Some Days Are Stone

Some days are just rocks

It snowed Easter. It snowed all day Easter and the day after. We set a record low temperature for Easter's date. A record set in 1933. We dropped even lower the day after Easter, breaking the record for that date set in 1933. And we broke the record for the lowest high temperature for that date, also set in 1933.

PLUS the sun didn't shine for those two days. Yesterday the sun did shine but it was too cold for me and for the group I walk with to walk. My Rec Center is closed indefinitely. That means no exercise classes. I know. I know. There are exercise classes online that I can exercise with "in the comfort of my own home," she says sarcastically. (And by-the-bye, why is sarcastically spelled that way? Five syllables! Nobody says it using five syllables! Four are quite enough.)

But my friends won't be in my own home. Well, not until after lunch. And then by ZOOM. It is better than nothing, but we spend most of the free 40 minutes helping each other get both our faces and our voices on. Yesterday we watched one friend's left foot most of the time and my voice kept disappearing. "Twenty-first Century technology, PFAW!" she says spitting on the floor. (No, I didn't just spit on the floor. I'da had to clean it up.) 

I never did Zoom until this whole coronavirus mess. And quite frankly, I don't want to do it long enough to get good at it.

I used to watch the local news in the morning. We have a meteorologist here who is great at explaining Colorado's weather and I love weather. Since I'm from Oklahoma where the weather is nothing if not exciting, Colorado weather is wonderfully different, positively exotic. Who ever heard of giving the weather forecast based on altitude?! "...above 7,000 feet will have up to a foot of snow." And graupel and virga. Graupel is soft hail -- tiny little snowballs. Virga is rain that doesn't make it to the ground because the air it's falling through is so dry that it all evaporates.

Since 'rump moved into the White House, the news is not so pleasant. (I use the contraction of his name, because it would be impolite to call the President of the United States "ass.") I thought his bleeding in and around my weather news irritating, sometimes infuriating. Since covid-19, it's gotten scarier and sadder. 

So I just can't watch the morning news. I can't go to exercise class. And I can't walk with my friends when it's so cold. Not even observing social distancing and wearing a mask. To think, a month ago, it wasn't this bad. Four months ago, I didn't know having to live like this -- here -- was even possible. 

                                                                  Although the death toll includes people of all ages, it is especially high among certain groups. Seniors and those with underlying health problems. At my age, I and most of my friends, are "Seniors."                                                                                                                                  Lord, even the Rolling Stones have postponed their North American tour due to Coronavirus. But then, they're all older than I am -- though just.

"Some days are stone."

Even my online newspaper leads with this roundup of the news "Coronavirus spikes in homeless population, unemployment FAQ, more snow and cold coming." Yep, snow's coming again tomorrow. And we're supposed to get more snow than the seven inches we got Easter Sunday and Monday.

That old John Denver song is right. "Some days are diamonds, some days are stones, sometimes the hard times won't leave me alone." But you know what? Today we have sunshine and I will walk with my friends observing social distancing and wearing a mask. Today the sunshine will make stones sparkle like diamonds and as far as the snow goes, well --

Me and Scarlet O'Hara,  we'll "think about that tomorrow."

Some Days Are Diamonds

"Some days are diamonds, some days are stones" -- Dick Feller

It's Easter Sunday. 

When I awoke this morning, it was dark, 23 degrees, and snowing. The forecast is for snow the rest of today and tomorrow and tomorrow night. 

Travel is discouraged or, in some instances, banned. When we walk together, we walk apart and wear masks. When we meet for coffee, we have Zoom meetings, spending much of the limited time helping each other navigate the technology so we can be together virtually.

And today is Easter. Traditional sites for Sunrise Services are closed. Churches are closed. The world is closed. All now relegated to the virtual.

Traditions are now virtual.

The Easter tradition, for Christians, is a time to commemorate Jesus rising from the dead, promising  life. For Jews, Passover (which shares calendar time with Easter Week) commemorates the tenth of the plagues sent by God to force the Egyptians to free the Israelites. By marking their doorposts with the blood of a spring lamb, their firstborn lived while the first born children of their Egyptian neighbors died. A promise of life in a world of death. 

"Sometimes the hard times won't leave me alone"

In this time of our own plague, traditions that promise us hope and give us peace are especially needed, but are available to us in such changed forms, it's hard to know if they will provide hope and peace.

And right now, it is snowing.

 "Sometimes a cold wind blows a chill in my bones"

But if I am still and quiet, right here, right now, I can see that today is "diamond."

I am here, cossetted in my warm home. Not alone, but with the man I love. We have food and water and access to the world. We are well. Those we love are far from us but they too, are well.

The sun may not be shining on my home today. The weather is closed in around our neighborhood and we can't see the foothills, but we do have the bright white of snow. 

Snow bathes the world in the most beautiful silence. A silence accented with birdsong. They know it's Spring. 

This layer of snow somehow makes me feel separated and safe from the worries and fears that are today's Covid-19 plague.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      And when the sun returns to our beautiful snowy world we'll celebrate the light on our neighborhood and on the foothills.

So for now, I'll have a nice cup of coffee, some buttered toast (homemade, sourdough of course) and enjoy this Easter that the snow has made "diamond."