Jane Lewis

Martha's sweet, gentle mother was diagnosed with cancer recently - see post of April 22.  This week we have learned that the cancer has metastasized and is considered terminal.  Martha posted this on Facebook this afternoon.

It is with a heavy heart that I ask my FB friends for their prayers. My dear mother, Jane Anderson Lewis, (age 84) has been diagnosed with terminal cancer. Two years ago she had breast cancer; followed by surgery and radiation treatments, and we thought it was all gone. However, it has come back with a vengeance, and is now in her lungs and lymph nodes, as well as a large mass near the original site. She will start radiation treatments soon, to hopefully shrink the mass, and lessen her pain. Her faith is strong, and we pray for strength and comfort in the days to come.

After only two hours, she received 60 comments.  Jane Lewis is loved by her family, her friends, her church, and her community.  So many wonderful comments, and so many prayers!  Thanks to all.

"Life is short,

And we do not have much time

to gladden the hearts of those who

make the journey with us.

So be swift to love,

and make haste to be kind."

Code Red

Our changeable April weather continues to surprise us each day.  This morning, with light rain forecast for mid-morning, I drove to Town and began running early, the skies so overcast that I left my sunglasses in the car.  As I have noted in this blog many times in recent weeks, Highlands in Stay-at-Home mode is an eerie place on Saturday mornings.  Founders Park, normally-bustling with the Farmers Market, was empty, and not a single vehicle was parked on Pine Street.  So, too, was Main Street; I ran down one side and back up the other, and suddenly bright sunshine burst through the clouds.  Karen was at the Park when I returned at 9:00 a.m., and I ended up running three of my six miles with her in convivial conversation, glad for some company.  I realized that other than Martha, my only socially-distanced contact with other people all week was a brief chat with the check-out ladies at Bryson's grocery, and that took place behind a mask.

I completed the last mile by myself, picking up the pace a little as it began to rain.  It is always a satisfying feeling to complete a run just as it begins to rain (rather than the opposite), and as I drove down empty Main Street to the Post Office, I had my windshield wipers on.  But by the time I had emerged after checking my mail, the sun was brightly shining, and that's the way it stayed all morning.  I had not planned to do any work on the fence project because of the forecast rain, but the weather remained beautiful all afternoon, and I had plenty of time to set the last fence post and to temporarily attach the handrail along the stone steps.  What a surprise, too, to encounter no large roots or rocks in the last two holes, which seemed to be a reward for the backbreaking work in digging the first four holes.

My initial doubts about building the fence in this location have disappeared as each section fell into place, and now it is exciting to realize that there are only a few more details remaining before we paint the posts and mount them with bird-houses as planned. 

I sat out on the deck for awhile late in the afternoon, watching high clouds moving out of the southwest very swiftly overhead, and yet there was not much wind.  I set the table on the deck for dinner, but the sun quickly disappeared and the wind picked up, so we moved inside.  Still, it had not yet begun to rain.  After dinner, we were watching a new episode of Vivian Howard's new show on PBS, Somewhere South, and suddenly I received a message on my mobile phone.  Our emergency notification network is working well in Macon  County, I thought, as I read CODE RED WEATHER WARNING.  THE NWS HAS ISSUED A TORNADO WARNING FOR YOUR SASSAFRAS GAP ROAD LOCATION FROM 7:50 PM UNTIL 8:15 PM.  At the same time, it began to rain, very hard rain.  I looked at the radar app on my phone and it was red, not yellow or orange but solid red, like the bullseye on a dart board.

I went outside on the covered part of the deck to see how our yard was faring - not too badly, other than the little waterfall out back roaring with brown mud, and our rain barrel hopelessly overwhelmed and flooding the yard above the garden beds.   The sound of rain on the tin roof was deafening.  It reminded me of that line in one my my favorite Tom Waits song, Time:

The band is going home;
It's raining hammers, it's raining nails.

Within a half-hour, it had all stopped, almost as suddenly as it had begun.  And we were thankful that, if there had been a tornado whirling in that loud tumult and commotion, it had avoided our house.

