… on anticipation (a.k.a., faith)

In the first week of the President’s request for us to stay at home for fifteen days to ‘flatten the curve’, I made the decision to have fresh flowers in the house every day.

Not flowers in every room – not that this wouldn’t be fun – but just enough to fill a special, hand turned vase, given to me by John and the kids last Christmas.

As our state governors began to translate the President’s request into the guidelines that would tumble down onto each of us, I found myself at the local grocery store. Alongside, and in front, but not too close to me were neighbors – known and not – who were a little bit less certain than they once were, a little bit quieter than they’d been just days before.

I’d finished up my own shopping and was headed to the checkout lines, when I remembered the fresh flowers I’d passed on the way in.

It’s not that flowers in the house is a new thing, though it’s never been an all-the-time thing. That being said, when I know we are having folks over, the flowers are as necessary as the music and wine and food and conversation.

So, in a small act that feels somehow both hopeful and subversive, I’ve been keeping fresh flowers in that vase by the side door since those very first days of hunkering down…

To celebrate the moment that someone who is not me, or JoHn, or Belle, or Blaze steps through.

Thanks for readin’.

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