live across the street were out under their carport giggling and playing because it was warm, friendly moisture, not usual for these parts, reminiscent of summer storms in the Illinois of my childhood.
Almost as quickly as the storm came on, it passed over. I put on my pink sneakers and ventured into the quiet, freshened air. A rainbow led me east past sun-kissed landscapes for more than 30 minutes, and then 30 minutes west, following my own outbound footprints in muddy gravel. I saw not one person outside a vehicle. Speeding Round Table and Domino’s delivery cars hinted at supper hour when I started; it was sunset when I finished.
I worried that my pea seeds may have floated out of their designated holes into a less socially-distanced order, but I could understand that. I am craving company too.
I’m used to being alone. I’ve been self-sufficient for 25 years and have lots of to-do projects on my list. But what I miss right now is ranting and raving to someone else about the lies, misinformation, and inhumanity exhibited by the occupant of the oval office—day in and day out, making a scary situation so very much worse. While there is plenty of money to keep building his useless and destructive border wall, there is not enough money for Personal Protective Equipment for our medical personnel who are risking their lives and the lives of their families to care for the current sick. And the sick to come.
In an interview with Jon Cohen of Science Magazine, Dr. Anthony Fauci, director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases, expressed his frustration—illustrated plainly on television by what has become an internet meme of him putting his hands over his face as the president blathers yet more nonsense.
When the reporter asks why Dr. Fauci “stood by while the president said so many things you disagree with” (on a press conference platform that was too crowded with zombie-faced minions), the good doctor replies, “But I can’t jump in front of the microphone and push him down.”
If only he would!
May I, in the eternity of the pandemic’s next 68 days, be bold and creative enough to (yes a metaphor) jump in front of that microphone to “push down” cruelty and hate, and replace them with insight, compassion and love.