An Improbable Fiction

I have watched more Shakespeare in the past month than in the past year, thanks to the Globe Theater in London generously streaming their past productions (see post of April 15), and also National Theater Live.

Monday night I enjoyed the Globe's production of Romeo and Juliet, an early play that I have always enjoyed and one that was as popular as Hamlet in Shakespeare's time.  It was an exciting performance in that wonderful Globe theater, the audience so close to the stage that had I been there I would have been a little frightened during that great opening street brawl scene.

Because of the gender swaps in Hamlet, I had wondered if Romeo might be played by a woman, but the pair of star-crossed lovers were reliably played by the young-looking Nigerian actor, Tomiwa Edun, and Juliet by an even younger-looking Ellie Kendric.  (In the play, Juliet is not yet fourteen.)  The players were well-cast, especially Philip Cumbus as Mercutio, perhaps my favorite character in the play, and he did not disappoint with his Queen Mab speech.  There is some great iambic pentameter in this play!

"For never was a story of more woe
 Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.”

National Theater Live offered Twelfth Night this week, which I enjoyed Thursday afternoon on a rainy day that prevented us from working outdoors.  Another gender swap had the role of Malvolio played by the very good Tamsin Greig, which made for some interesting dynamics.  The play is all about mistaken gender, as Viola, separated from her twin brother, disguises herself as a boy and finds herself falling in love with Orsino the Duke.

The set was an amazing one, taking place on a rotating stage with tall staircases separating different scenes.  It was hard to say whether the dress was "modern" or not (see above), but it was certainly interesting, especially Malvolio's famous wearing of yellow stockings and garters, which Tamsin Greig carried off wonderfully.

From the opening lines - "If music be the good of love, play on!" - to the very end, some of the Bard's most famous passages were delivered very well.  A good Shakespearean actor can make his dense, difficult language come alive.  I had never appreciated Fabian saying toward the end of the play, to the laughter of an appreciative audience:

"If this were played upon a stage now, 
I could condemn it as an improbable fiction."

All of that iambic pentameter had an effect on me, and I awoke this morning filled with it all as I faced the prospect of another day with post-hole digger and wheelbarrow and more slow, hard work.

"The fence awaits me with its heavy call
Of iron and concrete; pray it does not fall!
Oh heavy fence, that tax my muscles so,
Be thou my friendly project, not my foe."

The Cruelest Month

April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.

Thus famously begins T. S. Eliot's poem The Waste Land.  I studied this poem as an undergraduate 50 years ago and I understand what he means:  April can be especially cruel because the beauty of spring so starkly contrasts with the poet's brooding, depressing mood.

In some ways, it is that way in Highlands this April, not only because of this coronavirus pandemic, which as of this date has caused the death of over 40,000 Americans, but because we have just learned that Martha's beloved Mama has had bad news in the form of a return after two years of her cancer.  So I would ask readers of this blog to keep Jane Lewis in your prayers as she begins oral chemotherapy soon.

It has been especially difficult because, although we speak daily on the phone, we have not been able to see her much under these social distancing policies.  That same stark contrast in the opening lines of The Waste Land is with us every day.  We are having glorious weather now, and all of Highlands and Clear Creek are in bloom, rivaled in beauty only by the brilliant colors of autumn.  The petals of our Carolina silverbell tree are falling on the deck, but at the same time the dogwood is blooming, and we even have this lovely Lily of the Valley blooming along our back walkway.

But at the same time, there are long phone calls with surgeons and oncologists, and difficult decisions to be made, difficult facts to grasp.

It was such a beautiful morning on Monday that I stopped on the drive to Town to take a picture.  Wisps of cloud were rising out of Clear Creek valley under the shadow of Satulah Mountain in the morning – absolutely stunning! 

