I was about to throw away a wilting bouquet of flowers when I noticed there's beauty *because* of the dark edges, not in spite of them. It made me think of the pandemic, and whether it's brought anything beautiful with it that I wouldn't have seen before. It's hard to answer that question. This week I'm angry with the Facebook hordes posting selfies with their vaccine bandaids. My state is way behind, and there's no vaccine in sight for me. I'm about to miss yet another family wedding, and my elderly mother is in steep decline 3000 miles away. I'm genuinely happy for those who can get vaccines. But I've stopped logging into Facebook because it just leaves me feeling tearful.
March 4, 2021
I took this photo on 17 April 2020. This is a park bench in Albany's Washington Park urging people to "spread random acts of kindness." In the first weeks of the pandemic, a lot of similar messages were painted or chalked onto sidewalks and other surfaces. These messages of hope and solidarity marked the first few weeks, or even first couple months, of our experiences. Then people seemed to grow weary and more pessimistic by summer. I write this on 16 March 2021.
March 17, 2021