I use the mug with the four leaf clovers, butter the bread made with Lost and Found Island flour, lay out the New York Times and Boston Globe near the rain soaked window. I light a stubby candle at seven in the morning, listen to the laundry drying in the Western Auto machine and to the hum from the Nelson Mechanical furnace. Outside the frustrated lawnmower crew will try to lift the heavy leaves deep enough for a bear den. Bruno’s will come to pick up the trash which is reduced these days because we choose our necessities more carefully.

There are no school buses except on a virtual screen; kids and parents do their lessons online to keep their focus on what to know about our glorious and confounding world. Hockey ended just in time for trophies; soccer teams will not dance across our muddy fields.

Fat turkeys block the roads confounding bicyclists, the roadways so silent they appear as a mirage. Occasional walkers, masked and gloved, wave from the other side and mumble “ get well” and “see you soon”.

There is a haunted look to grocery shoppers. The tired employees dutifully wash and sort and check the produce. At the bank, there is a half mile line at the drive in for deposits and furtive ATM withdrawals. Buses look starved. The Steamship ferries are stiff as massive empty husks. The few remaining sailboats still moored in the harbor are like chalk marks on a blackboard.

It is Monday morning and it is Not a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood. But the telephone rings and a friend who is a patient at Windemere Nursing Home asks if we are well, and that, yes, it would be helpful to have a small radio to listen to NPR.

A half hour later, a friend in West Roxbury calls wondering if when she visits in July, she could get two lobsters from the Wharf Pub. When she hangs up, she discovers that her son has delivered her two live lobsters for her 76th birthday.

We are strong and we are safe so far. We are all looking into our own consciences, building up new problem solving techniques, staring out at that knee-high red tulip that battled the wicked rain storm yesterday. Never have daffodils been our night-lights for so long. The Great Spirit is trying to bolster our courage.

Liza Coogan lives in Vineyard Haven