I found myself running harder than usual, trying to burn up some of the stress.  Martha has been doing the same in a different form; although she has taken off a few days from running because of the high pollen level in the air, she has been walking nearly every day, and she is continuing to work hard in the yard, putting that wheelbarrow to good use. We have been able to get a lot of work done this week under bright blue skies and cool temperatures that warm up in the afternoon.  It is satisfying work, and at the same time stress-relieving work.

That is my prescription for feeling depressed, after all:  work hard, run hard, pray, and be thankful for the beauty all around us, despite the helpless feeling of living during a pandemic or facing illness in a loved one.  Martha's Aunt Anne - one of Jane's three sisters - said it well, and I hope she won't mind if I quote her in this post:  "I will continue praying for her.  That is all that I can do.  But probably it is the most important."  Amen to that:  it is indeed the most important.

Fences and Wheelbarrows

Saturday certainly was another day of contrasts, as typifies Highlands weather in April.  I was awakened at 5:00 a.m. by the sound of rain and a faint rumble of thunder, but by the time I went downstairs two hours later it had nearly stopped.   Blue sky was breaking through above the ridge to the east, but dark clouds still hovered to the west.  Although temperatures were in the upper 40s, it felt a little chilly, so when I drove to Town to go running I wore a warmer shirt than usual.  And I was glad I did, because when I arrived the wind was blowing hard out of the west.  Will winter ever be over? I thought.

There were no cars parked at Founders Park, so I ran to the end of Fifth Street and back again, about a mile; still no cars or signs of any other runners.  I turned down Main Street and began what would be a six-mile run all by myself.  I couldn't help marveling as I passed the Presbyterian Church at how quickly we have all become adjusted to this singular sight on a Saturday morning of only five or six cars parked along the entire length of Main Street, Old Edwards Inn and Highlands Inn dark and empty and silent, and nobody at all out sitting on the famous Loafers Bench or walking on the sidewalks.  I had the entire street to myself and there was no need to watch for a car backing out in front of me as I ran, but it was an eerie feeling, like one of those old science fiction movies in which the world has ended and there are only a handful of lonely survivors.

Gusts of wind kept rising and falling, and just as it had been this morning on our deck, the sky was a quickly changing contrast of dark, dangerous-looking clouds and sudden sunshine breaking through.  It was one of those runs when I would ask myself from time to time, Why am I doing this?  But then I would turn a corner, the wind would die down and the sun would beam brightly, and I would roll up my sleeves from being dressed too warmly.  Eventually I did see some other runners, all of them going in the opposite direction and at different times - a kind of accidental "social distancing" - Brian and his daughter, and then Debbie and Tom, and finally Martha, who I had thought might have stayed home because the cold wind aggravates her asthma.  "It's cold out here!" she said.  And she was right.  It was a harder run than either of us had expected.

I saw Fred in his car, too, just as I was finishing up my six miles; he slowed and rolled down his window.  "I got a late start," he said.  I asked him if he had read the local newspaper yet this week, and he shook his head.  "Read the column by Bud Katz," I told him.  In his weekly column, Bud had written about Louise Penny's fictional detective Inspector Gamache, a series that Fred had recommended to me and I had begun reading.  In a part than I had remarked at the time, Gamache had told a younger detective, "There are four things that lead to wisdom," and then he had counted off four brief sentences on his fingers:  "I don't know.  I need help.  I'm sorry.  I was wrong."  Fred (who is a philosophical man) agreed that these would be good things for us all to learn to say in our lives.

As I was driving away from the Park, Martha came into view, and I stopped at the intersection of Fifth and Main.  "That was a tough one!" I said.  "We deserve a steak!"  And on the way home I stopped at Rhodes Superette, where behind the meat counter Davis cut me two six-ounce filets.  I can't remember when we last had steak, but it was probably last year after a hard run.  I also bought a tomato pie, the first of the season, baked by Kitty and a real treat.

