We were both in the meat department of the little market.
I was standing near him, but not too close.
We both were wearing our masks.
I noticed that his mask was homemade.

He was an older man.
He walked in a shuffling way.
I wondered if his mask was made by his wife.
He shopped alone.

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There are days, when I open my laptop, there is nothing to say.
If there is nothing to say, there is nothing to write about.
If there is nothing to write about, then I could go back and retrieve something from the past.
However, that is the easy way out.

Maybe there really is something to say, but it is hard.
Maybe there is something to write about, but it is prickly and uncomfortable.
Maybe, each of us, feel like we have nothing to say.
Maybe if we tap into that well down deep, we would be surprised what comes out.

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There is a little country church down the road from our house.
My daughter got married in that little country church, almost four years ago.
It was not the church she attended, so she needed permission to get married there.
There were things about the church that captivated her.

It is an historic church, with a graveyard beside it.
The dates on the tombstones go back hundreds of years.
The steeple, which is softly lit at night, can be seen from miles around.
The bells, with their comforting sound, toll every hour.

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Each week at the market I go to, the protocol has changed.
The management has taken the virus crisis very seriously.
Each week, I am learning to follow signs with new directions.
Mostly…

Wearing a face mask is mandatory in our state.
No one may enter a public building without one.
I watch the older gentlemen gather carts from the parking lot.
They wipe each one down and spray them with disinfectant.

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We are all in the midst of an historical time.
We are all in the midst of a crisis.
The crisis is difficult enough.
However, life is going on around us while we are going through it.

Groceries need to be bought.
Meals have to be made.
Dishes need to be washed and laundry must be done.
Things still need our attention around the house.

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When my children were little, there were times that discipline was needed.
Having something taken away from them was always the worst thing I could do.
Not only was their favorite toy taken away, it was banished.
It was banished to my bedroom closet until the next morning.

I can still see them walking down the long upstairs hallway.
They would carry their special toy tenderly in their arms.
They had to put the special toy into my closet.
They had to close the door.

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The roads are empty.
No one seems to be driving.
With a stay at home order from our governor, needless trips are not allowed.
Only those things that are life sustaining can be done.

Living in the country, the roads are never as busy as city streets.
However, some roads are busier than others at certain times of day.
But not now.
Now, the number of cars are at a minimum.

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I have no dots on my phone calendar.
There were dots.
I had to delete many of them.
They have been deleted because of social distancing.

Things on my calendar that were not necessary are now gone.
They have been removed.
They were important at the time they were placed there.
Now their importance seems insignificant.

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I had to interrupt a conversation with a friend.
The little girl was just too cute not to pay attention.
It was the little pink tutu that caught my eye.
It was the little pink ballerina leotard that she wore that made me take notice.

She was probably three-years-old.
She was with her mother in the coffeehouse.
She was being a mother’s helper.
She was throwing away their trash.

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My daughter was a second grade teacher.
She loved her students.
They loved her right back.
She resigned after ten years of teaching when her daughter was born.

Ten years of students means a lot of memories.
Ten years of students means a lot of stories.
There was no favoritism from one student to another.
She respected her students and they respected her right back.

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