Shelter in Place, San Francisco, California, September 3, 2020
Over the fence and across the yard, my neighbors’ bougainvillea is positively riotous. I am jealous of both density and color. Ours is far less thick this year and half the bright red leaves have already fallen to the ground. I’m guessing it’s because next door they have an underground watering system while we water less systematically and only when we remember. For obvious reasons, of late I’ve let the garden down. How lucky we are, then, to be able to enjoy the volume of color that our friends have tended, and to eat the apples that they are happy to share. Neighbors matter. Good ones matter even more. This is true in our immediate surroundings and in the greater world we are a part of.
A friend in Paris wrote me a succinct but anguished email yesterday which roughly translates: “This is so worrying. The whole world is counting on the Democrats because we don’t know what Trump is capable of doing if he’s given free rein!” We have become a dangerous, rogue nation that seems to care nothing for our global neighbors or for the earth itself, and it breaks my heart. The United States has forfeited its good name and positive influence under the current administration. Worse, we’ve become the pariah nation that everybody fears. Unreliable. Erratic. Selfish. Cold hearted. In short, bad neighbors. How do I respond? Just telling my friend I’m sorry is simply not enough. We need to vote!
Day 165: The Perfect Combination
Shelter in Place , San Francisco, California, September 1, 2020
Watering the garden today (yes, I'm up and mobile!) I was reminded how delightful it is when flowers like this fuchsia are enhanced by their surroundings. ‘Spindly,’ is how I’d describe the bush that yields its delicate, dancing flowers only here and there. ‘Unruly’ is what I’d call the prickly asparagus fern I planted just below. But when the fern’s skeletal green tendrils crawl up and grasp the fuchsia's limbs, they provide for my private pleasure a small miracle of contrast, the perfect combination.
Such is my good fortune, as well, with the company I keep as this isolation wears on. Where would I be without my friend, my partner, who keeps me grounded and complements my moods? On most days, we manage a quiet companionship that gets us through the day. And when one of us despairs, the other seems to rally. We are, I'm glad to say, the perfect combination.
Day 164: Slow Spiral
Shelter in Place, San Francisco, California, August 31, 2020
This ‘Ray of Light’ or Foxtail Agave is a slow grower. Each new layer starts with a tight spiral that opens out over time to form the next circle of fresh, clean leaves. Eventually the plant will rise to maybe eight feet tall - probably not in my lifetime, but I’m perfectly happy with the pace.
Today this newest agave spiral speaks to me, constricted as it is and looking for the sun. I’m having so much trouble with the concept of time and forward motion, feeling like my own life is spiraling slowly, slowly down, even as the crises beyond my door ratchet ever faster upwards. This morning I did the COVID math: 164 days = 5.5 months, months I cannot even picture it in my head. Where did the time go? What did I do? I tick the months off on my calendar, but I cannot really feel the forward motion, except in COVID dead and acres burned.
The measure of time in California is always harder than other places I’ve lived because the seasonal changes are more subtle. Here, the pandemic began at the end of the rainy season and has lasted through the dry. Soon enough, it will begin to rain again. That’s the one measure I can count on. In other climes, my friends can mark time’s passage much more viscerally - their COVID months have moved from snow and cold, to heat and garden bounty, to now - inevitable hints of fall. Their calendars will march right on to winter. As for me, I stand surprised by the imminent arrival of Labor Day, a day, unfortunately, that promises nothing special. And after that, the election comes towards us at once too quickly and too slow. We all can be forgiven if the spiral that we feel today is one of growing dread.