A Few Things I’ve Learned in 2020

 On this the last day of the year 2020, a year everyone says has been the worst in living memory, I want to look at what I’ve learned.  We’ve spent nearly 10 months strictly sheltering in place.  Our bubble of contacts is very small mostly because we are among the vulnerable ones to Covid-19.  In our isolation, I greatly miss seeing my family and friends in person.  I especially miss having experiences with our grandchildren.  A year is such a long time in a young life and my time is increasingly limited.  Zoom is nice but not the same as being together and getting a hug.  I greatly miss live music performances that so nurtured my spirit and enlivened my life.  I greatly miss our travels that gave voice to new experiences and stimulated my curiosity.  Below a few things I’ve learned during this terrible time:

1.  I learned I’m much happier if I take one day at a time.  There is so much now that is totally beyond my control.  I try to be reasonable and let the rest go.  It is a daily challenge to do this.

2.  I try to focus on what I love.  A wise man once said you can tell a person by what they love.   I love my dear husband, my family and the friends I have from living a lifetime.  I love the natural world.  I love music and good books, gardens and chocolate.  I love the way the creative process consumes me and I can zone out in the timeless river of the endless now.  

3.  I learned time and distance are not what they seem.  I actually felt I was with my family on Christmas morning on Zoom and Facetime.  Distance didn’t matter.  Time stretches out in front of me like an expansive ocean beckoning me into it.  I love the days where I have nothing planned and a walk can take as long as it needs with no constraints but my energy.  I lose track of what day it is and that is ok.  Some days  I feel I am living in the movie “Ground Hog Day” where every day is an exact repeat of the day before as I do all the same things in the same order.  I found connecting with distant friends more often has brought us much closer.  

4.  I learned not to give power to others for my own happiness.  I spent more time than I like distressed by trump and his trashing of our democracy and values I hold dear. I’m not sure my anxiety and frustration accomplished very much. 

5. I learned when I feel overwhelmed by sadness or anxiety exercise can ease the pain.  I’ve learned that the waves of grief usually pass in time.  There is great comfort is a brisk walk. 

6.  I learned I have a need for nurturing my spiritual life.  While I miss the in-person church, I find comfort in Bob and I sitting down on the sofa on Sunday morning and watching the U-Tube of our church’s worship service.  I find keeping my eye out for things of beauty and photographing them while on walks feeds my spirit very much. 

7.  I learned that while my creative spirit has dimmed over the months, but it comes out in the  pleasure I find in reading good books and having honest authentic conversations with friends and family and with Bob.  I’ve enjoyed creatively writing this blog and writing sermons I’ve been invited to give this year.

8.   I learned simple and slow are good and patience is important.

Even though, I haven’t mastered all these learnings, I aspire to make them a part of my life in the new year.  As we all say to each other, 2021 has got to be better.  I sincerely hope so.  

Zoom Christmas

 In our separation, we came together on Christmas morning on Zoom and Facetime.  We shared the opening of presents and mostly it went one at a time.  The usual Christmas chaos grew over the time on the calls.  Nevertheless, I felt like I was there with our families in Palo Alto and E. Lansing and that was very very good.  Watching from the sidelines, I felt incredibly reassured that family traditions were being carried forth. I realized I do not have to shoulder all the burden of that anymore.  Surprisingly, I was fatigued after the present opening and it wasn’t even in person.  We are getting old.  I missed snuggling up to a grandchild, just being in the presence of the family, hearing live music, eating cinnamon rolls.  While I missed the incredible hustle and bustle of Christmas Day when we were altogether, I found the quiet had some pluses too.  It was a very good Christmas and I’m so grateful we could be together, sort of.  Grateful for those I love.  

Christmas Eve

 Christmas Eve has always been one of my favorite days of the year.  Maybe it’s because I spend the month of December preparing for it, shopping, writing cards, planning the menus.   A friend in recent years gives me an Advent calendar that I put on the frig door and each day so carefully open the little number window to see what is behind it.  More than anything though, today a child part of me comes fully alive and I relish what is to come and the quiet mystery of the day.  In recent years with our whole family squeezed into our house, it’s been a day of activity.  The grandkids decorate gingerbread houses, play innumerable games and go for long walks with willing adults.  We would all go to the early Christmas Eve service at church which is very child friendly (Christmas Lite I call it).  Then come back, light the fire and wait for a delicious dinner where we’d all crowd around the table and talk and laugh and tell stories.  Then after music making, the kids go to bed early and Bob and I would sneak out to go to the Late church service soaking in the holy mystery of the day.

This year because we’re celebrating with just us, I’ve been remembering the first Christmas Bob and I were without our family.  It was 1967 and we were living in Copenhagen Denmark.  It gets dark really early there, as I recall around 2 pm.  The Danes decorate and celebrate Christmas with gusto.  On Christmas Eve, we invited some American friends over to have a traditional  Danish Christmas dinner with us.  In my little primitive kitchen (the oven was a black metal box on which  I adjusted the temperature by raising or lowering the height of the flame) I roasted a duck for the first time in my life.  I cooked “rod kol” —sweet and sour red cabbage and tiny boiled potatoes.  We sat down at a very decorated table and ceremoniously I brought out the duck on a platter.  Bob raised his knife and with flourish cut off the first slice of the breast.  The joke was there was only one slice to be had on each side.  We laughed and laughed at how small the duck was.  Then the next day I had decided because we were alone and so were all the foreign guests at the Niels Bohr Institute, I’d have an open house for everyone without family to visit on Christmas.  It was a big crowd.  There were people from Italy, Switzerland, Checheslovia, Poland, Argentina, New Zealand, China and 7 Russians (6 nuclear physicists and one KGB minder)  The Russians all came to the door in a group and totally overwhelmed me with their presence.  I remember what a fun party it was.  This year, no Russians, we are quieter. It will be just us and for this year, that is ok.  Next year we will appreciate every little thing so much more.  Next year will be better.  

Looking for the Light

 Last week, I was looking for the light in many different places.  On the shortest day of the year, the winter solstice, I noticed the sunset was at 4:53 pm here.  That day we had nearly 14 hours of darkness.  On our mid afternoon walk, I noticed the long shadows on the streets midday.  It was hard to find sunshine to walk in.  The old poinsettia from two years ago is putting out tiny red bracts (it’s a short day plant that only does this when the night is longer than the day).  All signs.  Photos from E. Lansing from that evening show Erik and Sonja putting out luminarias in front of our house and theirs.  Erika told me the whole street was lined with them.  She said people put out more Christmas decorations than ever there and more people put out luminarias.  It must have been really beautiful.  I think everyone wanted to brighten up the world.  