Have I mentioned in the pages of this blog that we have been eating well?  For the third week in a row, we picked up a box of fresh fruit and vegetables from August Produce (see previous posts) on Friday, and I guess the same idea had occurred to Martha and I - what would go better with fresh corn on the cob and a baked potato than a steak?  Martha has had the time and the inclination to get out her recipe books and it has become a challenge for her (and a welcome reward for me) to find new and interesting ways to use the bounty that each week's box of produce contains.

After a lunch of BLT's (courtesy of the fresh tomatoes from our cornucopia), we both continued the separate projects we have been working on in our yard.  The wind had died down and the sun was brightly shining, a perfect day for outdoor work.  Martha continued pruning brush and raking the leaves in that part of our property above the driveway that we have long neglected.  Her weapons in this battle consisted of rake, pruning shears, and wheelbarrow.

My own project was erection of the steel handrail I mentioned in the previous post.  Because of the fixed length of each section of handrail - 59 inches - and the necessity of locating the short section at the top of the stone stairs I had constructed when I built this wall 20 or 25 years ago, there was only one possible place to position the crucial first post.

My own weapons in the battle were a post-hole digger, which is a cruel implement to wield when it strikes a rock or a root, and eventually a long crowbar, a stone-mason's hammer, the heaviest maul I could find, and eventually a chainsaw, because of course there were both rocks and roots in the exact place where the post had to be set.  The second hole provided no better.  I have a lot of work to look forward to!

It was a long afternoon of hard manual work before we knocked off for the day, but we both agreed that while we were tired and our muscles were sore, it was that healthy, rewarding kind of fatigue that comes from work done well.  The late afternoon sky was cloudless and the sun was warm as we set the table on our deck for dinner, and - Oh thanks be to August Produce and Rhodes Superette! - feasted on steak, corn on the cob, and baked potatoes.

The Great Globe Itself

We have been continuing to work in our house and yard during these Stay-at-Home days.  One project that has been long delayed is where to erect the beautiful steel handrail that has been propped up against the stone wall by our driveway for many months, rescued from the scrap metal dumpster at the County's trash transfer station.  There is nearly 25 feet of it in all, it is very heavy, and it was probably custom-made and cost a pretty penny.  Why anybody would throw it all in a dumpster I have no idea, but I also have no idea why the perfectly good wheelbarrows, windows, doors, and other building materials which I have rescued over the years would have faced a similar fate but for someone not too proud to retrieve it and put it to another use.

Martha thought it might look nice a foot or two back from the rock wall, in a single line, but I was not convinced.  “A fence should enclose something,” I argued.  “But it is beautiful,” she said,  Very true.  As William Morris once said, "Have nothing in your houses (or yards, I would add) that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful."  The only way to know for sure would be to temporarily place it there, attached to various poles and stakes, and see how it looked.  Now I have to admit that it is growing on me, especially if the posts were 4 X 4, all the exact same height, and each topped with something decorative like a birdhouse.

We have been watching some wonderful old movies in the evenings, and Martha discovered this weekend that Shakespeare's Globe Theater in London is streaming some of its plays as the National Theater Live has been doing (See April 2 post).  This is a real treat for a lover of the Bard, and the theater itself is just beautiful, right on  the banks of the Thames and modeled after the original open-air Globe theater where the plays were originally performed.  Some scholars even think that Shakespeare was referencing the theater itself in Prospero's famous speech toward the end of The Tempest:

". . . . .These our actors,

As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yeah all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind."

 I watched the first play last night, which happened to be Hamlet, my favorite and surely the most famous play every written.  Directed by Michelle Terry, who also played the part of Hamlet, it was a riveting performance on a stage that was so close to the audience that some of them were propping their elbows there.

I was not surprised that Hamlet was played by a woman - last year I saw Helen Mirren play the part of Prospero (she called herself Prospera) in The Tempest.  But in what was described as a "beyond gender" production, Horatio was also played by a woman and Ophelia was played by a man, (a little unsuccessfully, I thought).  I remembered that the famous actress Sarah Bernhardt had famously played Hamlet as long ago as 1899.

