Way back when I started this blog, almost a decade (!?!?) ago, I shared a photo of a wall painted one color and a ceiling painted another, to illustrate my interest in side-by-side contrasts, the kind that draw in the eye or the spirit. Things that melt together, merge, have their own kind of charm; but things (or plants, or animals, or people) that retain their distinct qualities while attaining an often astonishing closeness have fascinated me ever since I married a deeply religious man.
That photo was from our previous house, where we lived our previous life. Here’s a very similar photo from our current house, current life.
The colors here are very fresh — part of a home renovation that is affecting three of our rooms. Everything is looking different: what used to be the dining room is now the TV room; a crummy carpet has been replaced by sleek wood; the odd wall behind the oven no longer intrudes on the kitchen space; the deep red tile that I chose to go above the new grey countertop turned out to be an excellent choice. Yesterday we bid so long to a contractor who brought a combination of skills and focused effort to us every single day, with very satisfying results. Early on, as he started working and I somewhat innocently inquired how much difference these physical changes would make, he said something like, “It will be thoroughly transformative, usher in a whole new era.”
And yet, now my husband (who did the painting) and I keenly feel the juxtaposition of a domestic, step-by-step in the right direction kind of process with the larger world hurtling towards what ? kind of process, if you can even call it that. Each in our different arenas, we are individually and collectively seeking some kind of control, understanding that our capacity for control is starkly limited. We want to look forward to a return to normalcy, but we don’t dare predict when that might be.
So I walk our dog around a local pond and watch the shifting demarcation of the ice and water each day, thinking of borderlines; how then (just a few weeks ago) was different from now; how life is constantly about change and adjusting to change. Some of the changes we work towards and, if we’re lucky, they bring a kind of glow; some of them, on the other hand, happen to us and send us scurrying for cover.
Today I just watched with our son a live video forum, about what his college is doing so far to address the cancellation of campus life for the rest of the spring term. His professors are working to get their on-line courses up and running. Juggling the need to refund families for room and board with the need to continue paying the salaries of many college employees seems like an almost impossible task. Meanwhile, I need to heed the instructions of our school superintendent about how to continue teaching my high school students starting next week, with our accustomed Google Classroom sites (until now a helpful accessory to daily meetings in close quarters) but without video conferencing. Talk about uncharted waters! I won’t be writing any more of those little green passes for the bathroom for a while, that’s one thing for sure.
And as for church services…
A few months ago, our older son brought this bag home from a visit to the Cathedral in Springfield, MA. It looks almost quaint now! The word “here” has already started taking on a whole new, broader meaning. A church congregation has always been about connectivity: you enter into the space, take your place in a pew, grateful for the presence of others around you who have done the same. Not anymore, at least for a while.
Here’s what Rob announced to the Diocese of New Hampshire a few days ago. I think you’ll agree that, despite or perhaps because of the sobering situation, he put an almost positive spin on what needs to happen in these weeks before Easter. Indeed, speaking as someone who has known him over three decades and through a variety of juxtapositions — including but not limited to the wall/ceiling variety– I hear a familiar theme in “turn horrible adversity into Gospel life.”
https://www.nhepiscopal.org/covid19
So, we soldier on. Let us help those whom we can help; take deep breaths; get out in the sunshine; do our best to keep some sense of play alive through this time. When the contractor’s dog, Bruno, was visiting here on a daily basis, he and Rocky demonstrated a pretty good way of social distancing: both of them couldn’t have the same stick at the same time. Somehow, it worked out.
