All posts by Wildtrumpetvine

Springtime with Corona

Spring has been given the green light here in Northern Virginia. As I had hoped, we got a pass on winter. There were no significant accumulations of ice or snow to complicate travel or shut down the schools. The miniature daffodils in our yard, the first to appear, are bobbing their bright sturdy heads in the chilly breeze. The sun is shining. The Bradford pears are blossoming, and the cherry trees not far behind. Typically, the onset of spring brings with it a sense of hope, the promise of rebirth, the deeply calming assurance that life goes on. But this spring has been saddled with an unwelcome companion, a cloud of anxiety referred to as “the novel coronavirus,” (since the term coronavirus refers to an entire family of viruses, including some causing the common cold) and more specifically known as COVID-19. Yesterday the World Health Organization officially declared the outbreak a pandemic, due to its worldwide spread. Only Antarctica has yet to be affected by this new virus.

At first, the outbreak was presented as a far-off concern for those of us in America. Easy to believe it was a problem for the Chinese only, where the virus initially appeared. Then it popped up elsewhere in Asia. Still comfortingly distant. But then a man in Washington state became infected, after returning from Wuhan, the city in China where the outbreak first began. Oh, snap! We forgot that our planet is actually quite small. And that as Americans we tend to have the freedom and the means to zip around wherever we like. After that, the virus began spreading quickly in Europe. Then on cruise ships. In Iran and Brazil. Then came the first American death, near Seattle, at the end of February.

At that point, the information we received became increasingly conflicting. The US had everything “under control.” The virus was being contained. Our response had been “pretty close to airtight.” Yet people continued to become infected, some who hadn’t traveled overseas. Others who had symptoms hadn’t been tested. There have been more American deaths. The stock market was looking good. The virus is no more dangerous than a typical flu. It is ten times more dangerous than a typical flu. Healthy, youngish people may test positive for the virus yet have no symptoms. They should continue to report to work. The virus will miraculously disappear once the weather warms up. Thirteen residents of a single nursing home in Seattle have died. There are plenty of tests for the virus. Anyone who wants a test can get one. The tests are beautiful. There are problems with the tests. They cannot be “validated.” The tests simply are not available. In Italy, the healthcare system is completely overwhelmed, and doctors flip coins to decide which patients live or die. Our US government’s response could not have been better. Our government’s response has been a hugely botched effort. The entire outbreak is a hoax. It’s a product of crazed media hype. Infections continue to mount. People continue to die.

Last week it might have sounded overly dramatic to say that the coronavirus outbreak is upending much of life as we know it, right here in the US. But not this week. Not now that many universities are making the switch to online instruction and advising students not to return from spring break. Not now that elementary and high schools are closing their doors, at least temporarily, across the nation. Not now that churches are increasingly encouraging their congregants to stay home. Not now that all NBA and NHL games have been suspended. Not now that late night comics and daytime talk shows have no live studio audiences. Not now that all travel from Europe to the US has been suspended. Or perhaps just some travel from Europe. Maybe it’s only Europeans who won’t be allowed to fly in, but OK for American citizens to come and go? Travel from the UK is fine and encouraged. And there will be no trade with Europe. There will be ongoing trade with Europe. Depends upon whom you ask. There is much fuzziness with regard to these finer points. Disneyland is closing. All is well. There will be no NCAA games. Tom Hanks and Rita Wilson have been diagnosed with coronavirus. This is all nothing but a “Panicdemic.” A fever dream conceived by a bunch of sissies. Broadway has gone dark. Your 401K will recover. The confusion continues.

Yes, all is well. Perfectly fine. Nevertheless, wash your hands. Wash them really well. Especially when you go to see your grandma.

On second thought, don’t go to see your grandma just yet.

