Usually the New York Times is delivered to our home at 8 A.M. The one exception is Sunday. On that day I drive to Cross Roads to purchase the paper. However, last week when I viewed the newspaper shelf at Cross Roads only Friday papers were visible. I asked the cashier where the Sunday papers were located and she informed me that the Sunday papers would arrive–on Sunday. Today was only Friday!

I am a victim of coronavirus time when I lose all sense of time. One day seems to melt into another and I no longer know which day is which day.

This personal phenomenon happened to me once before when I lived for a year in Israel. The leaves remained green at all seasons and, in the fall, when I should have seen the seasons turn, I remained fixed in time. In fact, one day in Jerusalem, I went to the library of the US Consulate and signed out “Football Songs of New England.” (A CD, incidentally, that held no interest for me when I was home in the United States.)

Recently, I received an email with a picture of a turtle and the following message, “How fast you go doesn’t matter, forward is forward.” Because of health problems and the pandemic I am not always certain that I am moving forward. Our lives are on hold and the dreams we have for the future are often not available. The poet Shelley wrote, “If winter comes can spring be far behind?” Winter hasn’t even come and I am already impatient for spring.

And if not spring, won’t someone please deliver the Sunday Times on Friday!

Sheltering