Some days there’s just nothing to say. The world at large goes on—the violence and destruction in Ukraine continue to break our hearts, Ukrainian president Volodymyr Zelensky and his resistance troops continue to amaze and inspire. Another covid variant surge looms on the horizon, supposedly less lethal but much more contagious. Political ideology and disinformation continue to divide our country—most of you know where I stand on that, so I won’t belabor the point. The supply chain is still iffy, predicted to get worse because of Russia’s invasion and another round of covid. Food shortages are expected throughout the world as the Russia/Ukraine war destroys crops in the breadbasket of Europe. Gas prices increase, but before you moan about that look at what they are across the rest of the world—of course in England, for instance, they are not driving the tremendous distances that we in Texas are.
And
when the news comes to Texas, we are now worried about wildfires. Much in Eastland
County has been destroyed, and new fires have appeared around Cisco. To the
south, evacuations are now being ordered in Lipan, as there is a spreading fire
on the border between Erath and Hunt counties. Further south, fires are reported
near Huckaby, which I’ve never heard of, but which alarms me because it looks
too close to Tolar, where my brother’s ranch is.
The world
picture is not pretty. But at home, it’s been the most quiet of days. We had, as
I’ve posted, twenty-four hours of lots of company and good food and hilarity,
including a welcome if brief visit with three of the four Tomball Alters. Today
we’re apparently recovering. I have had only sporadic visits from Jordan and spent
most of the day putting together the April edition of our neighborhood
newsletter. Who knew when I asked for pictures of spring break trips, I would
be inundated with so many? I’m not complaining at all—it will make for a more
interesting newsletter.
Tonight,
having expected Christian to fix one of his delicious Asian meals, I instead had
a dinner of scrambled eggs. It wasn’t bad at all—I fried some bacon and sauteed
the tiny potatoes, left from my corned beef dinner, in the bacon grease before
I scrambled the eggs. Made a most satisfactory dinner. So now. My stomach full,
my soul soothed by a couple of glasses of wine, I’ll toddle off to my comfortable
and safe bed.
And
therein lies the dichotomy. I am not alone I’m sure in feeling almost a bit of
guilt that I am so safe and content and happy while half a world away people
are dying, desperate, sending young children away by themselves, hiding in
shelters and wondering if they’ll live until morning. Much as we hear about the
contrast between the two worlds, it will never become a hackneyed image. What’s
happening in Ukraine is too terrible—and too inspirational. The courage of the
Ukraine people puts me to shame for whining about an eye appointment and a root
canal—both on my calendar this week.
I want
to do concrete things to help, not just sit here at my computer and moan. I
have contributed to World Kitchens and ordered a blue-and-yellow sweatshirt and
contributed a book to Authors for Ukraine, but it all seems too petty. And, of
course, I’ve prayed a lot. But one of our ministers recently said we must never
think we’re a step ahead of God. When we pray for peace in Ukraine, God doesn’t
throw up his arms and say, “What a great idea! Why didn’t I think of that?” He
is ahead of us always; his eye is on the sparrow—and on the big war.
I don’t
know that any of this makes sense, but these are the thoughts that go through
my mind these days. How about you?
PS: If
you want to know about Authors for Ukraine, check out their Facebook page: (13) Authors for Ukraine |
Facebook. An
auction, March 29 through April 12, will offer books by over 150 authors (including
yours truly). All proceeds benefit Ukraine. It’s the least we can do. I still feel
I ought to be over there across the Polish border cooking huge quantities of
food under the watchful eye of Chef José Andres.
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