On a Gray Day, Some golden light

Looking through photos on this dreary, gray day, several from our early January snow stand out. During this unusually mild winter, we’ve had only one snow here in Northern Virginia. I’m hoping we can glide smoothly into an early spring without an icy blast to decimate the young buds that are creeping up and out all over. But early on that snowy morning of January 8, the glow of sunshine on the trees was briefly dazzling. While most branches appeared as though frosted with white royal icing, the sun’s rays picked out certain tree tops to gild with metallic brilliance. The result, against a quickly changing backdrop of blue sky dotted with clouds of white, pink and lavender, was a vision of spectacular luminosity. These photos convey only a suggestion of the radiance I saw on that frosty morning seven weeks ago.

Before long, the light shifted, the other-worldly glow faded, and the colorful brilliance seeped away. The snow-covered landscape, in clean tones of white, gray and black, was still beautiful, but it was a more ordinary sort of beauty.

Even ordinary beauty is a wonderful thing, of course. But these pictures remind me to keep a watchful eye. In the midst of the everyday, a sudden glimpse of the extraordinary (perhaps, who knows, even a glimmer of heaven?) is a possibility, if a fleeting one.

Maple Tree Shadows on the Moonlit lawn

Mid-afternoon on Tuesday, big blobs of snow suddenly began falling. Trees and grassy areas were quickly coated. An hour later, our nandinas were bent double, weighed down dramatically by the heavy accumulation. By early evening, the sky was clearing and the half-moon was bright. The shadows of the silver maples were sharply defined on our front lawn. This glowing, moonlit landscape, as I’ve written before, is perhaps my favorite view, ever and anywhere. (See here, in a post from 2014.) It’s certainly one of the aspects I love best about living in our house.

The vision always carries me back to the first winter we spent in our house. Our now twenty-one year-old daughter was just a year old. I spent many hours each night sitting in a rocking chair, holding my baby and looking out at the snow. The winter of 2000 was an especially snowy one, and our daughter resisted sleep with steely resolve. She required lots of rocking, lots of snuggling, lots of nursing. The first time I looked up from the face of my (at long last) sleeping baby and saw the dark blue shadows of the trees etched so distinctly on the lawn, I gasped. I expect such an image in a snow scene painted by Maxfield Parrish, but I didn’t think I’d see it in my front yard.

I’d assumed the vision couldn’t be captured in a photograph. But Tuesday night I thought it was worth a try.

These pictures don’t fully catch the magical effect I witnessed firsthand, but they give some idea.

As my daughter and I worked to chip away at the thick ice on our back walkway yesterday afternoon, I was briefly disheartened to think of the long stretch of winter yet to come. Then I remembered the spectacle of moonlight shadows on the lawn. The February Snow Moon will be here soon. May it live up to its name.

The Timeless Message of Christmas, with Hope for the Future

It’s January 7th, 2020. The Christmas season is officially over. For our family, it was a happy and busy one. We felt fortunate to welcome our daughter home from college for an extended stay, as well as to have my mother living next door. I didn’t find the time for writing more than one quick Christmas post. But the message of Christmas is one to live by every day. And the gift of Christmas is persistent. It waits to be received, regardless of the time of year. So, a look back on Christmas Eve, and a look ahead, with hope for the future.

The familiar, expected beasts were all there at the nativity on Christmas Eve. There was the furry, gray-brown burrow, always a crowd favorite. The humble image of patience, fortitude and forbearance, this little donkey reminds us of the one that may have carried young Mary and her unborn child to Bethlehem many years ago.

Two fluffy sheep quietly munched on hay. The two goats took more curious notice of the onlookers around them. They remind us that ordinary farm animals likely witnessed the holy birth.

There were a few dogs, including Kiko, who was fortunate in meeting a kindly shepherd girl who allowed him to wander at will among the other furry creatures. Maybe those original shepherds brought with them a sheepdog or two? I’m not certain where the scholarship stands on this point. No shepherd would benefit from a dog like Kiko, who lacks the herding instinct as well as any semblance of a work ethic. Come to think of it, our dog’s interest in other living beings is confined largely to the smells they leave behind.

