Shelter in Place, San Francisco, October 22, 2020
The decade-old artichoke roots now spawn tough leaves and unappealing fruit. We let the mature ones go to seed, waiting for this moment when the center pushes up and out to reveal a bright purple thistle with pink inner leaves like dainty shells around it. There's more to come, but this is a most satisfying beginning. Does the emerging flower remind me of the COVID cells? Everything does. It's hitting too close to home.
Day 231: Too Soon?
Shelter in Place, San Francisco, November 10, 2020
This week the South African Daisies began their cheerful rebirth, in what will soon become a whole crowded hedge of yellow flowers brightening the winter months. The garden also enjoyed its first precipitation since April, though only a few drops so far. Someday soon the rain will come in buckets and revitalize the plants that are trying to hang on.
A few days ago, of course, we saw dancing in the streets as our country voted to unseat a petty despot and return us from the brink. Democracy has won. The emperor has no clothes. I can feel my wilted optimism rise even as I wait for the cowards and enablers to leave the room and the grownups to speak up and prevail. And yesterday’s news of vaccine trial success has the stock market doing somersaults even as the rest of us cross our fingers and hold our breath, hoping it works and comes in time.
It is a long way to January, when we will finally be safe (almost) from the ‘leadership’ that has failed us, and more months before the vaccine does its job. Inevitably, the interim promises more fear and suffering as we wait. But I will take a cue from the first in this fresh, bright crop of winter daisies: hope rises, love endures, and the rain will always come. Breathe. Wait. Hope.
Day 210: Holding in the Light
Shelter in Place, San Francisco, October 20, 2020
The days have cooled off and the sky is finally, finally blue - time to get out there and do some remedial work in the garden. As we worked on cutting back the hydrangea this afternoon, I saw from the corner of my eye a light on the Ammonium that made the succulent seem to glow.
In the Quaker tradition, we ‘hold in the light’ people who are suffering any kind of difficulty. I love that phrase. It is so easy to imagine light streaming from my heart to the ones I love, the ones I worry about, the ones going through a trial. Today I am holding our entire country in the light, hoping that we can make it through the next few weeks with minimum trauma, discord, and fear. I want my country back, I want a return to civility and rule of law. I want us to feed the millions who’ve lost their jobs to the virus. And I don’t want any more to die even as the pandemic is gearing up to hit us once again. On a more personal level, I am holding dear folks close to me in the light as they quarantine after a close encounter. May the wait be short, may this be a false alarm, and may they feel the light from those of us who love them.