While the world seems to spin wildly out of control, nature keeps on doing its thing.
Sitting here looking through Saturday’s headlines for The Boston Globe (because it’s the first to hit my inbox), I’m seeing words that would have seemed incredible this time last year but now are just part of the “new normal.” A Guatemalan immigrant who worked 60-70-hour weeks in grocery stores succumbed to the virus. Deaths among racial minorities unmask systemic racism throughout our culture. Divorced couples with children don’t know how to deal with court-ordered visitation while still staying at home. Trust in the president’s virus response is failing. French police kick London jet-setters out of the Riviera. New, larger wave of locusts threatens millions in Africa. Baseball struggles to find some way to save its season.
Meanwhile, I’m sitting here at home watching tulips bloom and retreat. The closest I’ve come to a model was watching through the window and two of the teenage girls across the street took cellphone pictures of each other in last night’s setting sun. Had this happened BC (before caronavirus), I would have been out there offering mild advice (the shadows they were picking up were regrettable). But no, I had already been out too much by that point. Allergies fueling anxiety limits my external activity to floral observations.
Feelings of desperation began to set in this week. I sent out invoices marked “payment deferred” because I know no one has had any revenue incoming the past month. They’ll pay when they can if their businesses survive, but the absence in their revenue means absence in my revenue and as I watch my bank balance drop, knowing what automatic payments lie ahead, I worry.
I’m not alone. Millions of people now question the necessity of every purchase. Non-profits have watched their donations slide as much as 85% as even those whose income is largely unaffected still pull back, putting discretionary income toward things such as improving their home work space, adding additional streaming services to help keep kids occupied, and purchasing larger quantities of alcohol. I have fantastic pictures for sale, but oh, you’re framing the four-year-old’s colorful work from this afternoon’s craft time instead.
So here I am, yet again posting pictures of flowers because at least they’re reasonably reliable. They bloomed bright and wonderful as the temperatures soared into the low 80s early this week then retracted into a protective mode as frost warnings returned. There was a tornado this week just to our South and I slept through the entire storm. There have been tornadoes across the US almost every day this week. They make local news in the areas affected, but even there it comes below the fold, or after the commercial break at the seven minute mark.
Is there a metaphor to observe in the fact that as Christians adjusted ways to observe Good Friday, and Jews observe Passover, New York began burying virus victims in mass graves? As this posts on Easter Sunday, is there a chance that the resurrection we want doesn’t look anything at all like the resurrection we ultimately get? Politicians are not saviors. Billionaires and celebrities tweeting and streaming from their well-furnished mansions are not messiahs.
Morning breaks and cumulative directors of state health departments compile new lists, hoping that today’s isn’t as long as yesterdays, longing for the day when there’s no list to make at all, unsure if that day will ever come. Hospital administrators count bed availability. Doctors make difficult decisions as to who gets a ventilator. Parents struggle between feeding children and paying rent. Another person lying alone in a room with no one around take their last, hard-fought breath.
And still, the flowers bloom.
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Recovering From The Weekend
It’s not that hard to imagine the natural world recovering it’s health in our absence: it’s more difficult, and more necessary, to imagine it recovering its health in our presence. —Alex Steffen
Needing to recover from a weekend aren’t that unusual, but the reasons this morning are quite sad.
There is, in the following words, no attempt to be funny. I’m well aware that the thought of recovering from the weekend typically involves stories of a more whimsical nature, often involving some level of drunkenness and subsequent shenanigans, but that’s just not possible. This wasn’t a fun weekend, and even now, since I started typing, we’re finding out more that is absolutely breaking our hearts. Here’s a synopsis of the things that got our attention this weekend, in no particular order.
Yesterday was supposed to be the International Day of Happiness, but for a large number of people across Indiana, there was nothing to be happy about. The things I’ve listed here are just a fraction of events that occurred around the world. In Spain, a bus carrying exchange students crashed, killing 14. In Southern Russia, a FlyDubai flight crashed as it attempted to land at an airport, killing all 62 people on board. A suicide bomber killed four in a busy market in Istanbul. North Korea fired at least five short-range missiles into the Sea of Japan, raising international tensions.
So much tragedy in such a short period of time leaves our senses reeling. Anyone of those events was horribly traumatic for the families of those involved. Even for those of us who might not be directly effected, the number of events is disturbing.
Sunday was also the vernal equinox, the start of Spring, a time we typically associate with freshness and new beginning. We think of Spring as a time of renewal, a chance to start over, to break free of the dreariness of the winter. Yet, with all the tragedy of this weekend, feeling those positive vibes is difficult.
Recovering from all this takes a moment. Recovering from a single tragedy, even when we weren’t directly involved, is like waiting for a bruise to heal. With so many, so close in time, recovering feels a bit like trying to get over losing a prize fight. When one is empathetic with the world, as one should be, recovering requires acts of kindness to offset the cruelty and tragedy. Finding such kindness, especially on a Monday, can be difficult.
What bothers me more, though, are people who can shrug everything off without feeling anything at all. They are totally disconnected emotionally from the rest of the world. When bad things happen around them, they feel nothing. These people scare me, for those who do not share empathy with those around them are more likely to commit violent acts themselves, or tolerate acts  of violence by others. When there is a lack of empathy among those who would be our world leaders, we are at risk of war.
Recovering from this weekend is going to take a moment. I would ask that you please be kind to those you encounter because you never know who has had tragedy in their life this weekend. We all can use a smile and maybe a hug where it’s appropriate. We need this week to get better quickly, but it will take all of us to make that happen.
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