After a simple dinner of rice and beans with the kids, I'd suggested we go to Woods Park to catch the sunset. There, folks were walking their dogs and swinging on swings, kicking a ball and enjoying the view. Ordinary things on a warm March evening.
Later, back in our living room, between sharing dance moves and TikTok videos, we learned that Tom Hanks had tested positive for coronavirus.
And, for just a moment, I felt the earth lurching on its axis, a low moan escaping it, nearly undetectable.
Thursday, another familiar scene took on a new filter. I was sitting with pickleball friends at El Chaparro, our conversations as varied as the food before us, when I wondered aloud if we'd see each other next week. An unexpected dis-ease settled on me, as I pondered the effects of this new invader.
On Friday, the unwelcomed filter returned yet again as I felt dis-placed at HyVee, the store bustling, even though it was midmorning on a work day. In the produce aisle, mid-squeeze on the fifth avocado (I like them just so), I was overcome by the sense of menacing microbes lurching in the folds of that strange skin before me. I wiped my hands on my jeans and wondered if I had unleashed something irreversible.
Dis- is the name of these strange days we find ourselves in, a prefix of not applied liberally--like Dial and Purell.
We are dis-pleased and dis-turbed as we dis-infect these once familiar lives of ours. We establish dis-tance between us, feeling dis-combobulated, although we cannot recall having ever felt combobulated, which just makes things seem even more dis-orienting.
How is it that the cranes continue to alight each morning, their long shadows stretching across now-empty blinds? Who bears witness to their ancient songs?
It will not be me, I know. I am too busy singing the doxology, my hands sudsy and chapped, my thoughts dis-persed in a hundred different directions.
Crazy times indeed!
ReplyDeleteI'm so glad you keep on writing, Jane -- every one of these is a dang near masterpiece
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