Monday, April 13, 2020
Week underway. Nasty outside.
Plague all over the news, but, for us, so far, nothing. This, too, is a strange feeling, to be the hole in the donut. We're surrounded by it, but it's still not here. Fifteen miles away, but not right here. The legendary Chesty Puller, General, United States Marine Corps, one tough son-of-a-bitch, but the commander you'd want in the worst situation imaginable. Chosin Reservoir. South Korea. Brutal winter. When Puller was informed that the Chinese had them surrounded, his response was, "Good. Now, we know where they are." The Marines fought their way out, became legendary themselves - "The Chosin Few." We know the plague is out there. The difference is that we are powerless to repel it.
It's mid day, and nobody's sick.
It's going on bed time, and nobody's sick.
However, it's still nasty outside. A heavy wind pile-drives frechettes of rain up our narrow road. The creek in front of our house churns like a rabid dog. The wind whines like a turbine. King Lear would have raved here. The rain has been relentless. It only just calmed down. It occurs to me that the air has been scrubbed clean. Perhaps the weather is as ferocious as it's been in order to drive out the demons. Could this virus withstand a beating like that? Wouldn't it be driven back? Shredded? I don't believe there is any kind of intelligence familiar to us propelling the course of this thing, and I certainly don't believe in demons, but these days do seem like something evil courses the planet with the sole function of eliminating a substantial portion of the human race. But, I'm gambling that the onslaught of ferocious weather drove the devil in the opposite direction, although it might be wise to savor the words of St. Augustine: "Two thieves on the cross. One was saved. Do not despair. One was damned. Do not presume."
Tuesday Morning, April 14, 2020
Nobody is sick.
No more nasty. Darkness lifted. The sky is back. It's clear and clean, sunny, full of promise. Air as God made it. A little chilly, but no threat apparent. Spotted a nuthatch climbing down the trunk of an elderly maple. Greene County now counts 80 some confirmed cases. That was yesterday. No toll yet for today. Actually, I'm wrong. There is a threat. And it's very apparent. And very ironic. Just back from Kingston, thirty miles away. Asleep upstairs. Nineteen months. My grandson. He's with the mother part of the week, with his father, our son, at our home the rest. We'd happily take him a full seven, but it's court ordained. Kingston is a hot spot. It's impossible to know where he's taken and to whom he's exposed. Could such an adorable creature harbor a deadly pathogen? Would you be charmed by an ugly one? Goo goo. Ga ga. Kiss the belly. Tickle the ear. I'm so cute, and now you've got it.
The most lovable thing on earth. Our very own Trojan horse.
He's just had his bath and is now asleep. For me, there's no more peaceful sight on earth than a sleeping baby. I loved to watch my children sleep. I still love to watch Jamie sleep. Now, I have a new one to watch. But, this child may be lethal. Am I over stating this? Am I? Maybe. But, it's a thought. Suppose this were a plot for a movie? Well, isn't it? A helpless infant is brought to our home from somewhere else, and that somewhere else happens to be a somewhat shabby neighborhood in a somewhat shabby city currently on emergency lock down. This could go south. Should we bar this little thing from our home? Until he's how old? We didn't. We won't. He's finally comfortable enough to know I'm his chair. He doesn't ask. He doesn't thank. He simply climbs into my lap and settles back. I want to assure him that I have his back, that as long as he's got me, he's safe. But, I can't do that. It wouldn't be true. He's not safe, and I can't help him. It's not just because of my age, but because, in this world, what's safe?
Nearly Bed Time
Nobody's sick.
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