We are basking, here in Paradise, in 80-plus temperatures. Everything out there is dry as toast and waiting for a substantial rain to make things right. When you walk on our lawn the crunching sound is loud enough to wake babies. Fortunately our nearest neighbors haven’t any of those little creatures around, so they are not complaining.
It’s been interesting reading about how Sweden is coping with Covid-19. They basically tried to shelter all of the aged while letting the virus otherwise rip through the country. The hope was that the younger population would handle it fairly well and eventually the virus would find new victims unavailable and eventually disappear.
Unfortunately, they didn’t protect those older citizens as well as they might have and as a result there are many fewer old Swedes today than there were two months ago.
There’s an important defect in this plan, I think, and that is posed by the tactics of Norway and Finland (and most other Western countries), who are doing the shelter-in-place thing. The virus won’t be as quick to leave those territories, so even if the Swedes get their wish at home, they can’t go anywhere.
It’s still all theoretical, of course, we don’t really know what this pest is going to do or how our personal and herd immunities are going to develop, or even if they will. We are in that uncomfortable place where the science is developing at its steady pace while our expectations and hopes are racing far ahead.
Patience is easier to come by for those less troubled.
Leonard Pitts Jr. comes through once again in his latest column. His admonition is “Control what you can in this time of madness, and don’t forget … breathe.”
Unless your equanimity is already perfect, you might benefit from a read here. The man is a powerhouse of common sense and thoughtfulness.
Joy Harjo has been given a second term as poet laureate of the United States. Here is one of her works. I wish I could say it is reprinted with her permission, but it is not. On the other hand, she didn’t forbid me to do it, either, so there is that.
Our poet laureate is blissfully unaware of my existence. It’s all part of the plan.
Once The World Was Perfect
Once the world was perfect, and we were happy in that world.
Then we took it for granted.
Discontent began a small rumble in the earthly mind.
Then Doubt pushed through with its spiked head.
And once Doubt ruptured the web,
All manner of demon thoughts
We destroyed the world we had been given
For inspiration, for life—
Each stone of jealousy, each stone
Of fear, greed, envy, and hatred, put out the light.
No one was without a stone in his or her hand.
There we were,
Right back where we had started.
We were bumping into each other
In the dark.
And now we had no place to live, since we didn’t know
How to live with each other.
Then one of the stumbling ones took pity on another
And shared a blanket.
A spark of kindness made a light.
The light made an opening in the darkness.
Everyone worked together to make a ladder.
A Wind Clan person climbed out first into the next world,
And then the other clans, the children of those clans, their children,
And their children, all the way through time—
To now, into this morning light to you.
This morning I was watching Poco drinking at the outdoor waterer. I noticed his fur was sort of scruffy, his posture a little hunched. I also know he can’t jump nearly as high as he once could, and believe him to be arthritic. There are moments when he seems forgetful, maybe confused about where he is and what he’s doing there. Followed by times when he seems as clear as ever.
I was feeling a little wistful on his account, when I had this thought. Does he look at me and think the same things?