Coming back from our walk on the solstice, a neighbor’s daughter went by in her old red pickup and stopped to chat, telling us she’s come up to the hills to see the Convergence of the planets.  So when we got home, Bob took out his spotting scope and his longest telephoto lens and we starting looking in the western sky for the convergence of Jupiter and Saturn.  They were visible to the naked eye as a very bright spot above San Francisco.  That night the clouds blocked our view, but the next night was clear and we saw them well.  With the spotting scope I could see 4 moons of the bigger brighter Jupiter and Saturn as elliptical so I could imagine the rings.  It was exciting because this convergence only happens every 800 years.  We were out there looking for the light!  The photo is one from NASA that Bob said stacked lots of photo images together to give such a clear image.  

The sermon I’d been writing for the worship service at the San Rafael church on Dec. 27 is called “Looking for the Light.”  The premise was that it is nice we celebrate baby Jesus, the light of the world, being born 2000 years ago, but it only matter if that light is born in our hearts.  So I rattled on about ways we find the light or love or Christ, whatever you call it, in each other.  This year, it is so quiet around our house that with the sermon I’ve had time to think about the real meaning of Christmas.  I think it is more important than ever to keep my eyes on the prize, to keep looking for the light!!!!  

300,000 Dead from Covid in US

 We’re nearing the beginning of our 10th month of Covid.  We’ve been very careful with a very small bubble and I’m tired of it.  The numbers of cases and deaths are worse than ever.  Yesterday the Chronicle reported more than 233,000 new cases (a record) and more than 3300 deaths in the US.  It’s hard to grasp such big numbers.  I have kept on my nightstand a now yellowed copy of NYTimes from May 24, 2020.  On the front page and three additional other pages is a list of 1000 of 100,000 that had died by that day.  People from all ethnicities, all walks of life, all ages.  Each person was described in a sentence or two—-mostly by what they did or what they loved and their age.  Now we have three times as many dead and it’s going to get a lot worse.  Because the virus is spreading so fast, we’re in lockdown once again.  I am numb, worn down, finding it hard to really grasp the horror of the situation and very very sad.  More people are now dying each day than died in the 9/11 attacks.  More people have died now from the virus than died fighting in World War II.  300,000 deaths from this terrible disease is a huge number for our country.  A person if they were in the hospital probably died alone, surely without any family with them.  This pandemic just goes on and on with no end in sight.  Even though vaccines are being approved, I have no confidence I will get a shot any time soon.  We have been staying locked up in our house trying to keep up our spirits, putting one foot in front of the other with one day being pretty much like the last.  Half the country thinks Covid is a hoax or if it exists, it is not so bad, following trump’s lead.  Half the country thinks to wear a mask is interfering with their freedom following trump’s lead.  Our country feels meaner and more fearful than ever before.  Times are growing darker.  I seek hope and want hopeful days.  

Lockdown, Again

The city of Berkeley and Alameda County where Berkeley is located plus 5 other Bay Area counties announced lockdowns —stay at home orders—-starting Sunday morning at midnight.  It is the strictest possible restriction for us.  We are to stay home only going out to buy groceries or get exercise only with someone from our own household.  Grocery stores will be allowed to be open but only at 20% capacity.  It’s scheduled to last at least until January 4.  All this in the weeks before Christmas.  What will it do for the struggling businesses?  I wonder if the Botanical Garden will be able to stay open, zoos and museums are to be closed and they seem pretty similar.  Last Friday the propagation area seemed almost to be like the old times.  All the propagators were there.  There was lot of chatter and someone even brought in cookies to share.  In my area, we worked really hard and were very productive.  We were even able to go into the Garden to gather some cuttings to propagate.  Now I wonder if we’ll be shut down for the month.  

As I sit here this morning, I’m trying to pay attention to how I feel about all this.  I’m not happy.   Someone asked me how I was on Friday and I told her I’m up and down.  My state feels like grieving.  I clearly remember the panic buying in Safeway, the day before the first lockdown started last March.  Everyone with their shopping carts totally overflowing, crushed into the unbelievably long checkout lines.  I don’t want to be a part of that so I’m resisting the urge of going to the market to “stock up.”  Good thing I’ve got a big stock of toilet paper laid in.  The virus is really moving closer.  While nobody I know has gotten the disease, everyone I know has stories of knowing someone who has been exposed or gotten the disease.  There was someone on Arne’s floor at BART that came in with a positive test sending everyone home the next day.  I’m sad and a little bit mad because it means things are about as dire as they can get.  Has all of our care and restriction over the last nine months been for naught?   To be sure, it appears that vaccines will become available later in the month  and that is good news.  But I’m already seeing signs of people vying to get an earlier slot in the lineup to get the vaccine.  Should elementary school teachers be up there with ICU nurses?  Should prisoners be ahead of the elderly?  Is risk or importance to society the more important factor to decide?  

I’m trying to decide how I want to spend my time now.  Now it seem there will be much empty unscheduled time for me in the weeks ahead.  No more masked walks with friends.  No more masked and social distancing propagating at the Garden.  No more socially distant outside little mosaic parties.  No more socially distant music events.  No more haircuts.   No more visits from Arne or the kids, even for Christmas.  In the loud silence of the future imagined, memories will be especially sustaining.  How can I keep the edge of sadness off them?  Most of all, I want to appreciate the blessings in my life.  

Looking for beauty on walks inspires me.  Listening to music always buoys me up.  Talking to friends and family will become more important.  Maybe now is the time, I will organize the family papers and finally start writing my family history.  There’s always the spinning wheel.  It feels like I’m at the edge of an ocean and a big wave is coming. What interesting and historic times we are living in!

