Shelter in Place, San Francisco, February 24, 2021
Just today our Ceanothus' earliest blossoms began to open, giving a hint of what’s to come. Soon the bush will be heavy with blossoms and bees. It will become the anchor to our garden for a month or so, just as it was last year before we knew what was about to hit us. Tomorrow, our mayor reminds us, marks the one year anniversary of her issuing a state of emergency for San Francisco, the first in the country to do so. Though not yet officially restricted to the house for another two weeks, a year ago tomorrow was when John and I began to quarantine ourselves.
This year, the Ceanothus’ first small, blue-purple blossoms coincide with John’s second vaccine shot and the anticipation of mine next week. What a difference. There are, of course, more possible pitfalls up ahead before we’re truly free, but each day we hear more optimism in the experts’ voices, feel more lift to our spirits as we gingerly stick our toes beyond the garden gate. Last year, the Ceanothus’ dark and smokey perfume marked the beginning of the beginning. Maybe this year it will signal the beginning of the end.
Day 334: The Little Things
Shelter in Place, San Francisco, February 20, 2021
Several conversations this week have got me thinking about how this past year, in narrowing our options and cancelling our lifelong busy-ness, has taught us all to notice and take pleasure in the little things. Things like the sound of Gershwin from a distant window, like children giggling in the street, like the perfect caper lemon sauce, like raindrops on a leaf. May we keep this quiet sense of wonder whenever it is we get to where we’re going next.
Day 333: Abundant Fortune
Shelter in Place, San Francisco, February 19, 2021
Now I am enjoying the brilliant magnolia newly visible over our back fence. What beauty, a tree that brims with a thousand blossoms, like a field of tulips reaching for the sun. As I read more stories about the horrible conditions in Texas this week, the lack of all the simple, basic things we take for granted in our lucky lives - heat, water, electricity, safe shelter - the magnolia’s morning gift reminds me how little it takes to make me appreciate my own abundant fortune.