A PLAGUE ON OUR HOUSE – One Man's Reflections on the 2020-2022 COVID-19 Pandemic

This journal is already nineteen months old and over 380 pages long as I publish it here for the first time. So you won't see the day-by-day entries that characterize my other blogs. I'll continue to maintain it off line and update it here now and then.

I'd been hoping, after hearing that the Minnesota Historical Society was interested in Minnesotans' expressions of their pandemic experiences, that MHS might appreciate mine. Alas, after two failed offers, they apparently wouldn't. 

Nonetheless, these jottings, whether or not anyone at all ever reads them, have proven a welcome outlet for my widely-swinging emotions. They have chronicaled not just these tumultuous times, but a substantial slice of my life.

                                                                                        ~   /   ~   /   ~

A nurse shows the battle scars of fighting COVID-19
PHOTO: Nottingham Post

March 24, 2020
Just over two weeks ago (March 8th, 2020) Sally and I were on our way to Mexico for our annual getaway. Our lives focused on whether we’d packed everything we’d be needing, enduring a four-and-a-half-hour flight and hoping we got the green light at Mexican Customs. Then three weeks in paradise.

We’d heard that something called the corona virus was hitting some parts of China hard. It seemed to be spreading and people were wearing masks. Some were dying.

But that was fourteen time zones (and a couple of cultural leaps) away.

We were Americans after all, with some of the most sophisticated health care in the world. With epidemiologists and smart, judicious, forward-looking federal government departments planning for just this kind of threat—that is 

if it ever should find its way to our distant shores.

That was then. Three days later, and the outbreak we’d heard might have caught on in Italy already has that country in virtual lockdown. Three more days and the WHO declares the thing a pandemic. President Trump bans air travel to the U.S. from most of Europe.

So there we are in idyllic Zihuatanejo, on Mexico’s beautiful, laid back Pacific coast. Soon we’re hearing troubling news of outbreaks in Washington state and New York City. Still, as far as we know, Mexico remains relatively unaffected.

That illusion didn’t last long; we were hearing of cases, even a few deaths, in Mexico City. Nonetheless, it was pretty easy to feel safe. What better place, we figured, than a small, easy-going Mexican resort town to wait out the worst of it and head home once the coast was clear.

Then my daughter, who lives just south of Boston and was coming down on the 18th to help celebrate my 75th birthday, notified us of a severe eruption of what was now being called COVID 19 in the Boston Metro. She was cancelling her trip.

This is as good a time as any to mention that I have chronic sinusitis and bronchitis. It has hammered my lungs so many times that I have irreversible bronchiectasis, which means my lungs are no longer able to expel mucus congestion very well when I’m sick.

For years I’ve worn a serious N-95 respirator mask when flying, simply to protect myself from the common cold, which, though for most people simply an inconvenience, had proven dangerous for me.

At first, we thought those most likely to fare badly with a case of the C-bug were the elderly—at 73 and 75, we still have trouble seeing ourselves in that demographic—and those with compromised hearts or lungs. Then that got clarified: being old—over 60, they say—by itself puts one at risk. Add my respiratory deficit and I’m twice damned.

So, as it became more and more clear that I could rather easily be exposed to COVID-19, we started to seriously worry about our situation.

We talked about several strategies: simply staying and completing our planned stay till the end of the month; flying a home a week early to a worsening, yet still uncertain situation back in the U.S.; Sally heading home while I stayed on in Mexico; maybe even my staying there indefinitely.

Sally felt resigned to catching the virus. She knows she’ll possibly have some exposure in her work as a teacher, is not nearly as disciplined as I, and is quite likely to slip up somewhere in the stay-safe protocols. And she desperately wants not to be responsible for my getting sick.

Meanwhile I was garnering the personal strength and focus I’d need to survive. Could I really be thinking about a survival strategy? Oh my God let this all be just a bad dream!

At first, we decided on the first of our options, staying put. What a relief. We felt pretty sure that, because the virus reportedly doesn’t do well in warm climates, we’d be safe in Zihua.