Decorating the Christmas Tree

 Today I decorated our Christmas tree.  Bob and I got a beautiful 6’ tall Noble fir on Monday and he put it up in the stand yesterday. It is always my job to put on the lights and decorate the tree.  It took me time to overcome my gloom this morning from all the bad news about the pandemic and even warnings about more fire danger in our area this weekend.  That seemed like too much to bear for me.  But after a long zoom conversation with a dear friend, I felt buoyed up.  It is always a trip down memory lane when I unpack the ornaments.  I have come to a pattern of how I put them on.  First go the stars—-first there must be light in these dark times.  Advent is a dark time, a time of waiting for the light to come.  So the stars go on the tree, stars from Sweden, stars from Denmark,  Then the angels go on—-angels bringing the good news of a coming light, of Jesus’ birth.  Angels from all the places we’ve lived.  Macrame angels I made from the 70’s in Oak Ridge, straw angels from Denmark (they’re big on straw ornaments), silver angels from who knows where and little wooden angels from Norway.  Then the toy ornaments, sleds from Norway, a small nutcracker from Germany, and lots of hearts because hearts represent love.  Christmas is all about God’s love coming to us and us sharing our love with others.  Then I put on the birds, because I love birds—-red birds clustering at the top of the tree, owls flying and perched, carved wooden birds, even a Fairy Wren from a trip to Australia.  Then I fill in the depths and empty places with red ornaments.  The tree is finally finished.  Then I decorated the living room, filling every space with special Crèches and singing angels and funny little tumtegumpas from Sweden and Denmark.  In the windows, there are paper cutout Santa Claus from Denmark in l967, a knitted snowman my mother made and a wooden painted Christmas tree my sister made.  The room is finally ready but this year there nobody to see it.  Talking with our oldest son this evening, showing him all the decorations, I said, this is the first Christmas we won’t be with our grandchildren and he said, “This is the first Christmas I won’t be together with you.”  Yes, we will all miss being together, big time.  I’m glad I’ve decorated.  It’s hopeful.  It’s joyful.  I makes me smile and think about all the Christmas joy we’ve had over the years.  This year, more than ever, it’s important to focus on hope and light and love.  

———————-

Day of Giving Thanks

Bob and I went for a nice long walk in the warm and windy Thanksgiving afternoon.  We peeked through fences and gazed up to balconies to see socially distant gatherings along our way.  Delicious aromas wafted and floated out kitchen windows on the breezes teasing us with visions of mouthwatering food.  Along our way, I love to photograph the things of beauty I see.  Bob noticed a large sculpture of a human figure on Cragmont.  As we looked it it,  I wondered what the posture was meant to convey.  Bob said it is a gesture I used to use when I prayed in church services during my years as a minister.  Was the statue being grateful?

Thanksgiving is primarily a feast day to be together with family and friends.  But because of the pandemic, it’s just the two of us this year.  I decided to cook a nice traditional turkey dinner with all my favorite trimmings—-onion quiche, homemade cranberry sauce, whipped potatoes, sweet potatoes with lots of butter and brown sugar and of course pumpkin pie with lots of whipped cream.  I pulled out all the stops and set the table with my lace table cloth, my best dishes and silver set complimented a big bouquet of zinnias, marigolds and lavender from the garden.  I even put candles on the table.  This year we remembered Thanksgivings past with so many dinners with my brother Richard and his wife, with Bob’s brother Paul, with my sister, with our dear friends the Knop’s and so many more.  It was an exercise in memory of times past.   It was impossible to remember each of the 54 Thanksgivings we’ve had together.  I called my Israeli sister-in-law and she told me in Israel they celebrate Thanksgiving as the Day of Giving Thanks.  We reminisced about Thanksgivings we spent together over the years.  There were many happy times together.  We had a zoom call with all our sons and their families.  Zooming isn’t the same as being together but it surely is an improvement over the telephone.  When there was a lull in the conversation, Sonja played “Winter Wonderland”, her latest song,  on the piano to cheer and speed things along.  Afterwards we toasted each other with a glass of California Sauvignon Blanc and then I put the dinner together.  As we ate, I thought again about what it means to be thankful, to be really grateful.  I wondered what I’m grateful for this year?  I’ve been trying to practice being grateful for absolutely everything and everyone, but I’m not there yet.  I do know that being grateful is good for you.  It’s a habit I’d like to bring into each day.  All in all, our Thanksgiving day was very good indeed.  And for that I’m very thankful.  

Waiting

 We’re into the 9th month of the pandemic restrictions and I’m overcome with the constant waiting.  Waiting for something to happen or maybe just waiting for all this to be over.  Waiting in hiding so as to avoid catching the Covid virus.  Here in the Bay Area, we are strictly following the scientists’ guidelines of social distancing and mask wearing.  Thursday night,  Arne came over for dinner on his way home from Oakland and for the first time, he followed the guidelines completely:  wearing a mask all the while he was inside and when he ate, he went out into a little glassed in porch off our dining room, closed the door except for the smallest crack (so we could talk) and opened the big door to the outside for maximum air flow.  The pandemic is surging everywhere.  For the last week in this country, there have been 180,000 to 199,000 new cases each day with deaths approaching 2000 each day.  And the curve is rising exponentially!  And politically trump still maintains he won the election and is still filing lawsuits and now coercing legislators to go against the voters’ will.  So far nothing has worked.  His followers still believe whatever he says.  He seems bent on destroying our democracy and our country.  And we wait to see what will happen.  I struggle to keep out dire violent images from my imagination.  We don’t know what will happen. This is truly an historic time to be living in.  A time like never before.  The country is divided into two totally different realities.  How can this all end?  I don’t want my life to pass me by without noticing what is happening in it.  The days are pleasant mostly.  Arne brought me some positive books to read, including Obama’s first volume about his presidency so I read.  We will continue to take walks.  I seek out beauty along the way.  We get great pleasure from calls with our kids and friends and siblings.  And as the days pass by, we wait to see what will happen.  

The First Rain of the Season

 This afternoon in Berkeley, it rained, the first rain since last April.  The dusty forest finally got rinsed off from the dust of six months with no rain and all the smoke from the many fires in California.  The dry dry plants got a little drink, a hint of what is to come, hopefully.  What does one do when it rains, I wondered.  Strangely, I seem to have forgotten.  It was cold, blustery and wet, I didn’t want to go outside.  So I settled down on the sofa under the thickest afghan, worked a puzzle or two and read my new book club book-Caste.  I listened to the rain on the window and got very sleepy.  I took a nap for an hour.  Refreshed, I got up and made chocolate chip-ginger cookies.  A good way to spend a rainy afternoon.

Alex Trebek Died.

