Saturday night in viral isolation:
soup and candlelight
the flame flickers
by the spoonful
I just came in from putting the last piece of recycling out for early pickup tomorrow morning. I walked slowly through the twilit quiet down my long driveway enjoying the uncommon stillness and serenity. Even though I live in what is considered a suburban town—it still has a rural farm feel to it especially at times like these. The road I live on was once travelled by Revolutionary war soldiers and miners of iron ore from “Mine Hill” to Morristown—Washington’s headquarters. Usually there are enough cars that whiz by to remind me that we are in the 21st century. However, with most activities shut down, there is no traffic. And the only difference between this stillness and that of snow falling is the chirping of birds still going about their daily work and happy hour routines. Yesterday the rhythmic rapping of a woodpecker reverberated through the woods like a lone drummer on a dark stage. Quite a lovely acoustic serenade. The tranquility at this time is a rare gift.
The saying goes “You don’t really miss what you have till it’s gone.” And so it shows ever so acutely and painfully in a global pandemic.
HOWEVER, to be perfectly honest, heavy rush hour traffic and with it—rude drivers is one of those things that is up for debate with this philosophy of missing what is now gone, at least here in New Jersey. Yes, yes, yes —it is far better to be annoyed by rude and too-many-cars-on-the-road than deal with the Corona virus—I get it, lest it be said that I am being insensitive here. Again though—a big HOWEVER or loophole in the “wishing things could go back to the way they were” is NJ road congestion and aggravation. Even today, with traffic down by 90 %, one a#*-hole had to speed between lanes and the few cars bunched up starting out at a light. WTF?
If I am being honest by blogging about gratitude during a viral pandemic, and most of it is going to be more on the lofty-let’s-take-the-higher-road (sic)-approach to handling this mess, there has to be some “let’s down and dirty” truism as well, at least on my part. I am grateful for less of the rude and crude drivers now staying off the road in the Great Garden State of the Third-Finger-Salute-crowd. And unfortunately the return of these drivers will probably be one of the quickest rebounds to pre-Corona days when this is all over.
red up ahead on the road the flash of a fox crossing the yellow line
I hope for you to take away from this ode to life and love whatever you will.
It speaks to me of courage and healing.
Pueblo Verse by Nancy Woods
Hold onto what is good
Hold onto what you believe,
even if it is a tree which stands by itself.
Hold onto what you must do
even if it is a long way from here.
Hold onto life
even when it is easier to let go.
Hold onto my hand
even when I have gone away from you.
Apple-ginger-cinnamon-lemon tea with a touch of honey. Who knew it would taste and smell so wonderful and be so soothing and healing as well? Certainly not moi. It is but one recipe, idea, suggestion that is circulating/shared as virally as this novel corona virus. Another sharing: how to freeze fresh vegetables—it’s all out there. Who knew?
Restaurants in my town are now shuttered for on-site dining or even snacking. So these same business owners as well as crafting stores etc, are offering curb-side pick-up and some novel delivery.
We are creative creatures and as humans that is our main saving grace. “Out of chaos comes creativity” —a sign that hangs on a friend’s studio door. As uncomfortable as chaos, uncertainty and the unknown are to our lifestyle—it is the pathway and process to healing and growth.
I made a big batch of this tea and will gratefully sip it throughout the day—in much smaller cupfuls than I am used to. But that’s another story/gratitude for another day—changing habits for the better in the long run.
until your song
a brown edge
ag ~ (haiku from February 2016)
Spring feels like it is here—she is starting to show her frilly petticoats. I am eternally amazed at the ability of bulbs and spring ephemeral plants to poke up through hard ground and leaf duff. They are every bit as courageous and warrior-like as the steel blade swords that they resemble. The Sun is calling to them and to me.
It is a grand day to be outside and lucky for us, the Corona virus or any flu bug falters in bright sunshine and fresh air. Movement helps. I saw neighbors beginning their yard cleanup. Gardening is my favorite and most beneficial exercise.
The following is a poem that I wrote in 2014 at the end of a day such as this here in NJ:
Rather than panic, preach or pity myself and the world-at-large, I intend to write one thing per day that I am thankful for during this viral storm. Some postings will be humorous, silly, serious, and some stretching-the-limits-of-gratitude. Some will include stories, haiku, poetry, painting/sketching and/or simple sentences.
My intention is to take this forced down time and use it as an opportunity: to slow-cook more creatively (lots of unexplored ways to cook pasta, lentils and beans); more house cleaning/clearing, trail walking and talking, reading, napping, pruning, gardening and creating.
I will engage all my earthly senses as well as my Angels and Guides in more conversation/communication bound to include plenty of cussing, anger, tears, feelings of vulnerability, culpability, asking for help and clarification, gratitude, plus singing and dancing.
This will be a journal of sorts, which I will be posting on Awoodlandrose’s blog “The Poetry Of Soil.” I took a hiatus from my daily mindful writing practice this January and February for the first time in eight or nine years, so the Universe is offering me a second chance knowing it is rare that I am ever at a loss for words.
Today, I will begin with gratitude for my quirky yet solid sense of self, good health and humor. This in turn allows me to appreciate, remain cognizant and respectful of everyone else’s sense of self, health and humor in my own community and around the globe.