That is the most wonderful thing about the genius of Shakespeare - his plays can be adapted and re-imagined in countless creative ways, sometimes in modern dress or on bare stages.  That is why his plays still live and breathe 400 years after they were written.  I am looking forward to seeing more of them in the coming Stay-at-Home weeks and months.

Power Restored

Martha and I spent a quiet Easter here at home yesterday.  She had prepared a healthy and delicious Easter brunch - potatoes o'brien with eggs, biscuits, deviled eggs, fruit salad, and spinach squares - while it began to rain off and on, intensifying as the day went on and continuing into the evening.

The weather forecast had been accurate once again and we had taken the precaution of parking our Mini Cooper convertible under cover in Town.

In the afternoon, we made a lot of phone calls, checking on friends and loved ones.  Most of them were at home as we were and those in this part of the country were "hunkering down."  Our power went out at 2:00 a.m. or so, and there were tornado warnings all around.  Our daughter in Greenville SC said a tornado had touched down nearby and she had sheltered in her basement.

As expected, we awoke to a dark and silent house with no power and a dwindling supply of water from the community well; at least the sun was shining.  I retrieved the small propane burner from our basement, the same one that has served us well for decades (including the Blizzard of 93), and heated up water for coffee.  Martha's breakfast was a cold biscuit left over from Easter Dinner.  "A cold biscuit is not anything like a hot biscuit," she said ruefully.  A little while later, I went upstairs for a very quick low-pressure shower and declared when I came downstairs, "A cold shower is not anything like a hot shower!"  And a Stay-at-Home Order is a little easier to abide when there is power at home.

I hated to start our hand-cranked generator if the power was going to come on soon, so I went to Town to go running and assess how widespread the power outage was.  The local radio station confirmed that it was out in Town and the surrounding area and warned that it might not be restored for a long time.  I could see why - the wind was still blowing hard and there were limbs down everywhere, some of which I stopped to throw into the ditch as I was running.  (We later saw pictures on Facebook of multiple fallen trees and mudslides.)  There was some major damage on Leonard Street, and the Town crews were hard at work. These power crews are the best, and they work in the very worst conditions - rain and snow and wind.  Power rarely goes out on a calm and sunny day!

When I returned home, the house was still in darkness, and since it was almost noon we started to make some plans for lunch.  Martha suggested heating up the small pizza she had made yesterday evening on the grill.  As I was preparing to light the grill, we heard that sweet sound, a little "beep" (a clock somewhere) that always signals the return of power, and then our refrigerator began humming reassuringly.

It is always good to rediscover that we can be resourceful in difficult times, can heat up water for coffee and start a generator if we need to, can adapt in more ways than we sometimes think we can.  I was reminded of the quote about the dragonfly that I posted yesterday, how it symbolizes our ability to overcome any hardship.

We will overcome this pandemic eventually.  Our lives will never be quite the same again, but they will be restored as the power was restored today.

Strength, Courage, and Happiness

Something singularly amazing happened to me today during my Saturday morning long run.  I had arrived at Founders Park a little late and missed Fred and Karen - their cars were parked nearby - so I began running by myself.  It was a cold morning - 40 degrees - and the sunshine felt warm on my shoulders as I turned down Pierson Drive and ran by Highlands School.  I eventually met Fred, and later Karen and Art and Vicki, but most of the time I ran alone for seven miles.

At one point, I found myself running down Sixth Street, and a few yards past the entrance to the Biological Station I faintly heard something falling on the road behind me.  I stopped and turned around - had I dropped something? - and walked back a step or two, and there on the pavement was a large dragonfly that had apparently fallen from an overhead tree.  What a curious sight!  It was dead, perhaps killed by the cold temperatures that morning which in Highlands had dropped below freezing.  I carefully scooped it up and examined it more closely.

What a beautiful creature this was! - its four thinly-veined wings, its long, straight body curiously segmented in shades of green and electric blue, and its oversized head with those huge, blind, bulging blue eyes.

What had made this dragonfly fall immediately behind me, perhaps even brushing my shoulder on its descent to the pavement, at the precise moment I was running by?

