858 new coronavirus cases in Oklahoma. While my husband and I recently tested negative and have been severely limiting out interactions with anyone other than quarantined family, this statistic has our attention. We learn daily of more and more positives in our immediate circle of friends and colleagues, many of them at risk for serious reasons. This is far from a hypothetical problem in our world. I know and love people who have been sick for weeks, for months, and are homebound because being in public, or even with close friends and family, is too risky. What underscores all of the statistics, though, is the fact that Jessica works in a hospital, so near to the virus, day after day. I do not comprehend the nonchalant attitude so many people are displaying.
Let’s talk about something else.
This afternoon I tackled the raised bed project I mentioned in yesterday’s post. As a karmic reward, I walked away with one of the heaviest and most luscious tomato hauls of the summer so far. The jalapenos are about ready, so I hope to try my hand at roasted salsa this weekend.
Little Lady Marigold came all the way up to me for her breakfast! I couldn’t believe it. She was so bold and friendly. Had I not slept late this morning and felt pressed to finish my chores in order to run my miles before lunchtime, I could have sat there with her all day. Her fleece is still messy and wild looking, but I kinda love it. I also love her awkward, little bleaty voice. “Bleehhhuuu!”
Maybe it was the vote of confidence from my doctor yesterday, maybe I just needed to know I wasn’t doing any damage to my body, but today was the first time in quite a while that I ran 8 miles effortlessly. It felt truly easy. Comfortable. I feel like it is a good beginning.
Have you sampled that podcast yet, called The Anthropocene Reviewed? I enjoyed another episode, this one about sunsets and beauty just as it is and also The Great Gatsby, “Our Capacity for Wonder.” Really thought provoking, especially toward the end.
Before signing off tonight, I would love to share a little passage from Cold Mountain. The man in this story feels about music the way I feel about words, about language:
“One thing he discovered with a great deal of astonishment was that music held more for him than just pleasure. There was meat to it. The grouping of sounds, their forms in the air as they rang out and faded, said something comforting to him about the rule of creation. What the music said was that there is a right way for things to be ordered so that life might not always be just tangle and drift but have a shape, an aim. It was a powerful argument against the notion that things just happen.”
Sweet sleep, friends, Thank you for checking in.