It is 9 months now, the pandemic is raging on. And again, we are staying home even more diligently than ever. I am going in today for a Covid-19 test. I got a "cold" while visiting my family in Eugene. And although I don't think I've got the virus, it is important to know since Joe's mother, Murel, 103, is living with us. It is hard to tell how I feel about this. Anxious, but on a wait and see level. I did a count of people included in my "family" bubble in Eugene and was quickly overwhelmed by the possible contacts.
There is a part of me that totally understands why people don't want to believe how quickly and easily the virus spreads. I don't. But then, SCIENCE! We've all seen the video of kids in a cafeteria, where one of them gets an invisible dye on his hands and then 12 kids get lunch and hang out. Then the ultraviolent light comes in and all of them have the dye on them.
In March, when we first started the shut down, I got a bit depressed. Now with over 252,000 deaths, I am feeling discouraged. OVERWHELMED. Even though the vaccine is on the horizon. Still, not enough people are masking up.
Democracy is messy.
One of my answers was to start painting Bouquets to give away. And I can't believe I'm on #48!! Wow! Fastinating to see how they've evolved over the last 9 months.
Here is #44. I will post #47 tomorrow.
Yesterday was the most beautiful morning of November. I didn't get a picture. I was too mesmerized. Fog layering in the valley. Light snow on the Mt. ridges. Bright sun glistening on wet leaves. And that golden-rust color from all the oaks staining the light. The sun is rising far to the south these mornings, just barely over the ridges
behind our house. Still the birds come to the feeder. Those charming Stellars Jays and that amazing blue they wear!!! Juncos. The PlainTitmouse, mountain chickadees and the Mexican chickadee. Every once in a while a white-breasted Nuthatch shows up. And Mt. bluebirds are still about. These keep me out of my head and in my heart.
Today my fundraiser for The Maslow Project ends. I'll go collect the donations and pick one last winner of a Bouquet as prize.
Be well and stay healthy and wear a face mask. And read beautiful poetry.
Buddha's Last Instruction, by Mary Oliver
"Make of yourself a light," said Buddha,before he died.
I think of this every morning as the east begins to tear off ist many clouds of darkness,
to send up the first signal-a white fan streaked with pink and violet, even green.
An old man, he lay down between two sala trees, and he might have said anything, knowing
it was his final hours. The light burns upward, it thickens and settles over the fields.
Around him, the villagers gathered and stretched forward to listen.
Even before the sun itsefl hangs, disattached, in the blue air, I am touched everywhere
by its ocean of yellow waves. No doubt he thought of everything that had happened in his difficult life.
And then I feel the sun itself as it blazes over the hills, like a million flowers on fire--
clearly I'm not needed, yet I feel myself turning into something of inexplicable value. Slowly,
beneath the branches, he raised his head. He looked into the faces of the frightened crowd."