Tomorrow is Easter Sunday, but Main Street was nearly empty again, only two or three cars parked in front of the Methodist Church, which has found creative new ways to worship during this pandemic.  They had a Virtual Good Friday service yesterday, and the festivities tomorrow will include a Virtual Easter Egg Hunt.  I am not sure what a virtual Easter Egg is, but I have always loved the cross on their front lawn, decorated with flowers this year as it has been for many years, and as it will be for years to come.

When I returned home and was working on this post, Martha (who has always loved dragonflies) pointed out a small sign that she keeps over her desk, and it seemed exactly appropriate for this time of hardship in all of our lives.

Perhaps that dragonfly fell into my run this morning, into my life, to remind me of this truth today.

If You Don't Like the Weather

The weather in Highlands in April is perhaps the most changeable of any time of year, reminding me of that old adage about the mountains that (I recently discovered) originated with Mark Twain:  "If you don't like the weather in New England now, just wait a few minutes."  Early Thursday morning, we were awakened by a thunderstorm, bolts of lightning flashing outside and booms of thunder shaking the house.  The wind began to pick up during the day, and this morning it was howling in a bright blue cloudless sky, shaking the silverbells off the tree out back.  When I went out on the deck this morning it looked as if there had been some kind of brawl, chairs shoved back angrily from the table.

Martha had unstacked the flowerpots from their winter storage place and arranged them around the railing with our many birdhouses, some of which have been inviting curious visits from a pair of black-capped chickadees.  This morning, the tallest of the birdhouses was leaning precariously against a pot, and another had fallen onto the grass below, its little steeple beheaded.

It is Good Friday today, and it doesn’t seem like it at all, with only virtual church services being held.  I remember walking on the streets of Highlands years ago at this time of year (often in similar weather conditions) with an interdenominational group of the faithful, carrying a cross and stopping to pray at the Stations of the Cross.  All such activities will have to be done over the internet or on Facebook this year.  There will be no Easter bonnet, and no frills upon it.  And will we ever feel comfortable again with going to the garden center and buying our flowers and ferns to fill those empty pots, and garden plants and seeds for the waiting garden beds?

Today I drove to Town once again, waved cheerily through the roadblock by a now-familiar Police Officer, to pick up our box of vegetables from August Produce.  This was only the second week they have been doing this, but already word has spread - or perhaps home chefs are growing bored with rice and beans and pasta and the like - and there were half a dozen cars lined up already.  It is an interesting box this week!  Romaine lettuce - nice! - and even a cantaloupe.

After I had picked up my produce box, I stopped at Rhodes Superette on the Dillard Road – Dusty’s to locals – to stock up on crab cakes, and then onward to Bryson’s for a few things, wearing required latex gloves at the former and mask in both places.  One thing about a mask is that I have a hard time recognizing the masked individual.  "Hello, Richard," a masked man said to me in Dusty's.  I squinted at him for a moment or two before guessing, "Mike?"  I was right.

Of course, that is exactly why bandits pull a kerchief over their faces, to avoid being recognized.  But I seem to have a harder time than some seeing through the disguise.  I remember that our old dog Brandy was easily deceived in a similar way.  I arrived home one day wearing a cowboy-style hat (and not even a mask) and she began barking that Stranger Danger Stranger Danger! bark she had, until I was so close, I suppose, that she smelled me.  She looked very embarrassed.  I would be, too, and I do not have the advantage of that keen sense of smell.

The forecast for Easter Sunday calls for heavy rain.  We like our Easter Sundays to be clear, don't we?  And perhaps warm enough to be able to hide a few colored eggs around the lawn for toddlers to collect in a basket.  But these are not ordinary times; they are changing times every day, with empty streets, shoppers wearing masks and gloves, and careful six-foot separation being observed everywhere.  And I am afraid it is going to continue to change.  Just wait a few minutes.