Sweet Delilah the camel, on the other hand, seems to truly enjoy social interaction with her animal companions, as well as with her human admirers. This year, as always, she snuggled enthusiastically with kids and old folks, and posed for endless pictures.

With such a remarkable menagerie so close at hand, the human presence may take a back seat at a live nativity. But those wearing the costumes of Mary and Joseph remind us that God chose to send his son to be born not to the rich and powerful, but to a couple who counted themselves among the working poor. Those dressed as shepherds recall the lowly field workers who were the first to be summoned, and by angels, no less, to receive the joyful, life-changing news of a savior’s birth. The so-called Magi, like their camel, would not have made an appearance at the stable in Bethlehem. These wealthy pagan astrologers from the East arrived months or perhaps even years after the birth, when Jesus and his parents were living in some modest home, perhaps in Nazareth. But they’re included in nativity scenes to signify that this baby, born to obscure observant Jews of the artisan class, is God’s gift to all people, regardless of heritage or ethnicity, and to all generations.

The point of the Christmas narrative, of course, is this baby. In our nativity, the newborn Jesus is represented by a mere doll, which, in terms of purely visual interest, cannot begin to compete with so much furry, four-legged charm. This unremarkable doll is an inadequate place-holder not simply for a real baby, but for a miraculous union of the human with the divine. The baby Jesus is, according to the Gospel of John, God’s Word, the Word through which everything was created, newly manifested in human form.

And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us. He was full of unfailing love and faithfulness. And we have seen his glory, the glory of the Father’s one and only Son. –John 1:14

God loves us so much that he sent his son to live out the human experience as our brother and friend. Jesus pointed the way, through example, showing us how to claim our kinship with him and our inheritance as children of God. Jesus didn’t bring a message of complicated theology and countless esoteric rules to follow. The essence of his message, emphasized repeatedly throughout the years of his earthly ministry, is disarmingly simple:

Love each other. Just as I have loved you, you should love each other. Your love for one another will prove to the world that you are my disciples. –John 13: 34-35

The essential message of Christmas is simple, too. God’s great love breaks down all barriers, of geography, race, gender, of social and economic class. We humans are skilled builders of artificial and arbitrary barriers, but there is not one that can withstand the sheer force of goodness that is God’s love. God loves us all. And he wants us to love each other.

He has created us to do so:

In the beginning was the Word. The Word was with God, and the Word was God. He existed in the beginning with God. God created everything through him, and nothing was created except through him. The Word gave life to everything that was created, and his life brought light to everyone. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it. –John 1: 1 -5

So therefore, the light of God is present in all creation.* I like to think I can sense the divine spark shining within every humble beast at our live nativity, as well as in all our animal friends. What are they, anyway, but God’s beloved creatures?

That seed of holy light has been implanted in every one of God’s human children. With the kindness and compassion that have their source in God our Father, let us do our best to kindle the divine spark within ourselves. Let us nurture and share the warmth of that light with our neighbors, near and far. With those who look and think like us, and with those who don’t. Let us resist quick judgement, avoid pettiness, and act with generosity of spirit.

Let us love one another. We were made for this.

*This idea is explored powerfully and beautifully by Richard Rohr in his 2019 book, The Universal Christ: How a Forgotten Reality Can Change Everything We See, Hope for, and Believe.

What do you know, it’s Christmas Eve!

December, always the quickest month, has flown by with even greater speed than usual this year. Suddenly, our daughter is home, half-way through her third year at the University of Virginia. We’re wrapping presents. And it’s Christmas Eve.

Kiko, as usual*, has positioned himself squarely in the center of it all. (He’s the Milford Plaza of dogs.) Evidently, he suspects something very good is brewing. If only he could stay awake But the pull of sleep is strong and inviting. His head nods, and his body sways as he attempts to resist.

Sleep wins out.

Rolls of decorative paper make a comfy pillow on a sun-drenched carpet. I finish the wrapping, walking carefully around him. Soon I’ll wake him up and we’ll head over to the live nativity at our church. And that means it’s really, truly Christmas Eve.

