In our Unitarian Universalist household, we have a running joke about patron saints. Since I met my husband in graduate school for creative writing, our designated saints are poets: Walt Whitman and Emily Dickinson.
The other evening I went to the supermarket with a friend. She just had a few things to pick up, so we went to the self-scan checkout. She clicked on the screen to begin, then clicked something else quickly, and then I noticed the VIC Lady (not her real name) was no longer shouting “WELCOME VEE EYE SEE CUSTOMER” like she usually does.
So of late my heart has been heavy and it has been hard to imagine it not heavy.