 The answer is in the form of a question.  The clue: “The tallest building in the world.”  The answer:  “What is the Burj Khalifa in Dubai.”  Jeopardy, the trivia game show, is seen in millions of households every night around dinner time.  I loved Jeopardy.  I loved to see if I knew the answer.  When there was a category I knew,  like Biology, Marine Biology or the Bible, I had a better chance.  I marveled at the outrageous facts some people knew and the speed at which they answered the clue.  The values the game held up are values I hold:  civility, nerdiness, respect, kindness to everyone.  The host, Alex Trebek, set the tone for 37 years.  Bob said with a bit of implied criticism, “the show is always exactly the same.”  The same introduction, the same words said, the same order.  That’s what gave me comfort.  I could always send count on Jeopardy to calm me down no matter what had happened in my life or in the world.  In turbulent times, watching Jeopardy provided needed constancy and comfort.  Even the little jingle in the final question is an ear-worm when I call it to mind.  About a year and a half ago, Alex Trebek announced on the show that he had Stage 4 pancreatic cancer.  It was a death sentence to be sure and yet as I watched the show, he seemed to go on and on, never looking sick or stressed.  He never missed a show in all his years.  He was a private man, showing us only the set pieces of himself on the show.  What I saw, I valued and appreciated and so did millions of Americans.  His death was announced on the front page of the NYTimes on Monday with a long article telling of his life.  I’m sad and I know so are millions of other Americans.  

Trump Refuses to Concede

As the joy and elation of last weekend’s call of Joe Biden’s win fades, I feel like I am watching a slow motion train-wreck.  Trump is refusing to concede the election.  His constant calling of the election as fraudulent and illegal with voting irregularities all over the country has convinced 70% of the Republicans that the election results are not valid.  They believe trump has won.  The NYTimes today had on its front page quotes from all the Secretary of States from the states saying there was nothing illegal in their elections.  Biden is ignoring mostly trump’s shenanigans, but I fear they bode badly for our democracy.  Calling an election illegal is something dictators do to keep in power.  We are watching the destruction of our democracy by trump, something the Russians have wanted for years but couldn’t do.  Now trump is doing that for them.  I fear my and President-elect Biden’s hopes of healing of the divided electorate are pie in the sky wishfulness.  My old father used to say “I’ve made up my mind, don’t confuse me with facts.”  That is what I fear is the situation with trumpers, no facts are going to convince them of something different than what trump says.  Where do we go from here?  What if trump refuses to concede even by Inauguration Day in January?  Will we have two governments or a Civil War?  

Biden Wins!

 Bob and I were eating chocolate croissants for breakfast this morning when Bob’s cell phone rang.  It was his brother, a lifelong Republican, giddy with happiness who called to tell us that Biden had just been called the winner of the Presidential race by the AP and the major networks.  It’s a moment neither of us will ever forget.  It’s historic not just for Biden, but also for Kamala Harris—the first woman, the first African-American woman, the first Asian American to be elected as Vice-President.  I felt happy for my granddaughters and all the girls in American that the glass ceiling has been broken.  I remembered it was the primary voters of South Carolina, many black, that gave Biden his first clear victory that set him on a successful path to the nomination.  Without them, he would not be where he is today.  I heard him acknowledge that in his acceptance speech tonight.  I feel great joy, a sense of immense relief that there will be a reasonable person in the White House and a sobering sense of how much there is for them to do.  This is a time of opportunity to relish the joy, to imagine all that can be, to live into the hope of possibilities before all the troubles begin to muddle the vision as the work begins.  Bob said “Now there will be a science advisor again and Dr. Fauci can be head of the pandemic task force.”  We received an email from our long time French friends with a photo of them raising their glasses in celebration of Biden’s victory.  The news of this win has sped around the whole world!  People all over the world are dancing in the streets!

But there is so much work to be done.  The words of Howard Thurman’s poem “The Work of Christmas” came into my mind.  Using his poem as a model:  Now the election is over, the big work will begin: to control the Covid pandemic;  to heal the nation’s divisions;  to feed the hungry children;  to address climate change;  to address the systemic racism so that all might be free;  to fix our economy for the benefit of everyone, to give everyone a chance in this life.  

From the position of this win it is easier to feel gracious towards trump and his 70 million supporters.  I feel less hate in my heart now.  I am so relieved that someone with integrity and honesty will be in the White House.  Truth and honesty will once again be important.  Yet as I think about all the trumpers, I don’t think they are going to be very open to healing Joe Biden offers.  For years they have been believing the lies that trump and Fox News have spun.  Rush Limbaugh and Sean Hannity have told them what to believe for years.  Their reality is totally different than mine.  We are so deeply divided.  During next days and weeks, I fear trump is going to be ugly, spewing lies about the election, filing lawsuits to undermine the election.  I hope his supporters don’t get violent in the streets.  The most important thing is that the American people have spoken.  They have spoken for Biden, for decency and civility, for calm and order, for truth and honesty.  This is a moment to relish!!!

The Day After

 A front page New York Times article caught my attention this morning.  It reads: “From the start of his 2020 campaign, Joseph R. Biden Jr. insisted that President Trump was an aberration, his norm-breaking, race-baiting tenure anathema to the national character.  ‘It’s not who we are,’ Mr Biden often said, ‘not what America is.’ At the end of the 2020 campaign, an anxious, quarrelsome country is turning a question back to him.  Are you sure?”

This morning I find myself in a state of hyperawareness about the election.

  I stare at leaves and flowers thinking, “well, at least you’re still here.”  It is reminiscent of how I felt after 9-11 when I struggled for perspective.  Today I am struggling to reassure myself the world is still here and some things are still in order. While we wait for results, we went on a walk.  Everything seemed unusually vivid.  A squirrel hustling over the street on wires, a confident tight rope runner, caught my eye.  The many bird calls seemed extra loud.  Nature seemed to be reaching out to calm me.   I am in shock that so many of my fellow Americans think so very differently than I do, that so many could vote for trump.  Oh, the election for president hasn’t yet been decided.  It depends upon the mail-in ballots, not yet counted, in a handful of states.  But my sober realization that my country has become a different place than the one I have known and loved all my life. I look at the red/blue map on my IPad and wonder if we were to drive across the country to Michigan how I would look at people in the red states.  I was not paying attention to those horrible tv shows where people insulted and beat up each other like the Apprentice or where they showed no mercy like on Survivor.   I just don’t understand how, knowing what trump is like, they could vote for him.  Biden and trump, both old white men, are symbols of different views of the patriarchy.  Biden is compassionate, full of integrity. He’s not perfect, but nobody is.  trump on the other hand is an arrogant lying cheat, a mean bully who cannot tolerate anyone with differing views.  What is to become of our country?  If Biden wins, how will he ever bring the healing he says he will.  Is our democracy so deeply divided, it can’t be fixed?  We wait.  

