There is not much happening today that we could call ‘normal’.
Normal has become merely another word that belongs to the distant past (of one month ago). Those long-ago days of hugs. Handshakes. School. Dining out. Attending Sabbath services. Concerts. Plays. Sporting events. Getting together with friends and family.
Playing with one’s grandchildren.
In fact, the old curse “May you live in Interesting Times” seems to have taken a firm hold.
And so we reach out eagerly, even desperately for anything that could be considered ‘normal’.
I live in the small city of Beaumont in North-Central Alberta, nestled snugly up against the greater-metropolis of Edmonton.
A community known for its quiet bustle.
Its warm, friendly neighbourhoods.
Its village parenting.
Like most other settlements across the globe, the usually busy streets are quiet as families shelter in place.
Community chat pages have sprung up offering support and advice.
Deliveries quietly appear on the doorsteps of those in need.
But still we seek for any sign that brings back that quiet, cared-for feeling of ‘normal’.
Today, at 9:00 AM, I found one, when the silvery tones of the great St. Vital church bell rang out across the quiet city.
As it has done for over 100 years.
Since the end of another plague.
A tiny, silvery bit of ‘normal’.
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