01.29.21

I looked back through my blogposts, and it appears I am often grumpy at the end of January. Even my horoscope today confirms these are difficult days for a Taurus:

TAURUS HOROSCOPE JANUARY 29, 2021. It could seem as if you are riding a roller-coaster of emotions that may make you feel moody today. Maybe because you are feeling both good and bad emotions, you might find it more difficult to cope with the fluctuations. Making yourself aware of the fact that your emotions are constantly changing could help you detach from your feelings and make it easier to see that your feelings do not have to define your mood.

This month is taking forever. From the fear and despair of January 6th, to the relief and joy on January 20th, to the present reality of a viciously divided Congress, to the disastrous Covid-19 vaccination rollout, is it any wonder my feelings are a roller-coaster. Dangerous Covid-19 variants are popping up everywhere, and the disparity of worldwide distribution of limited vaccines is heart-breaking. “Vaccine scavengers” are invited to line up for any precious unused doses, so they don’t go to waste.

Well, February is just around the corner, and that’s something to look forward to. My mother was born in February, and Valerie came into the world on Valentine’s Day, so it is a month of love. My moods are often attached to ‘what were the skies like this morning’, and there’s a little excitement on that front. Forecasters are hinting that we may have a repeat of late February two years ago, when an Arctic blast appeared out of nowhere, bringing snow and temperatures so cold that Flathead Lake froze over for the first time in twenty years. I was alone here, with Don off skiing in Norway, and I will never forget standing on the porch at dusk, and how it took my breath away to watch and listen as the ice clacked together in front of my eyes. But, with January coming to a close, I would be remiss not to give credit for the Wolf Moon, which shines all night long high in the sky, reflected by snow, then spilling onto my pillow. Likewise, I would not want to miss pointing out how soft and ethereal is the weakened sun, as it glows on snow, during my morning walks.

Quarantine, 1918
by Faith Shearin

There were towns
that knew about the flu before
it arrived; they had time to imagine the germs
on a stranger’s skirts, to see how death
could be sealed in an envelope,
how a fever could bloom in the evening,
and take a life overnight.
A few villages, deep in the mountains,
posted guards on their roads,
and no one was allowed to come or go,
not even a grandmother carrying a cake;
no mail was accepted and all the words
and packages families sent
to one another went unopened,
unanswered. Trains were told
not to stop, so they glowed for a moment
before swaying
towards some other place. The food
at the corner store never came
from out of town and no one went
to see a distant auntie
or state fair. For awhile, the outside world
existed in imagination, in memory,
in books or suitcases, deep in closets.
There was nothing but the town itself,
hiding from what was possible,
and the children cutting dolls
from paper, their scissors sharp.