I go to sleep, thinking. I wake up thinking—a stream of consciousness that rarely stops (yep, am working on that). It’s different every day (of course), but this is what it sounds like on a rainy, Thursday morning with a world infected by COVID-19:

Last night I talked to my granddaughter, Lauren. I shared with her something that I had written about her and my Mom, not too long before Mom went back to The Spirit Side. It was a great conversation with an amazing teenager. I am blessed for that; not all grandparents have that gift.

I work for hours out in the yard. I created “circles” with the raspberry bushes. Getting pricked by their thorns reminded me of Good Friday.

Larry and I have “happy hours,” via zoom, with our dear friends; it’s amazing that we can stay connected.

I think about store clerks, the folks in our hospitals (from cleaning staff to the surgeons), delivery people, mail carriers, and all the others who “keep on keeping on” through this crisis.

My daughter, Sara, a commercial banker, is working really long days. She and my son-in-law both work from home right now.

I make a birthday card for my grandson, Ethan, who turns 13 on Easter Sunday. His birthday party is canceled, of course.

Our friend, Sue, walks up the street and puts a hand-made card (the best kind) in our mailbox for Ethan while I’m out front working. We chat for a few minutes—me standing outside the garage and her on the cul-de-sac. Other loving friends are sending cards that I will get to him on his birthday.

I worry about the children who are in homes with parents who wish they were still in school.

We delivered palms to a few members of our faith community, so they’d have them for the Palm Sunday service. It was nice seeing them and waving if only from a distance.

I fill the bird feeders. The birds chirp every morning like they do all spring and summer. I wonder if they’re even aware that the world is different.

My forever friend, Nancy, lets me know the new date for her daughter’s wedding that was supposed to take place next month. I’m so happy for Alison and Shaun.

I left a paperback book out on the deck in the rain. I had intended to read something “just for fun,” but there’s so much more calling to me.

Weeding, planting, and cleaning-up broken branches make me happy. So does, organizing!

I pray each day for those whose loved ones will not survive this disease. I pray for the thousands of people for whom “sheltering at home” doesn’t feel like “safety from the storm” at all.

My daughter, Erin, makes us a “to go” pan of lasagna.

I still start my day with my cup of tea in my “peace” mug from my friend, Maggie.

Larry goes to the grocery store (with gloves and a mask) to buy food for the next two weeks. I realize, over and over, how blessed we are to have the gift that so many don’t have.

I move forward. I dream (a lot).

We watch shows that are light-hearted like “The Office” or “Kim’s Convenience.” We get suggestions for happy movies from our friends.

I talk to a client, by phone, about a project and scan drawings to send to her. I appreciate the technology that allows me to do that.

When I was asked, Where is God in this?” I answered that “I believe that God is in everything—good and bad, beautiful and scary.”

I read the words that I will say at our virtual, Good Friday service. I cry.

Each night Larry and I sit at the dining room table across from each other and eat dinner. We share meal-making. Typically, jazz is playing in the background.

I rake leaves (that seem to fall all twelve months) from the mighty pin oaks and am in awe of the hostas that come up around their base every year. Nature ebbing and flowing; dying and regenerating,

The fans whir on the vaulted ceiling above my head. Soon we’ll flip a switch, and they’ll spin the other way. It reminds me of life that keeps turning, sometimes going in different directions depending on the times of our lives.

I appreciate each bite of food that I have. Awareness is different when everything isn’t as easy.

At night, I sit in the hot tub and look for stars. Sometimes I see a satellite as it passes overhead.

This morning, as I write this, the sky is gray and ominous, but I know that’s not a forever reality.

I write and write, and am never bored, and I realize how very blessed I am. ❤︎

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