This morning at eight o’clock, I stepped out my front door to take a walk in the neighborhood. Light, cool breeze. Sunshine breaking through the “partly cloudy.” Perfect. I stopped to take some photos of the cluster of tulips in our front yard.

That’s when I heard it. bam bam bam bam bam. Gunshots (I know the sound) from somewhere west of where I stood. It’s hard to tell the exact location of gunshots, whether near or far. I considered for a moment whether to go back in the house. Foolishly or not, I stepped off in the opposite direction. As I expected, within a minute or two, I heard sirens wailing as they converged from all directions towards the west. What altercation or frustration or desperation had ended up in a shooting? Will I see it in tomorrow’s news?

This is Day 25 of our home stay. Naturally, we’ve missed the pleasures of our usual associations: church, book clubs, docent tours at the art museum, social gatherings, and a number of tickets already purchased for symphony, opera, and other cultural events. However, as Bill pointed out in an opinion piece from the morning paper, our life right now constitutes yet another aspect of our extreme privilege. We can achieve social distance easily and conveniently. Elsewhere, for multitudes we do not see, the experience of corona virus brings fear, hunger, hopelessness, and outbreaks of violence. See above.

On the other hand, there are random moments of grace. As I strolled along the sidewalk, “Angels” had left messages.

I encountered a man walking towards me on the street, a person of color, not necessarily homeless, but looking perhaps adrift. He stepped towards me a little and said, “Can I ask you a question?” I stuck out my arm with a finger pointed at him and responded (I think not unpleasantly), “Yes, from this distance.” He said, “How come older women are lookin’ so good?” I had to smile, even as I turned away with a dismissive wave. Up to that moment, I hadn’t been feeling so good about my appearance, even though I have conscientiously avoided the temptation to use quarantine time as an excuse for dietary excess. A compliment is a compliment, acceptable anytime from anyone. I walked on, still smiling.

So which is it going to be in my memory of this morning: gunshots or spontaneous appreciation?

What is my place or purpose in this messy, unfair, unpredictable, evolving mystery of life on this planet?

Seems I’m an “older woman” still working it out.