The View from the Hermitage, Day 77

The novel coronavirus accounts for only one smallish article on the front page of today's Washington Post along with an even smaller article about yesterday's first launch of US astronauts from US soil in nearly 10 years. (The capsule successfully docked at the International Space Station this morning.) Unfortunately, the rest of the front page was nothing but articles on the (quoting from the lead headline) "wave of rage and anguish sweep(ing) U.S. cities." I wish I had profound words to express how sickened I am by all this. I find it hard to comprehend the mindset of people such as the policemen who, with their treatment of George Floyd, set this all off. I use the plural because there is evidently some evidence that Mr. Floyd was killed not by the officer with his knee on his neck but instead by the two officers who sat on his back. Pressure on the two places--neck and back--results in different types of suffocation, and it appears that the type from which Mr. Floyd died was the kind resulting from back pressure on someone lying face down.

Because of how friends become friends, I can't think of anyone I know who would think this is okay. As I write that, however, I am reminded of my father's racism, something that got more extreme as he aged. I wrestle with whether that racism would have led to his taking the life of another person. I would like to think it would not, but I honestly do not know, and this frightens me. I know that attitudes such as racism come from nurture not nature, but I still wonder. It makes me thankful for the people I have met and the experiences I have had that help me keep my faith in human goodness, as unrealistically idealistic that may be.

Closer to home, I have three loaves of bread in the oven. I've made bread for the family for a couple of decades. We do buy bread if life gets in the way of my baking, but then I somewhat miss it. Working the hands kneading, smelling the bread as it bakes. My current go-to recipe is a whole wheat and oatmeal bread from The Secrets of Jesuit Breadmaking. That book has several recipes I have tried and liked. It's getting pretty dogeared, though, from frequent perusing if not using.

We went to the park again this Sunday morning. I'm not sure what the dog likes better, the car ride or the walk and different smells once we get there. There was a new Stop sign at the entrance and two people sitting there in lawn chairs (at least six feet apart) reminding people coming in to practice social distancing. We assured them we would and got a thumbs up when we held up the masks we were going to put on before leaving the car. The part of the park where we usually park had one or two more cars than are usually there, but there was still a lot of open space.

While the area around the softball fields was relatively empty, the area near the river was anything but. 

We don't know if the occupants of these cars were using the trail that runs beside the river for quite a distance. They might have been swimming; if so, I hope they stayed safe. Someone drowns in that river just about every year. We did see one car with two kayaks on the roof and another with two canoes, so at least some people were on top of the water rather than in it.

We did not go to the park last Sunday, instead visiting the university cemetery, so I can't say whether the crowds were due to the state's having entered Phase I of reopening or the nicer weather today than last weekend. Older son thought it was Phase I, which led to a rousing discussion of the metrics shown on the state health department's website. Our reading is that the arrows are not going in a direction that suggests Phase I has been a good thing. I can't see the governor pulling the state out of Phase I and back to staying at home; I don't think he has the courage (I really wanted to cite male genitalia here, but decided to stay PG-rated) to do so. I can see, and hope he does as well, extending Phase I for several more weeks. We'll find out on Tuesday or Thursday when he has his pandemic press conferences. In the meantime, I shall enjoy fresh, homemade bread sitting in an Adirondack chair on the front porch while I continue reading John Barry's The Great Influenza: The Story of the Deadliest Pandemic in History.