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We’ve sequestered ourselves for the most part for several weeks now. I’m used to working from home, and it’s kinda neat not having anywhere to be for long periods. Merry loves staying at home, and with the right equipment on the way, will be able to do some of her job from here.

I’ve been busy. Clients suddenly have time to pay attention to their online presence (or need to take advantage of it) more than usual. And the organizations I belong to are ramping up virtual meeting technology, and I’m often a part of that. I even wrote my first sole-author book because of this, “Webmastering the Craft: Fraternity in a Digital World”. With the extra incentive of an expiring offer to submit a book to the system for free, I cram-wrote it using a lot of previously published or noted material, finishing up with 16 minutes to spare.

We also have been working at various house projects, some of which we started before the virus hit our area. Supplies for remodeling the living room along with other items are being delivered, as are some other items, even groceries. And this weekend, appropriately, I’m working on finishing the handicap-accessible Masonic altar I’ve been working on for a few months now.

Merry is making masks for a lot of people we know. A lot of people are, doing their part as it were. Like others, I’m slowly reaching out to people I probably should have kept better in touch with in the first place. It just seems like life is really coming into focus through all this — the epicurean and the necessary or important are sorting themselves out quite palpably.

Easter is in limbo. We’ll have a proper Święconka later in the year, but I concerted my usual Good Friday observances, sans getting flowers. The special place was marked by a particular tree that after all these years appears to be done — rattled by woodpeckers, without bark, stubs for limbs, I do not expect its remains to stand another year. I resigned it thrice-fold to all space and time, freeing it in my mind. The other observance was visiting “Our Lady of the Snows”. Even that seems out of place, as I cannot visit my Dad’s burial place. Everything seems to have met its usefulness, morphing into a different place within a new tradition. I almost seem young again, free from such longstanding self-imposed traditions. I will observe them again, but Good Friday will be in a new way.