Election Day 2020

 Today is Election Day.  It’s an historic election the whole world is watching.  Biden versus Trump; a moderate Democrat versus Trump; good versus evil.  There is no doubt we are a deeply divided nation with both sides saying it’s a battle for the soul of America.  I’m nervous, skitters on this the day of reckoning.  I am going to keep moving during this day.  I remember so very clearly the Election Night Party at the Berkeley church in 2016.  The new minister gathered her flock together for a party to watch the election results.  I dressed in white, lots of the women were dressed in white,  to honor the suffragettes and in good hope that a woman (Hillary Clinton) would win the election.  The polls had it as a tight race predicting a Hillary win.  But as the night wore on, it became clear Trump was eeking out a victory.  I still feel the trauma and deep disappointment of that night.  This year there is no election party, at that church rather the sanctuary is open for praying.  We all are very very nervous about this election.  As my sport trainer said “Four years ago, I feared what Trump might do, this time I know what he will do if he is elected.”  

This year there has been extensive early voting.  Nearly 100 million people have already voted.  I’ve never seen an election that garnered so much interest.  I’ve never felt so strongly against any candidate.  The thing is I HATE trump.  He has wormed his way into everyone’s mind, mine included.  He stands against everything I value.  I don’t like to hate anyone.  I don’t say this lightly.   In some way, it means he has won and in my hating, I am the loser.  There has been lots of press telling about the ways he is cheating to win this election: voter suppression,  stacking the courts in his loyal conservative judges; openly encouraging violence if he loses, his use of White House as a campaign stage; his use of his political appointees in service of his campaign and I’m sure there is lots more we just don’t know about.

Seeing pictures of ordinary people standing in long long lines to vote encourages me.  I have a tiny piece of hope that democracy will survive and win out in this election.  I have a tiny piece of hope that no matter the outcome, the interest of citizens in working for our democracy will not fade but flourish.  I have a tiny piece of hope that the open wounds of systemic racism will finally be addressed and healing will begin.  I have a tiny piece of hope that we as a country will work to create jobs and help people escape the pit of poverty.  I have a tiny piece of hope that the robber barons will be controlled and selfishness will give way to generosity and work for the common good.

  I have a tiny piece of hope that the American people will rise up and say NO to trump.  

The Heirloom Footstool

 Many years ago in the late 80’s, my mother bought a needlepoint canvas with a floral design painted on it.  She bought it at a lovely handwork shop, The West in Tucson, Arizona.  The store was populated, I thought at the time, by fussy old ladies who advised and helped the customers with their needlepoint questions.  The needlepoint was meant to cover a footstool that had been in my family since the 1940’s.  It’s a stool I remember my brother, age 3, falling off and breaking his collar bone.  I remember mother sitting on the back bay beach on Balboa Island working the green needlepoint that covered the stool for nearly 75 years.  By the time I had the stool in my house, the cover was torn and tattered.  But I always cherished the stool as a tangible treasured memory from my early days.  When mother began to lose her strength and had to move out of her apartment into an assisted living facility in the early 1990’s, my sister and I did the work of cleaning out her apartment.  I spotted the needlepoint tacked on a large wooden frame and put it aside.  I couldn’t let it be given away.  Mother had taught her daughters to do handwork.  I appreciated the needlepoint even though it was only a quarter completed.  It sat behind a door in my office for more than 25 years untouched until I picked it up during the current Covid pandemic.  “I’ve got time now,” I thought.  I wasn’t exactly sure how to do the needlepoint.  The back of the piece shows I tried lots of different techniques.  Fortunately none of them show on the front side.  After 3 months of hard work, I finished the piece.  Yesterday I got the stool with the new needlepoint cover on it back from the upholsterer.  I’m thrilled.  But what was mother thinking to put a white needlepoint on a footstool.  Nevertheless, it is truly an heirloom, a piece from a by-gone time.  I hope one of my children or grandchildren will appreciate the work of their great grandmother and grandmother in it and also cherish the footstool.

The Plant Sale

 This morning I volunteered to be the “Plant Checker” at the UC Botanical Garden special sale for Insectivorous Plants.  It was outside, with everyone masked, and good social distance was maintained.  I sat behind a table, so I felt safe.  Everyone loves insectivorous plants: the Venus flytraps are perhaps the most famous, but Pitcher plants, Nepenthes, sundews and butterworts are also cool.  These plants have evolved with leaf adaptations to catch insects.  Some have tubular shaped leaves with downward facing hairs that trap bees and other insects, others have sticky pads that trap insects and eventually digest them.  They live in wet bogs and swamps. Their roots can’t absorb the nitrogen they need because of the acidic conditions in the bogs. The insects they catch provide the nitrogen.  As a docent, I noticed that boys seem particularly attracted to these plants and often would proudly explain how the plants catch their insects.  Today’s plant sale was wildly successful with people of all ages buying lots and lots of the plants.  Some were real aficionados looking for the most rare and special plants.  Some plants sold for as much as $100.  A favorite customer was a dad with two kids each with paper bags containing their allowances.  After carefully looking at everything, they  picked a large Venus fly trap and an antler sundew.  As I tallied up the prices of plants on a sales slip, I heard wonderful stories of where folks had seen the plants in the wild.  One lady told of a summer house in the Adirondacks by a lake where the wet front yard of the cabin was solid with sundew plants.  She’s loved them ever since.  Another woman told of a trip up to Oregon where they stopped at a pull out and took a board walk into the forest where they came upon a bog filled solid with pitcher plants.  I love plant sales because everyone is so happy and hopeful.  The energy is always really good.  It was filled with special joy at being able to have a plant sale again and love because so many people especially love the insectivorous plants.  I guess during the pandemic people are really tending their boggy gardens.  The wait to get in took a really long time because the sales area was small with only three groups at a time allowed in.  Some people waited more than an hour in the hot sun to get in, but everyone was mellow and happy to be there.  Maybe patience is another fruit of the pandemic.  The preliminary totals are astounding:  $5400 for the 2 hours the sale was open today.  And the sale goes on tomorrow morning!!!