Masks and Silverbells

Staying at Home means not only Cooking at Home, but Working at Home.  We have been staying busy this week, which is one reason I have not posted to this blog in four days.  I did go up to Town on Monday for a run; I felt that it was time to stretch myself a little by running up Big Bearpen, something I have not done this year.  As always, the climb was relentless, but the views at the top were worth it, the far away lakes of South Carolina hazy in the morning mist to the south, and Whiteside Mountain sharp and bright to the east.

On the way home, I stopped at the Post Office and then Bryson's grocery store for a few things, and for the first time I thought it would be a good idea to wear a face mask, as now recommended by the CDC and Dr. Anthony Fauci.  I honestly do not think that I am an asymptomatic carrier of the coronavirus - after all, I had just run up a mountain and was not especially short of breath - but that is the recommendation and I do not want to seem uncooperative.  There were only a few other shoppers in Bryson's wearing masks.  "Stick 'em up!" I said to the cashier, and pointed my thumb and forefinger at her.  "Give me all your Purell!" 

When I returned home, we both resumed ongoing yard work.  Martha has relocated many hostas and day lilies from along the road, where they are an inviting snack for deer later in the summer, to within the fenced part of our property.  She has also been clearing brush and cleaning up the area above our driveway, which has grown up over the years and was beginning to look terrible.  Last week, we cleaned up the tree that had fallen on our picnic table, including the irreparable table itself, and this week I cranked up the chainsaw again and cut up another rather large fallen pine and hauled it off.  Everything is greening up swiftly down here, while up on Big Bearpen I had noticed that the leaves were just beginning to bud on most of the trees.  Our Carolina Silverbell tree (Halesia carolina), right off the covered deck behind our gas grill, is beginning to look beautiful.  Its delicate, bell-shaped flowers only last two or three short weeks, and because we are often out of Town in April, I did not realize for a long time that this tree grew here or what it was called.

This morning I ran three miles, most of them with my friend Fred, and then drove to Cashiers to do some more grocery shopping at Ingles.  We want to go to the grocery store as infrequently as possible, but it has been difficult to "stock up" on some things locally.  I found that about half the shoppers in Ingles were wearing masks, and the required six-foot separation was also being observed.  We can only hope that these seemingly extreme measures will, as they say, "flatten the curve," so that we can eventually return to what we can perhaps call "normal" in some way.

I watched some You Tube clips about how to make a mask from cloth bandanas and the like, but then I realized last week that I had the perfect thing, a kind of light, breathable fabric all-purpose scarf that Martha and I both received at the Asheville Half Marathon and 10-K two years ago.  I wasn't sure what a runner might use it for other than a bandana, but I have worn it since then when working outside because I can pull it down over my ears and keep those pesky gnats from attempting to enter what must be an enticing port of entry for them.  But it will slip entirely around my neck, and then I can pull it up over my nose.

Pretty scary-looking shopper!  But these are pretty scary times . . .

At Home (Continued)

We understand that the Stay at Home order will last at least until the end of the month, perhaps much longer, but we feel fortunate that we can get out of the house for necessities - the Police recognize us as local residents and wave us through the roadblocks - and can still get some outdoor exercise.  Thankfully, some of the supplies have begun to re-appear in our local grocery store; I was surprised yesterday to turn the corner and find the shelves in the bread aisle completely filled up.  Perhaps the bread hoarders are discovering that it is all going stale or have run out of room in their freezers.

We understand, too, that the Mayor is now encouraging residents to wear face masks when they go out in public, such as to the grocery store.  "Our Mayor has asked us to wear masks when we are out in public," one of my worried Facebook friends said. "Does anyone know where we can buy them in Highlands?"  I do not.  But I have seen some news articles and Facebook posts giving instructions on how to make a mask out of various materials, including scarves and kerchiefs.  All of the employees in Reeves Hardware were wearing masks today (I guess they had a supply of those masks worn by construction workers in the back room, but none were out on the shelves), and there was a sign posted on the door today limiting occupancy to only ten people.  "Am I under the number permitted?" I asked the female employee near the front door - honestly, I did not know who she was, and I know all of the employees in Reeves, but she was wearing a large, bandit-style mask covering half her face. "You're OK," she said, and waved me inside.

