Monday, April 13, 2020

Fourteen: To a Garden Hose

April 9. Well, thanks to the Coronavirus, I'm down to sitting in my front yard, blogging about the sprinkler. From the wide ocean to a garden hose.
But it's peaceful here, and I'm biased. I think it's beautiful, even if my water source can barely be seen in the picture.
We are fortunate to live in a culdesac and have a large oak to give us shade, birds, squirrels, leaves, life.

As I sit here enjoying the view again today, after so many days, I appreciate the calm that comes over me. How grateful I am for my patch of grass, for my piece of sky!
I'll admit that, a few times during this past month, terror has caught in my throat. Terror at the meaninglessness generated from isolation. Terror of a loved one contracting the virus. Terror that I might unwittingly pass it to someone else. The list goes on, but I won't. I will breathe in the beauty of a spring day, and create meaning for my life, like I always have.

Wednesday, April 8, 2020

Thirteen: Faraway Water

March 30: Chris and I drive to Casino Beach, joining a smattering of people, keeping our distance.
I sit in the car and just stare out past the barriers to the waves crashing on the shore. The sound is music to my ears.
The double red flags catch my eye. Governor DeSantis has issued a "safer at home" order, and it starts in two days.
Chris and I drive east, past Portofino Resort, and pull off the road. We walk the sidewalk along the beach road, again mostly alone.
The desolate, otherworldly beauty of the dunes is nothing out of the ordinary.
This is truly breathtaking.
I stand on tiptoe to see as much as I can of the water. The breeze is bliss, the faraway water still relaxing, still there.
I'm so grateful to have my kids home. I pray every day for our health and for the well-being of my loved ones, my community, this country, the planet.
I keep up somewhat minimally with the news.Then, I enjoy as much as I can, I relish family time, reading, projects, TV. And maybe too much beer.
I hope you are doing the same, dear reader (except for the beer...). The beach is still here. Close your eyes and remember

Photo credits: Chris Zokan