Looking for the Good

 I am convinced in every situation, there is both good and bad.  Maybe not in equal amounts, but both are present.  I recall the story of the little girl who got a present of a pile of manure.  Her parents found her out in the barn singing away as she shoveled the manure.  How can you be so happy, they asked her.  Her response was with all this manure, there has to be a pony in here somewhere.   In these times, when everyone I know has pandemic fatigue, when everyone I know is overwhelmed with the constant battering of bad news, it’s hard not to be consumed by fear.   So at the little zoom Bible Study this afternoon that I participated in, I stated my idea and we started collectively to look for good in the difficult days.  There are benefits of the zoom meetings.  My granddaughters apparently do as well or perhaps better taking their piano lessons on zoom.  I don’t know why but maybe they focus  more intently on the screen, no matter the reason,  it is a positive.  Someone at the Bible Study said, that after this pandemic is over, the doctors and scientists will know more how to treat the disease.  I think the international cooperation among scientists to all work to make a vaccine is a first.  And the vaccine will be produced much faster than any ever has before.  I think more white Americans have understood systemic racism since George Floyd’s death, perhaps because more white Americans were home watching their devices or tv and finally that horrible death cracked through the brittle walls of denial.  I think more people will vote in this election than ever before.  More people are thinking about our democracy and the threats to it. People are spending more time doing things that really matter than ever before:  connecting with family and friends even when we can’t be together physically.  I know I am valuing the live music I’ve heard more than I ever have before and I was a big live music Symphony fan.  I appreciate my garden and the Botanical Garden more than ever before.  The list goes on and on.  There is good in this time.  It will be interesting to see the changes that come about from this pandemic time.  

Carrying On

 The time of the pandemic was measured in days at the beginning, then months (now we are beginning the 8th month of it) and now Dr. Fauci has said, it will be measured years.  He warned this won’t be over until the last part of 2021.  I can’t imagine.  Yet I can as we all seem to be adjusted to social distancing, mask wearing and hand washing.  Wearing a mask doesn’t seem odd any more.   Life, it seems, goes on.  Even though  I still don’t know anyone who has had the virus, it still looms large.  President Trump had it last week and now is acting even crazier than usual, probably on a steroid manic high.  Nobody can tell that man anything.  Life goes on, day by day.  The sun rises and it sets.  The days grow hot and then they cool down.  The air is terribly smoky, then it isn’t.  People do special things that bring  pleasure.  We were invited to a very small live concert at an estate in Woodside.  It featured a cello and a harp playing wonderful music in an old open dairy barn.  The music wafted up and around as the gentle breezes of fresh air flowed around us.  I especially loved the pieces they ended with:  “Spiegel im Spiegel” by Arvo Part and “Meditation” from Thais.  Afterwards the fifteen of us got to go on a hike over the oak dotted hills to see some of the incredible outdoor sculptures collected by the family over the years.  It was a most special afternoon.  This week, a friend came over with her husband.  He advised Bob on electrical work, while she and I walked and talked and just relaxed in each other’s company.  It was like a time before all this except for our social distancing and mask wearing.   I went to my meet my new doctor.  Things looked normal except for the masks and the way we all avoided each other.  I still volunteer at the Botanical Garden.  We look forward to the frequent calls we get from our family.  Life goes on.  We are carrying on, day after day grateful for little kindnesses.  We are more appreciate of things of beauty we encounter.  We are more grateful for our health.  We are more resolute about the politics, hopeful sanity will return in November.  Everyone MUST VOTE!!!!!!

Destruction is Easy

 One thing I have learned in my life is that destruction of anything is easy and building and rebuilding is hard.  I think of destruction of a house.  You just bring in the wrecking ball and the dump trucks and before you know it, the house is gone.  It takes so long to build a house.  A friend of mine is building a cottage in her backyard,  She told me she is amazed at how long and how complicated the process is.  From the city permits to inspections to the details of the building.  It takes a long time to build a house.  It takes a long time to build a relationship.  One needs common experiences, time to know the other person and to understand his/her ups and downs.  In my experience, over time, like an oyster making a pearl, the relationship is cemented becoming even more beautiful.  It then can withstand with ups and downs of life.  There is nothing like a breach of trust to instantaneously destroy what has taken years to build.  It takes just a spark thrown into dry grass to start a fire and in this fire season, a roaring inferno soon is out of control.  There have been or are 8000 fires in California, burning up our state just this season.  The Presidential debate this week was a debacle.  Trump came in throwing his outrageous chaos and interruptions and lies all over the platform.  He destroyed the Presidental debate format in no time.  Two hundred and forty years of democracy now stand threatened to be destroyed by this evil demon we have for a President.  It is so easy to destroy something and so hard to build up something.  The horror for me is to watch and to feel that I cannot stop this destruction.  Our democracy is being attacked and half of my fellow Americans don’t see it this way or don’t care.  I cannot fathom what they see and how they cheer when he weakens and destroys yet another part of our government and society.  Our former allies around the world are watching.  Putin and Xi are laughing and rubbing their hands together in glee at our self-destruction.  I am so afraid that we cannot stop this destruction.  What will our grandchildren inherit?  What story will they believe about the fall of America from power?  Will they wonder why we didn’t stop this carnage and protect our beautiful country? 

Walking the Flats

 Today Bob and I went for a walk in the Flats of Berkeley.  We walked streets almost randomly, some were much more beautiful than others.  Most of the houses were from the 1920-1930’s.  I’d always wished we lived in such an area because from there one could walk to markets and cafes.  It seemed to be there, one would be more in the flow of Berkeley.  Bob was intrigued by one house that was raised up a whole level, creating a totally new understory.  There was a table saw on the curb, offered for free. “Bob,” I said, “ you’re not thinking of taking such a thing?:  No, he wasn’t, but it stressed me to think of him bringing more to our house.  As we walked passed the busy and famous Monterey Market, we turned down a side street, Albina St.  It was a special treat of the walk.  We passed St. Mary’s High School entrance, but didn’t explore it.  Around the corner we came upon a lovely small red house, with a lock on the outside.  Whatever could it be?  As we walked on, we saw the chickens.  Ahhhh, a chicken coop.  Then the owner of the place, came and spoke with us.  He’d built the “Taj Mahal” for the chickens ten years ago from cast off doors from the “Big House”.  Sure enough the walls were made of old doors.  As we walked on, we came upon the “Big House”.  It was a.mansion, with turrets, and porches, with the yard full of palms trees and tree ferns.  In the sidewalk were numbers embossed saying 1889.  I expect the mansion was alone on the field of Berkeley in 1889, overseeing many acres on the flats of Berkeley.  It was a marvel to come upon this.  As we walked further west, we turned on to the Green Way walk by the BART tracks.  There were rusty metal cutouts of cows, the third artistic cows I’ve seen in Berkeley, all pointing to the early dairy farms in Berkeley.  Schools, mansions, chicken coops and farms, all in Berkeley and much more!  Berkeley streets are really fun to walk, you never know what you’re going to find.