Yesterday, Lisa and Dapper, the owners of August Produce, were also wearing masks and latex gloves, where we had stopped to take advantage of a special that Martha had found out about on Facebook, a large box of pre-ordered mixed fruits and vegetables available for pickup on Fridays for only $20.00.  What a treat!  They loaded the box in the back of our car, and we opened it later as if it was a very special Christmas present.

Martha immediately used the fresh tomatoes, likely from south Georgia, and the head of lettuce to make BLT's for lunch.  It tasted like summer!  Then, for dinner, she made a casserole out of the yellow squash and one of the onions, and took some flounder out of the freezer, pan-sauteed with blackening spices that we had brought back with us from Blue Ocean Seafood in Morehead City.

Now I am looking forward to seeing what Martha can do with that cabbage.  One of the benefits of Staying at Home is that we have been Cooking at Home, and that has included some healthy and creative new dishes.

We can still run, thank God, and don't have to wear masks while doing so.  This morning I found one runner at Founders Park when I arrived, where by the way the public restrooms had been closed and Police Tape applied across the doors, and we had a pleasant run, careful to maintain the required six feet of separation.  Then I ran into another runner.  And that's how it went, singly or in pairs, keeping an awkward distance from one another in the parking lot when we finished.  At one point I was running down empty Main Street by myself and spied this latex glove discarded in the gutter - its wearer had apparently stripped it off and dropped it on the ground in proximity to the trash can, afraid to touch its handle - and it seemed somehow a poignant portrait of this new world we now find ourselves inhabiting.

At Home

We have not had any real problem finding plenty of things to do while we are under a Stay at Home order.  Our house is filled with books, and there is music everywhere, including a piano that cries out to be played.  And there are projects of all kinds to work on, such as the wallpaper we finished hanging upstairs yesterday, and the furniture that we re-arranged downstairs. Tuesday was a rainy day, and then it turned colder that night, so cold that there was sleet in Highlands at the end of the day.  But the cold spell has ended, and temperatures warmed up this morning from an initial 32 degrees to the upper forties later on when I went running down our road here in Clear Creek.  In the "Old Normal," I would have driven the short distance to Town to run there, but we are trying to get accustomed to staying closer to home, adapting to this new reality.

We have been watching some movies, too, both on Kanopy and on Netflix.  And this afternoon, we had a real treat.  The National Theatre in London has opened up its archives of theatrical productions in response to the increasing lock-down restrictions, and every Thursday they are showing one of them on YouTube -7:00 p.m. London time, 2:00 p.m. Highlands time.  We watched the first one today, One Man, Two Guvnors, starring the irrepressible Tony-award-winning comedian James Corden.

We closed the blinds, Martha made some popcorn, and for two-and-a-half hours we were in London, watching live theater, laughing at the delightful silliness of this play.  Now we are looking forward to the upcoming shows:  Jane Eyre next week, and even Twelfth Night later in the month.

It is difficult to imagine a time when we will again feel comfortable gathering in a theater or a concert to hear a performance, or gathering in a sanctuary for corporate worship.  Hebrews 10:25, remember, encourages us to not forsake the assembling together of ourselves, because even we introverts need that human contact, that joy of fellowship whether in a church or a movie theater or a restaurant.  In the meantime, virtual performances and virtual church will have to suffice.

I suppose what surprises me more than anything is how rapidly our world has changed and continues to change.  Our government and our health system were unprepared for a pandemic, it is true, but it all happened so quickly, with such devastatingly exponential speed, that we are all struggling to adjust.  The underpinnings of our lives were so much more fragile than we had imagined:  millions of jobs have been lost, thousands are dead already, and both big cities and little towns have become Ghost Towns.  All we can do is stay home as much as possible, be patient, and trust that this wildfire pandemic will eventually burn itself out.