contact

I stood inside as a familiar face beamed at me through the storm door. A few grocery bags and a yellow-and-white spring bouquet lay on a wicker chair nearby just outside. We chatted for five minutes or so, then I waited until she'd left before fighting a battering raw April wind to bring it all inside.

Yesterday morning, I'd been moved by that friend's selfless offer to pick up anything I might need and leave it on my front porch. I'm not ill. Neither is she. Nonetheless I am minimizing what I call points of contact for my own well-being and protection as well as others', and entering Week 4 of a stay-at-home advisory. I'm taking my demographic situation seriously, including the necessary precautions.

Earlier I'd been contemplating just how to re-stock basic fruits and vegetables while reducing my chances of exposure to possible contagion. In other words, I'm in the same boat as everyone else. (That takes on a new meaning these days, doesn't it?) Then I got the inquiring text.

My initial and innate inclination to politely refuse assistance or put anyone out (or in harm's way) didn't last long. Hers was a genuine offer and I had a genuine need. A few hours later we were face-to-face mediated by glass still caked with briny scum after months of winter ocean storms. Uncharacteristically, I didn't notice that until afterwards. All I could see was my valiant friend not dressed nearly warmly enough to withstand the cutting wind...and those sunny flowers.

Beauty. Bounty. The feelings evoked by that brief encounter lingered: genuine amazement, overwhelming gratitude...and for the second day in a row, a comforting relief.