Plague Journal, Closed
We are at the beginning of a hard time. My father’s generation knew the beginning of hard times when Pearl Harbor was attacked. They responded to the demands of those circumstances. They passed the test.
We will know if we have passed our test in the months that are to come. One never knows if one is up to the test, a diagnosis of cancer, or news of your lay-off from your job, or …. supply a great test that has come your way.
At days end yesterday I happened to view the White House press briefing. I was reminded again, reminded painfully of how insecure, how ignorant the man is that we have chosen to be our Chief Executive. How does one who suffers from a minimal vocabulary, who shows scant knowledge of science, of the type of effort and care which must be exercised to achieve sound results in pharmaceuticals, etc. become the point man to fight a pandemic? I cringed as I listened, feeling that the President commandeered the microphone, at the expense of the doctors standing behind him who were qualified to answer questions directly, with advice based upon professional experience. I have said all of this before. Fortunately our governors, and local officials are showing on balance good leadership, and a genuine solicitude for their fellow citizens who are at risk from this deadly virus. This is our situation, less than ideal, and we will resist the spread of the contagion with what we have to fight with.
I mentioned my visit to Geneva to take morning photos, at the normal time of the morning traffic rush to work. Here is what I saw along 3rd Street, which is the historic district, the wide boulevard between the Geneva Metra train station and State Street.
“Closed” is another metaphor for the necessary social distancing. At this early hour even restaurants that do “carry out” are closed. The Metra station parking lot is empty of commuter cars. Two Pace buses, 
engines idling wait by the curb with no riders in sight. 3rd Street without traffic, — I am allowed to sit in the middle, on the double yellow line and feel the absence of cars.
I encountered a homeless individual, who asked me if I could help him with a few dollars, to get to Aurora to pick up his assistance check. At that point I discovered that I had left my wallet behind. I was sorry to be unable to 
help him. He said that he truly appreciated the several minutes of conversation.
State Street running east and west, crossing the river showed some traffic. Likewise as on 3rd Street, all of the businesses were shuttered. I really miss the atmosphere, the fellowship of the Starbucks on State and 3rd. I looked in the window, everyone was eerily absent.
A number of businesses had banners posted to show solidarity with their neighbors in these circumstances. The question lingering at the back of my mind, one that I’d rather not ask, — how many of these small businesses will be able to open after another four weeks of quarantine?
Yet the future is open, and we can do what we can today, to create a future that we will welcome. On my return to my vehicle I noticed in front of a shop named, Peaceful Parlor, a display of diminutive Buddha statues, — a silent manifesto that time is a river, and these days of trial will pass. It seemed to me the tiny Buddhas were symbol of a blessing, a benediction which no one intended, and all the more important for those passing by who happen to look.
