Wednesday 18th April 1990 was a bright spring day (at least it was in Knutsford where I worked).  It was the Wednesday after Easter, and the morning passed, completely unremarkable, as I sat at my desk working on some aspect of safety or risk assessment for some power station or other - probably Heysham 2 or Torness. At lunch time I went for my usual walk around the block, probably with colleagues, though I don't recall that detail.  Returning to my desk came a phone call to tell me that my Dad had just died, in Northampton General Hospital.  It wasn't a surprise - we had been told six weeks earlier that his prognosis was 4 - 12 weeks - and it wasn't a shock.  It wasn't even, at the time especially sad, because he was finally free from pain, drug induced hallucinations and loss of dignity.

Saturday 18th April 2020 is also a lovely sunny spring day, and it's the Saturday after Easter.  I am sat at my desk in Glasgow, finalising preparation for a Zoom talk about 'Life Events during the Covid19 Pandemic', have a support call to make and  a couple of emails that I need to respond to.  Remembering isn't especially sad, though it is significant.

I have found myself wondering what either of my parents would have made of Coivd-19 had they been alive - and been glad they didn't have to live with this strange new world, which would, I think have proved hugely difficult for them to cope with.

So I pause, and I remember, and I am grateful for my parents, imperfect as they undoubtedly were, whom I loved, and who loved me.

Apoloiges, loyal reader, I have been very remiss in not posting anything for a few days - lots of phone calls and Zoom meetings, and not much of interest to share.

Anyway, for loyal Gatherers, this 'screen shot' from BBC iplayer showing last night's Reporting Scotland 'clap for carers' includes a couple of familiar faces.

I had no idea the BBC were there, but was looking out of my window (this street can be seen from my flat) listening to the pipes and clapping too!

According to the weather App on my smartphone, sunrise in Glasgow was 06:18.  Either it lied, was mistaken, or the sun didn't get the memo.

When I set out at about 06:15 it was already light, that milky-grey slithering from darkness to light without the intervening glory of sunrise.

One of my favourite contemporary morning hymns is Kathy Galloway's 'Today I awake, and Christ is before me' which speaks of the dawn as 'glimmers of gold or glory in grey.'

Perhaps today the Easter hope is just that: 'glory in grey.'

Two hours later, the sky is still silvery-grey, no sign of the sun... The corny play on words of sun and Son, that at sunrise the Son rises, maybe also works here... no sign of the sun, or of the Son, but both have risen.

It's a personal tradition - major festivals demand a red outfit.  Christmas, Easter, Pentecost, Induction, Baptisms (when it's usually a red tee-shirt!).

So today I am wearing a red dress, a red cardigan, a red scarf and red shoes.

Like the red duffle coat I bought almost a decade ago, defying the fear of a cancer diagnosis, so the red outfit worn at home defies the darkness of this time.

Surrexit - Christ is Risen... These words defy reason, defy darkness, declare the hope that, in the end, all will be well.

One of the conditions of our church insurance - at least it was until Lock Down - is a weekly walk around to check inside and out that all is well.  This is then recorded by an email titled 'Church Premises Secure [Date]'.

Since Lock Down, our insurers have revised this requirement, so that, provided it is safe to do so, and within walking distance so that it may be combined with 'permitted exercise', a weekly external check is acceptable.

This morning, I set out early and as I did so pondered the journey of the women to Jesus' tomb, and found a ridiculous thought running through my mind - what would I do if I found the doors flung open!  After all, I didn't have my church keys, and it isn't permitted to enter the premises other than under very strict conditions.  I laughed at the implausibility of it all  - and yet there was just that tiny wish that I might see an angel sat on the steps or that I might meet Jesus in disguise. 

Church Premises Secure, Easter Sunday 2020

Overall that's a good thing - can you imagine filling out an insurance report saying that Jesus had burst out of the doors?!