Saturday April 4, 2020
Maybe it is the oddness of the Covid blanket, but the flowering trees have outdone themselves in the quiet of this year’s spring.
Earlier tonight, locking my bike on Sullivan Street, I noticed the upper tapered part of the Empire State Building, including its spire, was red. I have seen that before, but tonight, the light was pulsing. I have never seen that. The word “pulse” held my attention while trying to understand what I was seeing. It struck me that a pulse indicates something steady, and possibly calming in its regularity. But this flashing had a disturbed beat—not a regular one. Maybe they were testing the lights, or perhaps there was a malfunction. I had to look away.
Yams and potatoes are roasting in the oven, though it is after 1:00 AM. It seems like a good time to mention the end of this project. All things have a beginning, a middle, and an end. Today marks the first Covid Entry mailing. If the beginning foretells the end, I have an idea for the parting image of this series.
Shakespeare’s Cassius said, “Where I did begin, there shall I end.” Since I decided to actually launch this project, I have been thinking about its end. Last night, Bastille Day popped into my mind as a possible end date. We will see. At least there is a plan, as much as plans exist these days.
Speaking of plans and endings:
Later today, I hope to close the uneventful saga of helping my mother update her will. After minor revisions last year, it was 98% complete in January. As the severity of the local situation increased, her interest in finalizing it expanded. Even three weeks ago, I could not have imagined the effort and planning required to arrange for two witnesses to observe the signing of my mother’s will—a minute-long event. My mother is not the only 90 year-old mother and grandmother I know. It is a scary time for many, but being in your 90s must add quite a few layers of, let’s say, realistic concern.