Anything normal lifts the spirits. 

Life in the time of Covid 19 is going to be hard on weeds. If I'm normal, and I've always thought I could at least pass for that, yards are going to be better weeded than ever before. I guess Covid 19 is the devil; it certainly is finding work for idle hands. 

Zen also seems to be entering the picture. Years ago when I read parts of "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance", I had a vague notion of what was being said, but I've always been more of a sprinter than a long distance runner, not the least bit inclined to do art or crafts, so much of the meaning of that book escaped me. I usually wanted something to be done minutes after I had thought of doing it. Old age has slowed me down. Now I'm willing, or should I say have, to devote a bit more time to 'gettin' 'er done'.  And Covid 19 has added another dimension. The purpose of a day used to be imposed from outside by the need to do this and that. Even in retirement, there always seemed to be things that had to be done. I never believed my fellow retirees who went on and on about how much busier they were than when they were working, but I did have or find things to do to give my life meaning. Now all that is off and meaning has to be found from within, in fewer tasks closer to home. Consequently I do each activity in a more contemplative way, which gets me back to Zen. And reminds me of Camus' novel, "L' Étranger", in which the protagonist at first sees nothing in his prison cell but discovers more and more there as the days pass, if I remember correctly, which I often don't. Stories change with each telling. At any rate, careful weeding and the meticulous removal of rust from the bumper hitch of my car before installing my bike rack have helped to give meaning to the last couple of days. The latter may have been a futile effort because although I was able to drop my bike off to get a spring check up and have a flat tire repaired, it's looking increasingly likely that bike repair shops will not be on the list of essential services and will hence be shut down with my bike inside one of them, a minor inconvenience these days. Especially as weeding is such an engrossing alternative to biking. 

Miriam and I did walk to the Black Rock yesterday, following the rules of physical ( the adjective that now seems to be preferred over 'social') distancing. There was a father at the top with two kids and a dog. The girl, about five, gave me a laugh. I could hear her earnestly trying to get her father to allow her to pick up the dog poop by explaining exactly how it's done, "First you inside out the bag ..."

I'd have given her permission to pick it up right away. That expression deserves to be rewarded. Imagine being that eager to do a job. Work does give meaning to life, but picking up dog poop??  No wonder the owners of Blake's "dark Satanic Mills" were so keen on child labour. 

My spirits were lifted this morning as I weeded in the front yard. A guy I've had a 'You have a very good day' acquaintance with for years walked by as he often does. Until today, that's about all he's said. He's a tall thin man with long grey hair tied at the back of his neck. He walks with a cane and a bit of a stoop but at a good pace. We exchanged names ages ago but have both forgotten. I remember he told me he was from a farm in Saskatchewan, so I think of him as Saskatchewan. Today he stopped to chat, and I discovered that his only regular contact with the internet is a game he plays. He said that one of the guys who plays is younger and only plays at night but this morning he came on and said:

"Hi buddies. Are you surviving the toilet paper Apocalypse? I'm unemployed now."  I laughed and laughed.