Tears for RBG

 Two days ago, Friday September 18, 2020, Ruth Bader Ginsberg died.   I teared up upon reading the shocking news.   I am heartbroken.  She was such a fighter for what she believed in.  A titan of a feminist, she fought for women’s rights and equality in all ways, in all places, for such a long time.  She fought so fiercely for so long to stay alive.  Her dying wish was that the next President after the election appoint her successor.   For me to know that such a strong woman had my back is no small thing.  Not only did she have a truly brilliant intellect, she had heart, she had style.  Her values of justice, equality and respect of all shined through her actions her whole lifelong.  Because of the documentary made about her several years back (RBG), I learned more about her life and her accomplishments and appreciate her even more.  She is my hero.  On the Friday evening news, I heard her quoted saying “think about how you want the world to be for your daughters and granddaughters” in one of her cases for women’s rights argued in front of the all male judges of the Supreme Court.  She won five out of six of her cases at the highest court in the land.  She was nominated by Clinton to that Court in 1993 and was nearly unanimously confirmed with 96 votes in her favor, only 3 against.   For 27 years, she has been the liberal lionheart of the Supreme Court.  We could always count on her to be fair, just and careful in her opinions.  

I have been deeply affected by her death for two reasons:  first, the sexism I experienced in nearly every place I ever worked and second, my concern about who will nominate her successor.   I grew up in the 1940’s and 50’s when to be born a girl meant you were born less than a boy.  Boys could grow up to be doctors, lawyers, scientists, businessmen—whatever they wanted.  As a girl, I was raised to become a wife, mother and housekeeper.  It’s all my mother ever wanted for me.  My grandmother explained to me the only reason to be educated was to be educated companion for your husband.  The only reason to have a career in your handbag was in case your husband died and you had to support your family.  Girls could be secretaries, nurses or teachers in those days.  The imprinting was deep and powerful.  When I was in high school, I wasn’t allowed to take physics because I was a girl.  In college, I remember being pushed aggressively against the wall and angrily told it was wrong of me to get a higher score on a test than this young man had, after all he had to get into medical school.  In a medical school interview I was pointedly asked why they should take me when I would just get married and drop out of medical school. The places were for the men.  And on and on.  It wasn’t the time for female empowerment.   In my own way, I’ve fought my whole life for female empowerment.  RBG had to deal with this culture too.  All females did.  Thank goodness times have changed.  She was a leader in the legal foundation for the changes in our society that have leveled the playing field for women’s opportunities. .  Imagine getting paid less just because you are a female?  Equal pay for equal work is now a right.  Even though it has been the law for a long time, at a school where I worked for many years, the men always earned more than the women.  The Headmaster said it was because they were head of families and needed it.  I’m happy some things have changed.  My granddaughters can be whatever they want to be—-doctors, lawyers, business leaders, scientist or homemakers.

RBG’s dying wish is that her successor be named after the election by the next  President.  With the election only 45 days away, there is so little time.  Mitch McConnell Senate majority leader said hours after RBG’s death he was moving forward to get a new judge in place before the election.  This is an act of incredibly horrible hypocrisy as he refused for more than 11 months to let Merrill Garland, Obama’s choice, go to a vote or even a hearing saying it would be up the next President.  Completely contradicting himself he is now pushing through a vote in a matter of weeks.  It is a crucial matter for the future of the Court for a generation.  The already ugly politics is about to get uglier and Trump and the Republicans make me sick to my stomach.  I really dislike wishing anyone the worst, but I’m afraid in these times, there are many that I now wish the worst for and they are all politicians.   In these turbulent times, Go in Peace, my hero.  We’ll get up and carry on!

Signs of Autumn

 As the pandemic rolls on, the days of sheltering in place have begun to seem the same.  Someone said it’s like the movie “Groundhog Day,” every day you wake up and do the same things over and over again.  I’m more numb than stressed about the pandemic these days.  I read, I think in the NYTimes, that one way to ease the stress of the pandemic confinement was to really notice seasonal changes.  So today, when we went on a walk on the trails in Tilden Park, I looked for signs of seasonal change.  It is almost the Fall Equinox and the last time we walked the trail was in May or June.  The  terrain is mostly forested and the dappled light looked the same to me.  I love dappled light, but I couldn’t see the angled light of autumn shining any differently than the more direct light of summer under the tall pine, redwood and California bay trees.  I noticed it was definitely drier.  The clay soil on the path had deep cracks in it.  A big leaf maple was already dropping it’s big brown and yellow leaves on the trail.  They were beautiful, like a Sierra Club photograph.  The green Western Lady Fern’s frond was curled upward exposing all the little brown sporangia.  The spores will have to wait a couple of months before the rains come and give moisture for them to sprout.  They’ll be ready.  The tall purple-flowered artichoke thistle had dried out and sent it’s seeds off in a snowy blanket covering the undergrowth.  The back lit seed hairs glowed.  Autumn is coming.  Soon the days will be shorter than the night.  I’ve started planting again in my garden.  Yesterday I pulled out the spent tomatoes and planted lettuce.   Today I planted five perennials I’d propagated.   The season is changing.  Autumn is the most dangerous season around here in N. California.  It’s the fire season and that fills me with dread.   It is also a season of harvest.  It is a season of hope, a time to plant bulbs and trees.  It is a season of orange, brown, gold and red.  It is a season of pumpkins.  It is a season to be grateful.  

Hummingbirds

 On the 6th consecutive day of unhealthy air, days when all people are advised to stay indoors so as not to breathe in all the smoke particles, I’ve been wondering what it is like for the animals, especially for the birds who always breathe so rapidly with their high metabolisms.  Where can they go to hide out?  I was just now watching two hummingbirds, Anna’s most likely, feeding on our chartreuse and purple flowered Salvia mexicana. They were so close together as the darted from one blossom to the next.  Hummingbirds always chase each other away.  I’ve never seen them so close, sharing the blossoms.  I wondered if they were mother and youngster, not so competitive as the males or maybe they just don’t waste any energy chasing each other around when they are stressed by bad air.  I wonder how this terrible smoke affects all the animals?  

