It is something in the air. It is something good, albeit cold, that is hitting my face as I roll back up the hill from my Sunday morning shopping at Canyon Market. For one thing, the air is dry. And the cold, that is to say, cold by San Francisco standards, does not feel penetrating and oppressive so much as brisk and invigorating. Various thoughts have been flashing through my mind. As I was leaving the market, trying to remember if there was anything other than tomatoes, anchovies, milk, cranberry juice and rye crackers that we “need,” something flashed. Just a soupçon of danger. Or more precisely, threat. Why? What is threatening me on this benign morning when my wife has hit the pulpit and I have hit the road? 

I know the answer. Nothing. Nothing more than the general threat to American democracy, the mounting heat death of the planet, and so on. And I try to remember this while waiting for my macchiato. The shopping bag sits heavy on my lap, the future sits heavy on my shoulders, and no, this is not necessary. I have been working with a specialist for a couple of years on whatever this is. And the work is going well. It is not unusual to emerge from youthful trauma without fully emerging. So it goes.

Meanwhile I am supposed to brush up on Demeter and Persephone. At 1:00 this afternoon I have a Zoom appointment with the C. G. Jung Institute of San Francisco. The latter has relocated from its fancy Pacific Heights mansion headquarters to something more accessible in every sense of the word down in the Mission District. And I take a certain pride in having helped raise some of the funds, advise on accessibility for the new institute building and, along the way, getting to know several of the analysts. So, what the hell, yes, I will learn what I can about mythology. It is, as they say, all Greek to me.

Sad to say, Jane and I reached an unpleasant decision, long about the time she was helping me get on my socks. Tomorrow’s day at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art was a splendid idea at one point. But that point has passed. The Omygod variant has rendered our plans null and void. We were looking forward to seeing abstract artist Joan Mitchell who has a big show at the SF MOMA. But, no. And our decision to bail on this wonderful art experience has been reinforced by a chat with Kelley who manages the fruit and vegetable operation at Canyon Market. Her 29-Year-old is currently in the throes of COVID-19. He has lost his sense of taste. Oy. Thinks he got it with a team of sheet-metal workers.

Meanwhile, rejoice, for it is sunny. And the sun has not been shining for quite a while. Make hay while it does, that is the wisdom, and this is wisdom I am following. Once I am up to speed in Greek mythology and reasonably satisfied, I will tune in to my wife’s Sunday morning episcopal sermon live via Zoom, and then the garden. Actually, the greenhouse, redubbed the conservatory. Want to join me?