Robert Oster Barossa Grape. I know I can’t do a credible drawing of a person; please feel free to giggle. In fact, I hope you do! We need to keep hold of our sense of the ridiculous.
“For what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbors, and laugh at them in our turn?”― Pride and Prejudice
How are people doing? How are you handling isolation? The daily news? The loneliness or the excessive togetherness? Please let me know.
(Oops. I forgot to hit the “Publish” button yesterday.)
Diamine Shimmering Ink Red Lustre
Diamine Shimmertastic Brandy Dazzle
Robert Oster “Sheen and Shimmy” Black “n” Blue (the blue shimmer doesn’t show up well in the photo, but it’s there)
Sailor Manyo Akebi
I spilled some of the next ink I plan to use on the page. Oops!
Troublemaker Inks Sea Glass
As you can see, I’m trying to get back to a story. I have a feeling I’m not going to be able to keep COVID-19 out of it altogether. It’s too much on my mind.
Taccia Hokusai Saibimidori
(I added the second shot of the page to show off the ink’s sheening and shading properties)
I gave last night’s coyote a cameo. It was quieter tonight; no animals came by, wanting to be included.
I found a panel in a comic that seems to encapsulate this moment:
That’s how I feel, too. (You can peruse the whole comic here.)
I keep reading on-line pieces here and there that are versions of “I didn’t want to talk about the COVID-19 situation, but…” (for example, go over to Mountain of Ink and read Kelli’s post on “Quarantine 2020 Ink Palettes.” Be sure to check out the link to the dreaming octopus, too. It’s amazing). I do want to talk about the coronavirus, but am having a difficult knowing what to say. I’ve been trying to walk some line between taking the pandemic seriously enough and not freaking out, but all the confusion, the almost non-existent testing, the lack of support for those fighting this disease, the lethal carelessness of the president and governors —well, freaking out begins to look like the reasonable response.
I continue to use my camera to mark the days and to remind myself there is still much beauty in the world. The moon has gone from this,
to this,
to this,
and, finally, to this:
There have been sunsets drenched in all kinds of colours:
And after one, long, sleepless night, there was a magnificent sunrise.
It got caught in the reflection and frost on our car’s windows.
In my pjs and coat, I sneaked across the street to the park to watch the sun appear.
The park was full of crows. 
You can see one flying low across the field in these two:
The sun tinged the mountains and clouds pink,
made the eastern sky flame,
and stained the tree bark and pine cones russet.
Frost rimed the grass and the soccer field sparkled in the sun.
Spring continues to unfold, just as if there were no corona viruses in the world. The daffodils are rising like the sun and my apple tree begins to put out leaves.
And while most of the blossoms on the peach tree survived,
a few took a hit.
More wintry weather is due this weekend.
I hope you all are staying well and staying at home as much as possible.
Organics Studio Limited Edition Jazz Hands
Sorry about the disruption to the story. Maybe tomorrow my brain will come back.
Yesterday I ventured forth farther a-field than I have for three weeks. I had an health appointment and my son agreed to take me so I wouldn’t have to take the bus (I don’t drive). I thought I would be excited to leave the house, but in truth I was mostly nervous. I looked up how to make a mask from a bandana and hair bands:
You can find instructions on how to make your own COVID-19 fashion statement here. I had a hard time getting the elastic bands to stay looped over my ears, so when I got home, I strung three together, before slipping the bandana through the end two, to allow the elastic to go around my head. I haven’t tried wearing it outside as I walk around yet, but I have high hopes it will stay in place a little better.
On the way in, there were some cars, but many stretches of the road were almost empty.
We passed my favourite pond. There were two grey herons on it, a bird I 
hadn’t seen there before. I hope they’re nesting. Someone pointed out to me that the birds have been loving the quieter days and the cleaner air, and since then I have noticed that there are indeed more birds around than we’ve had for a while.
After my appointment, we had a couple errands to run, one on the pedestrian mall. It was stunning to see how empty it was. The homeless folk had gathered primarily in one area, but most were keeping several yards apart from each other and talking about the pandemic.
I was surprised by how many restaurants were not limiting themselves to take out or curbside pick-up. Quite a number were open for business as more-or-less usual. THIS IS WHY WE NEED A NATIONAL SHUT-DOWN, PEOPLE. We can’t count on folks to stay away from each other if it isn’t mandated as a necessity.
There were few shoppers around; many of them were wearing scarves or masks. We looked like a small convention of highway robbers.
Because I’ve been cooped up at home, my son and I took the scenic route home. We saw trees just coming out of dormancy, still all bones, but not for long.*
There were some mountains, too.
Honestly, I feel as if the world has undergone such a cataclysm that I wasn’t sure the Rockies would still be there. It’s like living in one of those SciFi movies in which most of the population has been swept away by a plague and everyone is afraid of everyone else, but it’s not a movie.
Be careful out there, folks.
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* Winter trees remind me of the first and last verses of Theodore Roethke’s poem, “I Knew A Woman”:
