Tarot, Hope, Tulips and Questions in Everyday Ramblings

The natural cycle is not impressed by Covid-19. It is spring here and the histamines are intense. That means runny noses, scratchy throats, and a random cough now and then. Sitting in church yesterday we dispensed with handshakes and waved those little hi how are you waves instead. And I practiced during the whole service keeping my hands away from my face.

As, we have the virus here now, it is no longer theoretical and someone posted a picture last night of my local grocery store with the whole toilet paper, paper towel aisle completely bare. I have big bags of these things (not that I use that many paper towels) from our last trip to Costco and I bought a package of hand soap bars a few weeks ago.

If the church closes I won’t teach. They have installed wall mounted hand sanitizers around the areas where the kids are.

I will be teaching calming anxiety reducing simple practices for the duration. It is hard anywhere not to be affected by the fear on some level. It is a background hum under our going about our business lives and it affects us all.

Based on my experience with my previous employer and the idiocy of people thinking they are important enough to come to work sick, I am immensely grateful to be retired.

Yesterday after church, which on a couple of levels turned out to be a good place to be, I went over with Mrs. Sherlock to her house for lunch.

My job was to cheer up and entertain the men folk. The guy who lives is his car is temporarily back because he had his colon reattachment surgery last week. I brought a book of poems by the poet Howard Nemerov, someone Mr. Finch admired.

Mr. Finch admired and aspired to only writing metrical poetry and Mr. Sherlock is the same except, being about 20 years older than Mr. Finch, Mr. Sherlock does not much like contemporary metrical poetry, which Nemerov was an absolute master of.

I was astonished to find out yesterday that Diane Arbus, the photographer, was Howard Nemerov’s sister, once again confirming for me that the observant eye of the poet is similar to, and perhaps the same as that of a dedicated photographer.

Much to my dismay, it turns out the Sherlock’s and the guy who lives in his car did not know who Howard Nemerov or Diane Arbus were.

Mrs. Sherlock had found a gorgeous deck of Tarot cards that she bought at the National Gallery in Washington D.C. and in the end with my conversational gambit an utter but good natured failure I did Tarot readings for each of the assembled crew.

The guy who lives in his car pulled The Star in his future position and that my friends is the card of hope. We all almost cried to see that. He lives on a $500 a month stipend and longs now fiercely for a studio apartment to call his own.

I also took him through a private guided relaxation meditation to see if we could help him get some relief from the chemo induced neuropathy.

Mrs. Sherlock’s house is full of the most beautiful spring flowers, yellow tulips and lilies. I’ll be spending more time over there as the weather improves as there are starting the process of downsizing to sell the place and we are going to do some nature journaling in her garden as a way to preserve the memory of 40 years there.

So now the questions are…will we need to quarantine? Will the sewer repairs at the new studio be completed on time and in a way that makes renting the space worthwhile? And can Diego get through a third day in a row without throwing up?

We are all in this virus thing together. May we get through it a little more aware of both how to take better care of ourselves and ultimately each other.

Last updated March 02, 2020