This was really the week that wasn’t. Most of the things I usually do no longer exist. And the ones that do are a bit challenging in my present state.

Surgeries for procedures such as torn meniscus interventions are far in the future. If I can just entertain myself with Kindle, Netflix, et. al., grocery pick-up at Freddy’s, Zoom gatherings ( my very least fave), and online Scrabble competitions, I’ll manage.

I did have an MRI this week and reviewed it with my surgeon. Closest I’ve been to another human being in, how many days is it now? I’ll share the pictures here as soon as they pop up on my patient portal. Should be fascinating.

Sunday mornings, typically, I go to church. Or if my choir is not singing, I like to watch the talking heads shows on TV. But, alas this morning, I did not want to tune in to either. I am grateful to my church’s skeleton staff for YouTubing a service of Morning Prayer. And to the news folks for carrying on when there is no news. But, no. I can’t go there to either this morning.

Time Magazine suggested watching some upbeat movies from the ’30’s when people during the Depression needed uplifting, so I am watching “Top Hat” with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. Definitely a period piece and fun to watch. I must Google “The History of Tap Dancing” later. If you think about it, it’s really an odd thing.

Highlights this week included a haircut for Dolly.

Before:

After:

Oddly, I received a check for $1200 for no reason this week. Since I am retired and live off Social Security and a rapidly diminishing retirement fund, my income has not changed. I did have a big bill this month for some plumbing and tree removal, so it does come in handy. I took a picture of the check and posted in here. Thank goodness, my Tech Manager spotted it and pointed out that in this electronic age anyone who saw it could deposit it from that image, so I took it down. Who knew? When the gov’t prints money, out of pleine aire, not backed by any commodity, like gold or solver, it’s called fiat money. It’s Monopoly money in my thinking.

And finally, I was unable to avoid baking banana bread any longer:

When it was done, my young neighbor from across the street came over to collect some from my front porch. Be sure to notice the plastic gloves.

It seems to have been well-received by him and his little brother.

Another highlight was this picture of Elizabeth’s back 40. Dandelion lawn.

It inspired me to Google recipes for wine, cordial, tea, and frittata.

Now looking for a book to read. Just got some suggestions from my gardener/literary advisor to check out. Not literally check out. The public library is closed.

But I think my favorite view of the week was of this mother and child, sitting on the curb, reading a book from my little free library.

Maybe I should hobble out there and see if there’s anything that interests me!

I wasn’t going to say good things about Where the Crawdads Sing, finding the narrative line contrived and sentimental. But that ending. Contrived but perfectly satisfying. I found myself fist pumping the air and saying, “yes.”

I did like the food porn. We never had grits, but I remember banana pudding and corn bread and the food the “lunch room ladies” served up when I was in grade school.

And I remember playing with bugs and feathers and digging in the mud. I grew up in a land-locked state. No shells to be found, but the occasional arrow head and a furry tarantula to put in a jar. The child-protagonist in the book was a tragic figure. My childhood was magical. At least, that’s what I choose to remember.

Best-sellers are rarely great literature, but are often good reads.

In this morning’s paper: “The 2020 Oregon State Fair, set to run from Aug. 28 to Sept. 7, has been canceled due to extended state restrictions on mass gatherings. In Thursday’s announcement, Gov. Kate Brown said the mass gatherings are prohibited through September.”

And a friend who attended my church choir Zoom gathering this week reported that after a big webinar for choral conductors, our choirmaster has concluded that Trinity Choir will not reconvene until there is a vaccine for COVID-19. 

So it’s going to be a while, and these blog posts have unintentionally become my own pathetic “Journal of the Plague Year,” in the tradition of Daniel Defoe sand Samuel Pepys.

In Defoe’s account of the year 1665, he recorded his observations of the bubonic plague which struck the city of London in what became known as the Great Plague of London, the last epidemic of “plague” in that city until 2020.

“Once ‘free in the streets, what then? Fear and panic could destroy the city as much as plague itself. Many of the doctors fled, along with the rich and powerful; quacks preyed on the poor with their neverfail miracle drugs. Churches and conventicles and synagogues were empty. Neighbours informed against each other. People lied to each other – and to themselves. (It’s just a headache. Just a little bruise. I’ll feel better if I go for a walk.) Worse – there were stories of infected people deliberately concealing their telltale ‘tokens’ and going out into the streets trying to infect others.” 
― Daniel Defoe, A Journal of the Plague Year

And Samuel Pepys:

whose own journal was later published with these illustrations:

And his entry: “On hearing ill rumour that Londoners may soon be urged into their lodgings by Her Majesty’s men, I looked upon the street to see a gaggle of striplings making fair merry, and no doubt spreading the plague well about. Not a care had these rogues for the health of their elders!”

All this is terrifying, and many more prescient and quotable entries can be found by Googling either Pepys or Defoe, but I’m not sure I suggest going there. Maybe just head on outside on this sunny Saturday morning. But don’t get close to anyone.

I planted these the first year at 1880 after a liquid amber fell over in the first rain storm. I chose them for their beautiful white bark.

The city approved my choice since the little one in front was actually classified as a “city tree.” I am thinking no one knew about the bronze birch borers in 1998. Since then, that pest has destroyed many of the birches in town. I had mine treated, alas, to no avail, and they had to come down this week.

In half an hour, they were gone and had been fed into this gloppita gloppita machine, which digested even the 14-inch trunk with out clearing it’s throat.

Now, we are a bit bereft, remembering how, over the years, the birches were decorated for the winter holidays in various ways.

My original thought was to transplant a redwood immediately into this spot. Now, I have come to my senses, realizing that right before summer is not the time to do this. I will live with the nakedness until next fall.

I remember learning in Art History not to evaluate the value of a work on it’s own, rather to study it with contrasting works.

For example, take these three images of women:

Each one is complex, beautiful, and troubling and asks for contemplation.

I think evaluating human beings doesn’t require so much contemplation.

For example, let’s take a look at how Donald Trump greeted the governor of Arizona yesterday, violating all the guidelines of social distancing that the rest of us have been honoring, in spite of all the discomfort and loneliness involved. Not only is none of us above the law, none of us is exempted from practicing the human decency to set the best example we can.

This is ugly and horrifying on every level.

In contrast, President Obama and Mrs. Obama announced plans to appear on a televised event on May 16, aimed at high school seniors, a national celebration for all the students whose in-person commencements have been canceled or postponed in the midst of the coronavirus pandemic.

Wow! For someone who seems to think the presidency is like a junior high popularity contest, Trump really blew it yesterday.