Christopher Donahue

night thunder echoes

waking us in still darkness

flashes light the room

copyright 2020 Christopher Donahue

I couldn’t sleep last night. It was 3 AM. After some tossing and turning I decided to get up and maybe read a book. Putting on my bathrobe, I relocated to an overstuffed chair in the darkened sun-room.

Moonlight streamed in the windows creating patches of light and shadow on the carpet. My cats meandered about, no doubt wondering why I was up so late. I knew why. Worries about the pandemic, racial injustice, and the killing of George Floyd bubbled up out of my subconscious leaving me completely wide awake.

The moonlight and shadows were too pretty to disturb, so I didn’t turn on the reading light. Instead, I switched on an old-fashioned AM radio we bought at a tag sale. It crackled to life immediately bringing back childhood memories of listening to faraway AM radio stations in the wee hours.

At first, I tuned in a talk radio program from somewhere out in this big, dark, sleeping nation. The caller and host were having a passionate discussion. I never determined the subject because the station kept fading in and out. Sometimes, the signal was loud and clear, other times it was completely lost in static. Maybe a thunderstorm or other atmospheric condition let me hear the call-in show, even for just a few moments.

Eventually, I settled on a stronger signal. Through the quiet ether, across 250 miles of slumbering New England, a station from Montreal was coming in loud and clear. From the proper nouns and geographical names I deduced it was a news report. But because it was in French, and I don’t speak French, I couldn’t understand just what that news report was all about.

It was the best news report I head all week.

Copyright 2020 Christopher Donahue

Monday dawns cool and cloudy in suburban Boston. It is 8 AM, and instead of commuting to work, I am sitting in an over-stuffed easy chair, sipping coffee. I’m also watching Quiet Rustle and Felix, our two cats, meander about the room. Sometimes the rascals are on the floor, sometimes leaping from windowsill to windowsill. The two cats make their way around looking for treats or mice or a nice place to nap and I drink my coffee. My wife is also starting her work-at-home day at one of the two computer stations we set up for the crisis, and Quiet Rustle and Felix visit her too.  I do not miss for one instant my commute.

Before starting work, I reflect on how very grateful I am another day has dawned and no one in our immediate circle has been directly affected by the virus. We are very fortunate no one we immediately know is sick or in a financial crisis, at least not yet. And that includes us!

And I also reflect on a strange feeling I have. A cautious, building joy that despite the bad weather and pandemic, summer, at least unofficially, is about to bursts out in full bloom!

Copyright 2020 Christopher Donahue

Years ago, I was in business for myself and I worked from home. People would ask me what it was like. Invariably, I would respond with this question:

When was the last time you made Jell-O at work?

And that indeed sums up the situation. The inherent problem of working at home is all the little potential distractions that are lying in wait at the house. Should I do the dishes now or wait until later? Perhaps I should put another coat of polyurethane on the outdoor table. Gee whiz, it’s been a while since I put cat hair out for the birds. Rearrange the furniture? Uh-oh, here come my cats! The list of distractions is endless. And in the age of Covid-19, I am far from alone in facing the challenges of working from home.

It takes a great deal of self-discipline to resist these distractions. And because the distractions are legion, it is inevitable sooner or later my resolve collapses and I am doing some non-essential task. For instance, I put a pot of water on to make coffee and noticed some packs of Jell-O that have been sitting in the pantry for probably years. Sometimes, the best way to deal with procrastination is just to get the tantalizing silly task out of the way and move on. At least that distraction will be gone.

So, I stand in my kitchen, working from home, pondering the cosmic conundrum of the ages: should I make lime or orange flavor Jell-O?

Copyright 2020 Christopher Donahue

Another haiku for April, National Poetry month, and the COVID-19 stay at home crisis…

pelting frigid rain

inside again looking out

April tests resolve

copyright 2020 Christopher Donahue

A bit of doggerel for National Poetry Month!!!

we’ve known each other

a long time

my cats

Quiet Rustle and Felix

and me

so I understand

their wondering

steady gaze

when will I get out of the house

and stop interrupting

their daily napping routine

because

I’m working from home

blinking

I gaze back

and the felines

understand

I don’t know either

copyright 2020 Christopher Donahue

despite the  virus

we all try to live our lives

how long they might be

copyright 2020 Christopher Donahue

The other night I heard the distant, lonely clanging of a train’s bell as commuter train pulled into the local station. It was late a weekday evening and the house was quiet. I forget which evening it was because the days all run together working from home. The house was quite with everyone except me asleep. I was siting in an overstuffed chair in our sun room. A pool of light from the reading lamp encircled me as I paused from writing in my journal.

I closed my eyes and imagined the train pulling into the station completely empty. The late train usually didn’t have a lot of riders to begin with, but during the pandemic, and late in the evening, I’m certain ridership was zero. The very fact I could hear that faint bell from far off, and through closed windows, spoke to how quiet my local world had become in the past few weeks thanks to COVID-19.

Thus far, no one we know has the virus and we aren’t in a financial crisis from it, so the threat seems distant, far away.

Like the clanging of a distant train bell…

copyright 2020 Christopher Donahue

March I say to you

one day after another

until spring arrives

copyright 2020 Christopher Donahue