That was March 14, just our sixth day there. But, again, the situation was changing so rapidly that already we were becoming uneasy again. First, that was Carnaval weekend in Zihuatanejo, which, leading into Benito Juarez day, a Monday national holiday, had drawn busloads and boatloads of people from the ever-more-infected Mexico City.

Then there was the fact that, if for any reason our return got delayed past the end of the month, the seasonal nonstop flights back to Minneapolis would have ended, leaving us with the prospect of a long, multi-leg flight home. And I, planning on a routine there-and-back trip, had brought just one N-95 mask for the return flight.

Speaking of masks, I’d been looking for more of them at the Mega, Zihuatanejo’s version of a Super Target…or anywhere. Finally, I spotted an open box of them on the counter of our favorite small, independent pharmacy. And they were labeled as 3M N-95s. Just what the doctor ordered. The gal told me they were 260 pesos—about 13 dollars. Great, I thought, I’ll take the box. Then she added, “each.” Realizing that might be my only chance, I sprang for three.

Neither hand sanitizer nor disinfectant wipes were anywhere to be found. So I bought a bottle of rubbing alcohol, one of after-sun aloe vera gel and some regular baby wipes. I mixed the alcohol and aloe vera gel—three parts to two—for some DIY hand sanitizer. I squeezed the benign liquid out of the baby wipes and replaced it with pure alcohol. This was going to make me feel a lot better no matter where we ended up.

The final factor in changing our plans—and this felt like the clincher—was having a willfully ignorant and severely mentally challenged U.S. president, who could at any moment decide that Mexicans were not only rapists and murderers, but disease threats to him and his buddies, and simply close the border.

So, then the question became how soon we could get home. Neither Kayak nor Sun Country Air’s own site showed any flights until the following Sunday, but that was still a week away. Then some Minnesota friends who were also in Zihuatanejo told us their return Sun Country flight was coming up on Wednesday. I managed to find it on Cheapo Air, of all places, and I booked it.

By this time, we were becoming aware, even at that early phase of the pandemic, of the impact it was having on more than just health. When we told our host, Luis, that we’d be leaving early, he noted that nearly all his American and Canadian guests were also leaving early or cancelling future reservations.

We decided to pay for the rest of the stay we’d originally booked, and also paid our tips to the staff for the whole stay.

It was incredibly sad, and a bit surreal, heading to the airport and leaving Zihua in the middle of what had been shaping up as a wonderful stay. There were no obvious signs of the town or anyone in it being under siege. No unusual precautions at the airport nor going through security.

Donning my respirator and armed with our DIY wipes and hand sanitizer, we boarded, acutely conscious of every sneeze, every cough within earshot. After hyper-sanitizing every surface within reach, I settled into a sort of self-hypnotic trance for the four-hour flight. A good book, the New York Times Sunday crossword and noise-cancelling headphones all helped divert my attention from the sweaty, claustrophobic grasp of that mask.

Our next hurdle would be U.S. Customs. I’d read horror stories from some of the country’s larger airports. Six hours or more packed into the waiting hall, repeatedly sharing the breaths of the same people as one keeps passing them in the serpentine queue.

What a delight it was to land in Minneapolis, pry off that stinky mask and breath freely again! (The angry, eighth-inch-deep ruts it molded into my flesh would last for nearly two hours.) And customs? It turned out to be one of the quickest passages we’ve ever had. Our bags were among the first onto the belt, and we were out of there in about 20 minutes.

We were relieved and very grateful to be home, reunited with our precious little miniature schnauzer, Sylvia. But there were still challenges to meet…and they would only compound with each coming day.

First off, our refrigerator was nearly empty. We did a quick inventory and signed up with Cub Foods’s Insta-Cart on-line shopping interface. This time, we opted for at-store pickup.

I was quite pleased with the process, though it took nearly an hour to accomplish what I had been doing a month ago on-site in 20 minutes. And, notably, instead of being able to pick up our order in a few hours, it would take four days.

With the exception of eggs, rice, and any imaginable type of disinfectant, we were able to get most of what we needed, though we did have to settle for substitutions for many items.

