Day 267: Keeping Safe Between the Lines

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Shelter in Place, San Francisco, December 16, 2020


In our neighborhood, most of the houses are about half the size of the ones pictured in tourist brochures, but they’re just as colorfully painted. This one on Valley Street caught my eye as I was walking. It’s funny how the painter can use widely varying colors on the stairs, the newel post, and the garage and somehow make sense of what seems an unlikely combination, using color to accentuate the many lines.

This is a tender time. Everyone is exhausted and restless, yearning for family, adventure, and a way to safely celebrate the season. I can hear it in every conversation with my family and friends. We all seem to be trying to follow the ‘rules’ but searching for the rationale that will make it OK to bend them just a little… If I just.... if I just... if I just… All for good reason, all from the heart.

John and I are not immune. We have long been holding optimistic New Years reservations for a little hotel north of here where we would have our own snug cabin and fireplace, and food would be delivered. Yet we’re struggling with the rationale: yes, we would be supporting a small town and businesses we care about; yes, it would feel absolutely great to get away. But the official lines are pretty clear: don’t leave the county, don’t mix with strangers, stay at home and keep everybody safe. Hotels are closed here in San Francisco. Is it rational or fair to drive to where they’re not? When others’ choices seem dicey, I remember that we, too, are tempted to bend the rules. Just this once, we say. Just this once. But then we think of the hospitals in that neck of the woods (or the lack thereof - their ICUs are already full; we checked), and I cannot rationalize putting ourselves or anybody else in jeopardy. So it is with sadness and regret this morning that we decide to plan an alternative, less colorful New Year celebration that keeps us safe and more strictly between the lines.

Day 264: Minimal or All Out?

Shelter in Place, San Francisco, December 13, 2020

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Another minimalist decoration I spotted on our neighborhood walk. It seems like folks are choosing one or the other extreme as ways to deal with a lonely holiday season. Same inside the house, I imagine: hunker down or reach out; be reverent or as silly as possible; decorate every surface inside and out or pretend that none of this is happening.

Personally, I’m finding comfort in the traditions: every ornament on our tree tells a story or reminds John and me of someone we love and miss, a melding of our pasts, a comfort in the present; my great-grandmother’s cookies that, by video, I have taught my grandson how to bake taste like Christmas and make both our houses smell delicious; the carols and songs I play on the piano because there’s no one here to sing with sound both sweet and sad: ‘have yourself a merry little Christmas…’ My heart is tender, but it’s full.