Shelter in Place, San Francisco, December 23, 2020
The butcher shop near the church is packed this morning, honoring us old folks with an early and uncluttered extra hour. Across the street, its regulars have formed a small, respectful line in front of the corner store to buy lottery tickets they hope will counter this wretched year. Nearby, the strange little costume shop sports cheerful nutcrackers big and small, though no line of people wait to get inside. Farther along, the tea shop is offering takeout cucumber sandwiches, and the Chinese restaurant on our corner has opened early for takeout dumplings. This is our neighborhood.
We’ve tried, this Christmas season, to buy from small businesses, art organizations, and individuals - local, when possible - in order to support those most in danger from the shutdown and the reticence of the federal government to do its job. There is something special about rediscovering the lifeblood of our neighborhood in these dire times and doing what we can to help local businesses survive. We are grateful for their presence along these empty streets and, as we spend the holidays at home, we hope they will still be here when all of this is over.
Day 273: Here Comes the Sun
Shelter in Place, San Francisco, December 22, 2020
On an evening when everyone was focused on Jupiter’s and Saturn’s confluence, the sun, last night, was quietly doing its thing - rounding winter’s corner and heading from darkness into light. Never did we need it more. I’ve noticed more people hanging their hat on the phenomenon this year, seeing Solstice as a sign that things are bound to get easier someday. Lighter, at least. We all know that we are facing tough times in the months ahead - the winter still to come - but there is some consolation to be had in the confirmation that the earth is still on its orbit, the sun in its place, the seasons still turning. And in that same vein, it feels hopeful to me, somehow, to turn the corner on this late afternoon and see this golden light.
Day 270: No Complaints Here
Shelter in Place, San Francisco, December 19, 2020
Our garden is relatively dormant and we're still waiting for the rains, yet I count my lucky stars that this is where I have to stay during the dark and difficult months ahead. I’ve been thinking a lot about my parents’ generation within the context of this new COVID lockdown and the disappointment we are all expressing not to be together for the holidays. Some of us, at least, are among the privileged who have Zoom, we have a vaccine on the way, we have Netflix, we have food delivery, and there are no unexploded bombs dropping in our beds. And I have my garden. It’s hard, yes; it’s sad, yes; but I feel so very lucky and humbled by the years that my parents gave up for the good of the country and the world. And I think of those in these hard times far less fortunate than me.The truth is, I don’t know what sacrifice is; and I can afford to wait.
From my dad’s letters home:
December 25, 1943, Ascot, England - - "Well it’s Christmas! Here, except for the turkey dinner at chow this noon, you’d never know it. Last night the only thing which made a Christmas Eve for me was my thoughts of what it was like at home. I had ample time for thinking, for it happened to be my turn to pull guard; and so, as I trudged through the mud, I entertained myself with the remembrances of Christmases of the past and dreams of the Christmases to come.… Perhaps by next year - or at least the year after - we’ll be together again… Carol, you’ve just got to be having a good time because if you weren’t, just think how you’d shatter all of my dreams."
December 24, 1944, Butgenbach, Belgium (Battle of the Bulge) -- "Well here it is, the day before Christmas. And yesterday for a present I got three letters. Right at present our little bunch isn’t living too miserably. We always seem to be able to find an old abandoned farm house for shelter, and you’d be surprised in what short order a bunch of GI’s can make a place livable. Of course, now and then we have to patch up a few shell holes and blown windows, but the one we have now so far is in one piece [this was written after an unexploded bomb had landed in a bed in their previous abandoned house and after a sniper had been trying to pick them off in another]. There are a couple of cool ranges in it, and it even has running water, so we’re not so bad off. As far as food goes, we do pretty well, too. Usually they bring us a couple of hot meals and in-between there is almost always something cooking on the stove. Potatoes are abundant, and now and then a stray chicken, left by the fleeing civilians, wanders too near. I only wish we could find a little wine or cognac for a little Christmas celebration, but it’s scarce in this section. We did find a bottle of white wine a couple of days ago, but of course that is gone. If I were home, I could not ask for more perfect Christmas weather. It is very cold, well below freezing, and the air is clear and and crisp, and sometimes it is so peaceful you’d hardly know there is a war. I miss you, Carol, & hope so very much that you’re having a happy Christmas."