Marion Agnew

Today would have been my first morning to wake up here at home after my vacation, in a non-COVID universe. It's the last of THAT ghost event . May will bring more ghosts. I'm noticing many other ghost events, ongoing. Sports reports "reports" continue to be all about events that won't be happening. And meanwhile, let's all watch this sports event from a previous year that was SO GOOD. No shade on rewatching. I mean, it's what I do with books. And when hasn't a Jane Austen adaptation been a good insomnia companion? Rewatching is also what I do with seasons. Every year. So, yes, I adore living here. And although I'm sorry to miss seeing family (and let's be real, wearing flipflops), there's no place I'd rather be than here. But some days--let's just say I'm not walking lightly on the landscape. I'm not stomping-mad. Just trudging through days. Checking things off my (greatly reduced) list. Going outdoors. Remembe...

How am I celebrating? By noticing, mostly. And attempting not to judge: no "I'm so over this" or "whyyyyyy isn't it warmer?" or "where are the flowerrrrrrrssss?" Here's what I saw. And although I'm still not into advice and answers , if you're looking for a way to celebrate Earth Day, too, I humbly share "noticing" as a consideration.

Did anyone else who keeps a physical, analog calendar write CANCELLED across all of April and May? I secretly held out some hope for May, but from the first (and very welcome) announcement of closures, I knew April was toast. And now we're at the point in April where, because we're isolating and distancing, I'm more aware of ghosts. Or, more properly, the ghost of the life I'd set into motion for April. * I'd planned a trip to the US, for various reasons. One of my siblings had a birthday that ends in zero, which is as good a reason as any for us to gather. Also, April is usually the month in which my stores of "being a good sport about fickle weather" are extra-low, so I plan a trip to Tucson, which is almost always sunny and warm. (Comparatively, for sure.) So the five of us were set to rendezvous to say "hi." And probably other things. But of course we're not doing it, although the events linger on my calendar under the ballpo...

Some people have Things to Say. Sometimes always, sometimes "now more than ever," they have a Need to Share "this wonderful thing I do." Which is great. Writers. Artists. Cool. Sometimes I read Things People Say. I especially enjoy people's varied artistic practices, especially those practices that look at things. Like Shawna Lemay's, at Transactions with Beauty . Love love love her series of still lifes. (I entertain myself by using "stills life" as the plural.) I appreciate those who curate (oh that word) words for us. Like Kerry Clare, who shares her Gleanings. But sometimes I'm kind of, I don't know, done? I want to say, "Shhh." So I tell myself that. It helps to go outdoors.  Shhh. You don't have to tiptoe, but learn from me: do be careful on ice . Sometimes, you can look up, or over, or out. Shhh. 

Early in our containment, I injured my hands and wrists and forearms. Let's just say I'm clumsy at the best of times, and ice can be sneaky under a fresh coating of fluffy new snow. They're not hurt badly, and they're improving. But they're not back to "normal." Yesterday I was changing sheets. I tried to put on the new pillowcase in the way I enjoy most--holding the pillow briefly under my chin(s) while I worry on the case at the bottom, and then holding case and pillow out from my body, giving it a jerk, and watching the pillow fall-slide into the case with a satisfying "snap" of fabric on fabric. * Yeah, that didn't happen. My left hand and arm don't yet have quite the strength and dexterity for the snap. So I did it another way: a more gentle way. I held the case and dragged the bottom corner of the pillow into it. I pushed and pulled and plumped and poofed, and the pillow eventually looked normal in its case. "Gentle,...