Memories.
I’m marking time today in a different way. It is a slow slog. Every hour is a new normal after twenty-two years of the same halls, the same corners and the same processes. The Coronavirus has dropped a smart bomb into my solid set of systems, my ways of being, our places of buying and eating and roads on which we drive. It’s a great reduction and we are in the sauce…for now.
Usually my internal nature, my culture, my surroundings…these forces look and reach outward, forward, upward…comfortable in their very movement, their continual movement. Even in the stillness of quieter days there has been that motion and the push of even more movement.
It’s all sort of dribbling off and grinding down and sideways into nothing…right now.
‘Maybe there will be an extension, a waiver, a check…remote learning…something’. Someone whispers on the porch.
My neighborhood is very quiet. Very still. The porch chimes clang wildly in the March wind.
Today it shall be my cupboards, then…all of my cupboards will be cleaned.
And then…I will look for something else…something else to relieve my mind.
690 Saint Paul 