We are now hearing of so many remarkable stories of people serving on the “front lines” of this epidemic. Many, of course, are medical professionals—my mom above graduating from Johns Hopkins. My paternal grandfather is pictured above too, a surgeon in China in the early 1900s who died of pneumonia because he did not allow himself to slow down from what he felt were the essentials of his practice. Like many I have lots of family and friends who are gowned up as I write.
And there are many other essential workers…like the guy driving the fuel oil delivery truck I talked to this morning on my walk. Like the small farmers struggling to keep enough credit or ready cash to buy seed and get their crops in the ground so we can eat fresh, local, organic produce. The list of obviously courageous folks is long—we see them working still every day to keep us all going.
And, not to be forgotten, are the rest of us, especially kids, and parents at home with them, and couples alone together and, of course, especially, anyone who is home alone.
I went to bed two nights ago more terrified than I think I have ever been in my life. Lying there I practiced the breathing mantra our daughter had given me and then realized I was only looking at small parts of reality. When I looked at all of it, I knew I could find the courage to wake rested and ready to do whatever was needed.
And, with all the support of the courageous and miraculous, and, this morning, snowy, world around, I have. Thank you. Above are Plum blossoms, forced from my prunings last week, and now if full bloom, filling the house with their glorious scent.
“lying there” not “laying there”. Your helpful former English teacher friend. Jeff
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Thank you my friend. You are not lying to me are you?!?!
Busted!! Thanks. As I wrote that, I was wondering… Old English teachers never die, they just get out their red pens.