Writing in a Time of Peril: April 14, 2020

 April 10, 2020

The Johns Hopkins CSSE dashboard is reporting 467,184 US cases and 16,736 deaths as of 10:30am. – From Johns Hopkins daily update.

April 12, 2020

Coronavirus: Mass Graves Dug In New York City As Morgues …    From Buzzfeed, April 10, 2020.

President Trump said on Twitter that he would watch the online service of First Baptist Dallas, led by Robert Jeffress, a prominent Trump supporter who has said that non-Christian religions are sending their followers to hell. Vice President Pence said he would also attend church virtually, from his living room.    

–From The New York Times 

April 12, 2020

In Dallas, Mr. Jeffress thanked Mr. Trump from the pulpit of First Baptist for defending religious liberty. In his service on Sunday, Mr. Jeffress portrayed Mr. Trump as a supporter of religion, although the president does not regularly attend church or exhibit deep knowledge about the Bible.        

–From The New York Times

April 12, 2020

Mr. Jeffress has lashed out at other faiths, calling the Catholic Church an instrument of Satan, describing the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints as “a cult,” claiming that Islam “promotes pedophilia” and saying that Jews, Muslims and others would go “to Hell.” –From The New York Times

April 13, 2020

The Johns Hopkins CSSE dashboard is reporting 557,590 US cases and 22,109 deaths as of 9:00am (US EDT). – From Johns Hopkins daily update.

April 14, 2020The Johns Hopkins US COVID-19 dashboard* is reporting 572,689 US cases and 23,134 deaths as of 11:45am. – From Johns Hopkins daily update.

pastor who defied social distancing dies after contracting Covid-19 –From New York Times April 14, 2020

April 12, 2020

What there is to see on my bike ride: small, round, green berries hover beneath the domes of white pyracantha blossoms, promising that green will turn to red as spring makes a way for summer’s return.  Birds of paradise bloom in blushing oranges, yellows, and blues. California buckeye and saucer magnolias fluttered their last blossoms. Fat rabbits hide in the tall grasses, only their improbably large sun–illumined ears visible. Falcons, eagles and hawks circled high in the blue sky, searching, searching. 

 I lift my head. 

I pray.

Let us call upon our mothers and grandmothers, our great–great–grandmothers and their mothers’ mothers to sing to us, soothe, comfort, allow our keening to connect us past and present, memory to memory, knowing to knowing, healing to healing. 

Let us take in their scents of pepper mint, bergamot oil and dusting powder after Saturday night baths.

Let us be lifted up by their prayers of strength, determination, insistence on life, love, service and bettering.

Let us serve sips of broth and water and tea and use every embroidered handkerchief we own when every tissue box is empty.

Let us wipe faces with cool cloths, sponge bodies of waste and sweat and tears. 

Let us touch comfort, soothe, assure and be calmed, as we bend under suffering, anticipate our heartache.

Let us remember how to open so that we may be a companion. 

Let us whisper the love and honor that makes all our lives dear.

Let us weep.  

Let us offer what we can as friend, sister, aunt, neighbor, co-worker, and even as a stranger to those who need us. Let us bring balms to comfort and ease suffering. Let us make a meal for ten and leave it at our neighbor’s door.

Let us call upon our mothers and grandmothers, our great–great–grandmothers and their mothers’– mothers’– mothers to sing to us, soothe, comfort, allow our keening to connect us heart, mind, body and soul, past and present, memory to memory, knowing to knowing, healing to healing.  

The gentle wind cools the tears on my face. I’m almost home.

I go down my to-do list of self-care: meditate, eat well, rest well, get exercise, connect, connect, connect, stay home–except for the pharmacy & the grocery & then only with mask and gloves & when there are very few people about. Watch less TV, but stay informed. Laugh a lot. Channel fear and rage into expression, action and art. 

Every few hours I play Andrea Bocelli singing acapella at Duomo Cathedral in Milan, Italy again. 

I continue to chronicle these times.

© Andrea Canaan, MSW, MFA

andreacanaan@gmail.com

https://andracanaan.blog

https://www.facebook.com/Andrea-Canaan-Author-456010704809232/

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