*See the post from last December: Holiday Advice from Kiko: Just Chill

On Veterans Day, Honor and Remember

On this Veterans Day, on the Main Streets of small towns across our country, banners honoring currently serving military men and women continue to fly from flag-decked lamp posts.  Typically, these hometown hero banners wave from May to November.  In the charming Eerie Canal village of Spencerport, New York, they had been newly installed when we visited family over Memorial Day.  As the leaves fell, the weather cooled and the time changed, I wondered if the banners were still in place.  My sister-in-law Julie told me that they were indeed there along Union Street, and she sent some pictures. 

Spring and summer have come and gone.  Fall has all but made its exit.  In upstate New York, as Thanksgiving approaches, a gray icy chill descends. Snow, and lots of it, is likely on the way.  And still the soldiers gaze down on the streets of the towns they call home.  They’re mostly young.  They wear their dress uniforms.  What’s in their expressions?  Hope, apprehension, dread, determination, courage, trepidation, resolve, regret?   

Here in Northern Virginia, Kiko and I spent some time in a small cemetery near our home on this unseasonably warm Veterans’ Day.  The customary sounds of a suburban autumn–the leaf-blowing, tree-trimming, power-washing, and traffic–they’d fallen silent for a while.  Kiko surprised me by not insisting on trying to venture out into the street beyond.  Instead, he settled on a hill.  Beside him, flags decorated several graves, as did one little pumpkin.  Except for the occasional rustling of a falling leaf, the stillness around us was deep and comforting, like a blanket.   

Veterans Day here in America evolved from Britain’s Armistice Day, first observed on November 11, 1919, to commemorate the cessation of fighting in World War I, which had occurred a year to the day before.  It has come to be known as Remembrance Day in Britain.  President Eisenhower changed the name of the US holiday to Veterans Day in 1954, designating it as a time to honor all our military men and women, including those who fought in World War II and Korea. 

Veterans Day serves as a reminder of the very human cost of war.  May we be resolute in our honor of those who have served and now serve in every branch of our military.   May we remember that, as the seasons change, our soldiers yet remain far from home, in remote and inhospitable locales, often perceived as the enemy even when their mission is dubbed a peacekeeping one.   Many hometown heroes banners are likely to be removed soon to make way for Christmas and holiday decorations.  Let us not forget the ongoing sacrifice when those bright young faces no longer look down on us from Main Street flagpoles.  And may we use the power of our vote to demand that we reflect on the past and learn from mistakes.  May we elect representatives who seek to comprehend, and when possible, avoid, the truly inestimable cost of war.   

Back in the leafy green of May, when the hometown heroes banners began to fly over Spencerport, NY

 For my Memorial Day post from Spencerport, see here.   

Trick-or-Treating on the Lawn, 2019

Last year, Slim and the pack managed to fit in a quick road trip to Charlottesville on Halloween afternoon to mix with the University of Virginia community during Trick-or-Treating on the Lawn.  This year, due to the threat of severe thunderstorms, the event was postponed until November 1.  While the Skeleton Crew wasn’t in attendance, our daughter was, and she sent some photos.  

The evening was clear, chilly and gorgeous in the wake of the previous night’s heavy rain.  It attracted a big crowd from the university and the town. 

Since the 1980s, the University has invited Charlottesville families to bring their children to trick or treat at each of the rooms on the Lawn and the West Range.  These are the historic student accommodations dating from Jefferson’s original plan for his University’s Academical Village.  Candy is donated by many student organizations.    

The Rotunda, glowing like a lantern in the dusk. 

Our daughter and a friend. 

The moon rises.  Twilight deepens.  Time for little ghouls and goblins to head home.  If my college experience counts for anything, I’ll assume that, for the students, Halloweekend festivities were only beginning.    

For last year’s post on Trick-or-Treating on the Lawn, see here