By March 19th, the US had reported 4,397 more COVID 19 cases, now totaling over 13,000, with the death toll reaching 195. Italy overtook China for the most deaths to date, and with cases popping up in even the smallest, most unlikely places around the world, it was becoming clear that, with the degree of mobility in today’s society, no one anywhere could feel safe.

And the Trump administration continued to deny the seriousness of the crisis, refuting the findings and recommendations of its own epidemiologists, and blaming the media for the White House’s failings. The president, doubling down on his xenophobic instincts, began referring to COVID 19 as the “Chinese virus.”

What’s more, we learned that in 2018 Trump, in his zeal to scuttle anything accomplished by the Obama administration, ordered John Bolton, national security advisor, to dismantle an Obama-era National Security Council directorate at the White House charged with preparing for when, not if, a COVID-like pandemic would hit the nation.

When asked by a reporter to assess his own leadership performance as the crisis unfolded, he—no surprise any more—rated it “a ten.” At a later briefing, when NBC reporter Peter Alexander asked him what he had to say to Americans who are frightened, the president responded, “I say that you are a terrible reporter.” What kind of country elects a man like this?

3/26
Yesterday, Minnesota Governor Tim Walz—who, by the way, is showing us what real leadership looks like—mandated a yet-stricter “shelter-in-place” protocol for Minnesotans. He drew out the extent of closure of non-essential businesses from March 27 to May 1. He also informed us of some of the stark realities of the pandemic:
– That there is likely no way to stop it, only to delay, and possibly spread out, the peak of its deadliness. “Buy time,” as he put it, so the number of virus test kits, ventilators and ICU hospital beds can be ramped up to accommodate the highest possible number of those afflicted with life-threatening cases.
– That, eventually, somewhere between 40 and 80 percent of all Minnesotans will likely contract COVID 19. (This one hit me hard.)
– That, for the low end of that range to be realized, every Minnesotan had to take the threat seriously and follow his directives.

What I drew from these staggering numbers was this: Whether others cooperated or not, I intend to…I must…be among that potential 20 percent of folks who come through this without ever catching the virus!

I suppose no realistic set of scenarios would be complete without that anticipating my becoming infected. While I don’t like my odds under that story line, my daughter Amanda made me promise that I’d fight to my last breath to survive.

I would.

3/28
We place our second grocery order from Cub Foods, this time for delivery. Once again Insta-Cart worked very well, showing a list of the items we’d ordered before. And his time, the wait would be just two days.

While struggling to focus on the positive, on things I could do that might actually have an impact, I kept coming back to my anger with a president and his cadre of yes-men who had no business being in charge of a normal day’s routine, not to mention a national calamity comparable with a world war.

Ignorance, incompetence and wishful thinking—as well as a recent slashing of funding for the country’s infectious disease preparedness that verged on the criminal—woefully delayed the Trump administration’s response even while everyone else had recognized the threat.

While Trump was declaring the whole thing a hoax, then predicting some vague miracle solution, then promising the country would be back in business by Easter (two weeks later), I watched the true statistics and trends offered by epidemiologists and began to realize that this was going to be a nightmare not just for a matter of weeks, but likely for at least several months.

I think of myself as someone who’s pretty good at being alone. I’ve managed to work for myself for most of my career. Sally and I spend quite a bit of time apart; I even travel alone sometimes. But, anticipating our pending indefinite separation, I must say I’m worried about how I’ll fare with that much aloneness.

We’ve agreed our precious little miniature schnauzer, Sylvia, will stay with each of us every other week, so that gives me some comfort. I know Sally will be exactly where she needs and wants to be: immersed in the daily lives of her daughter and grandchildren. I doubt she’ll have time to be lonely.

Trying to plan ahead and allow for a few days of lead time, we placed our third on-line grocery order. This time I tried Lunds & Byerly’s, hoping they might have a better selection and fewer substitutions (and maybe even eggs?) than Cub. Sure enough, they seemed to have nearly all of the items we wanted. And, surprisingly, we could go pick up our order just a couple of days later.

