It is cold. I know, I can’t blame the coronavirus for that, but honestly, it’s 21 March in England and the temperature this morning was 1°. Spring officially arrived Friday. We would not be asking too much for a temperature somewhere closer to 10° or 15°, by natural right.
Today we spend in our second day of non-contact with the world: no visitors, no visits out or errands. We participated in the Mass at the Church of the Most Holy Trinity, Ettingshall, celebrated by our dear Father Damian Feeney; though as many of us agree, video services are no substitute for attending in person, I have rarely been so moved as I was this morning to see our friend processing to the altar alone, saying the Mass, giving the responses, all in an audibly empty church building. It’s only been a week since the last college Mass in St John the Evangelist, and I already feel heartsick to have been away from public worship so long.
Margaret and I are keeping to our very ordinary days (‘ordinary’ apart from not going anywhere or seeing anyone). I ran my mile this morning in the frosty breeze, not really pushing but being satisfied actually to have maintained one healthy practice in the teeth of the temptation to hunker down and hide. Cold, tight, 10:15.