The Worst Air in the World

We had the worst air in the world yesterday here in Berkeley and the Bay Area.  Today is the 27th day in a row that we have had a “Spare the Air” day here.  These are days when the air quality is so bad that we are requested/required not to do anything that might contribute to further air pollution, like the Smog Alerts I remember from my youth in Los Angeles in the 1950’s.  Yesterday visibility was measured in yards, not miles.  We are to do as little driving as possible and of course, no fires.  The previous record was 14 days in a row in 2018 from the Camp Fire that burned up the town of Paradise.  After the strange and apocalyptic orange air on Wednesday, the air has been particularly awful, filled with so much smoke that has dropped ash all around.  Looking out yesterday (the air quality index was in the high 260’s —very unhealthy air) the air was a visible gray thick with smog (smoke plus fog) that burned your eyes and made it hurt to breathe.  I was paralyzed most of the day, sitting still, not having energy or focus to do much of anything.  Thank goodness I could take a nap.  

The fires in California have burned up more than 3 million acres this year and the fire season is just officially beginning.  Oregon and Washington are burning too.  Maybe it’s worse up there.  There are reports of whole towns burning up.  There is no doubt conditions are worse in the West than they have ever been.  One climate change event triggers another and they are acting like a positive feedback loop with more and more fires burning hotter and faster than ever before.  The news said the catastrophes are falling like a line of dominoes, one on the other, amplifying their effects.  It is totally scary.  It’s affecting us all and for me the horror is that I have no control whatever.  We seem to be just reacting to the changes that affect us all.  Climate change demands us to take drastic actions in our life styles to combat it. As Gov. Newsom said, “if you have any doubts about climate change, come to California, we’re living it now.  It’s a climate damn emergency!”  We need leadership.  We need to stop thinking in just the short term immediate future, but make changes to prevent any future warming.  Greta Thunberg where are you?  Driving a Prius isn’t enough.  I must stop flying.  Demand the government organize our country to change it’s energy use.  This crisis has my attention and I want to do something constructive before California totally burns up.  

Red Morning Light

 It’s 9 o’clock in the morning but you can’t tell by looking out the window.  The fog has come in but it’s colored red.  It’s as dark as it is at 5:30 in the morning before the sun comes up.  Even the birds have settled down and stopped their singing.  It’s eerily quiet.  Like an eclipse, but it’s not an eclipse.  Bob says it’s a high level blanket of smoke from all the fires in California.  I’ve never seen anything like this.  All I can think is apocalypse.  I’m shaken to experience such a scary thing for the first time at my advanced age.. I sit here shaken.  

The coolness the fog brings is a sweet blessing after 3 days of a brutal scorching heat wave.  The air temperatures outside the house (Bob now has remote thermometers) measured 109 on the sunny side and 104 on the shady side at the peak.  It was hot enough to heat up the inside of our house to 96 degrees even with all the window shades drawn and the house closed up early to keep out the heat.  It radiated in.  Even the cooler downstairs approached 90 degrees.  We sat limply waiting in front of our fans waiting for the air to cool down.  And the smoke made the hot air bad to breathe.  But S. California had it worse.  Woodland Hills near Los Angeles hit a simmering 121 degrees

I am surprised how much this is bothering me.  I realize how much my life, my energy, my outlook is determined by the light.  I’ve always been very sensitive to the quality of the light and this is doing a whammy on me.   What is the world coming to?  I remember the killer fogs in London.  Is this our killer smoke?  After the pandemic, the economic woes, the nasty divided politics, the heat waves each one worse than the ones before, the terrible fires that has California forests burning up, the red flag warnings (meaning high fire danger), now we seem to have lost the light.   Really, it’s too much.  

Writing a Sermon on Forgiveness

 In less than a week, I’ll be videoing my sermon on Forgiveness for the little church where we attend.  The Pastor has gone off on paternity leave and organized a long line up of diverse people to preach.  I’m second in line.  The lectionary scripture clearly pointed to forgiveness at the topic.  It is a good topic, a relevant topic for these times.  I’ve preached lots of sermons on it but this year, it just wouldn’t come together.  I’ve been struggling mightily for several weeks.  I wrote a first draft, revised it three or four times and then finally threw it out and started over today.  I think it is so difficult because there is just so much that needs to be forgiven in our country right now. Everything is so politicized and divided just now, the pandemic is so politicized that I wonder if forgiveness itself is a politicized topic as well.  I worked on “The Parable of the Unforgiving Servant.”  It is a confusing story about a king who wants to settle up some debts and calls in a servant who owes him a really huge amount.  The king demands the impossible payment and the servant begs for more time.  Immediately the king in a huge outpouring of mercy forgives the whole debt and sends off the servant scott free.  The servant (now called the Unforgiving Servant) immediately encounters another slave who owes him a pittance and demands payment. The servant can’t pay, but the Unforgiving One, grabs him by the throat (yes, it really says that in the scripture) and throws him into prison.  The king on hearing what happened reverses his previous merciful forgiveness and throws the Unforgiving One into prison to be tortured.  No forgiveness in the forgiveness story.  I had/have so many questions.  Is forgiveness only a one-on-one act?  What about instructions and whole races of people that need to be forgiven for complicity in acts from long ago. What’s the relationship between mercy and justice?  So many questions.  This afternoon a sermon just flowed out of me.  My thoughts and questions had solidified into a cogent text.  We’ll see how it looks in the morning. 

Go Outside

Bob and I went out for a walk today before lunch.  The air was rated “Good” for the first time in more than a week.  It was very good to be outside again after the week of extreme heat followed by a week of unhealthy air due to all the fires in N. California.  Thank goodness for an on-shore breeze today.  We went on a nearby loop we’ve been on before numerous times.  I’m always amazed to see beautiful things I’ve missed on previous walks.  It makes me wonder how many amazing, incredible things I overlook in my daily life.  There was a hand-painted sign giving excellent pandemic advice:  Go outside; Eat well;  Read good books and Be happy.  There was an amazing metal-work gate we’ve walked by more than a dozen times without noticing it.  Bob, who is really into metal-working marveled over the craftsmanship of the gate.  The gardens are mostly dried up already waiting for the winter rains to come, which won’t happen until November.  But this month the magnolias are in bloom.  Today there was a large creamy waxy blossom low enough to photograph but not to smell.  This is surely the time to notice and appreciate all the simple pleasures in our daily lives.  It’s time to remember to be grateful for them.