4/1 2020
Today we celebrated the second of our two milestones: 14 days since our return flight from Mexico. We planned to celebrate by grilling cheeseburgers on the deck. The ground beef, buns and all the fixings would ready for pick-up at Lunds & Byerly’s at 4:00. We were so excited.

But when we arrived at the pick-up lane, they couldn’t find our order. Checking the pick-up reservation, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Not today, April 1, but TWO WEEKS from now—April 15! Turns out I’d been guilty of wishful thinking.

Sally was more forgiving of my error than I was, saying, come on, who would ever have guessed a grocery order could take two weeks. We decided that KFC would taste pretty good and settled for that. I cancelled the grocery order and went back to Cub, scheduling a delivery order with a more reasonable lead time of four days.

4/2
As the first few days back home unfolded, more and more information and decisions about the virus and its likely impact on us came into focus. After all, even the NIH and CDC were making it clear they, too, were flying by the seat of their pants, learning themselves from the flood of data pouring in from health officials around the world.

As I marvel at how well we God-fearin’ Germanic/Norse Minnesotans seem to be heeding our governor’s directives on staying home and social distancing, it’s dawned on me how little even the experts really know yet about the virus. And that, like many aspects of this learning-as-we-go response to COVID 19, we may learn in the months and years following its having run its course that the six-foot distancing guideline should have been twelve…or twenty.

What if the current focus on the plague’s spread by “droplets” expelled in a cough or sneeze is failing to acknowledge contagion by vapor? So if I pass six feet downwind from a panting runner, at least a little of her breath might be going up my nostrils as if I were standing right next to her in a calm. Until that theory is scientifically disproven, my rule is going to be an arbitrary 15 feet—and, just for good measure, holding my breath for a few moments too.

It’s so interesting what this new way of living is doing to my sense of time. First, I’m starting to forget what day of the week it is. With the structure a Monday-through-Friday work week normal provides now gone for a while, the days are all blending together. Our new Wednesday routine is now virtually the same as the one on a Sunday.

Much of our experience of time is shaped by certain milestones and intervals—like the work week, or the four- or eight-hour dosing of a medication. Now, I’m seeing every move that involves even the slightest risk of infection as the starting point of a five- to 14-day period of anxiety. Looking at it the other way around, every little cough, every hint of a headache has me thinking of what I might have done wrong five to fourteen days prior. Not an ideal way to life, but it’s part, I’m afraid, of the new normal.

That new sense of time includes the outlook for the future. Early on, with the president’s irresponsible blurtings about how soon we’d somehow miraculously be done with the virus and back to business as usual, many Americans were led to believe life would be normal again in a matter of weeks.

Now I’m not a doctor, an infectious diseases expert nor even the lowest-level politician. Yet I realized, back in mid-March, that the real trajectory of this pandemic would span at least several months. Then, we saw the rate of new infections level off in China. That took about two months.

But here’s the big misconception: that two-month span in China was only from the first surge in infections until the peak. That didn’t mean you could come out of your house and hug strangers.
It’s a little like watching a speeding train coming toward you; wisely, you stay off the tracks as it’s approaching, but then you step in front of it while it’s passing. No, you wait until there are no more cars coming.

So, if it takes two months for the COVID 19 crisis to peak, shouldn’t we figure on a couple more months until there are no more infectious people out walking around?

One would think that, with our normal working, volunteering, recreating activities mostly curtailed, one would have a lot of free time on one’s hands. Instead, every one of the 15 days we’ve been cooped up so far has seen me busier than ever. Between extra precautions to take care of myself, walking a dog who’s pining for her doggie day care pals, correspondence to support vulnerable loved ones, some volunteer work and keeping up the house, quarantining takes time.

Not to mention that activities you’d think would take less time than their person-to-person equivalents may take considerably more. Like grocery shopping. I can normally run to the supermarket or neighborhood coop and back in half an hour or so. The first two major on-line grocery orders I’ve placed have each taken well over an hour to complete. And then there’s the rigorous, piece-by-piece sanitizing after they’re picked up or delivered to our door.

They say when one is isolated for a long time, it’s essential to maintain as many “normal” routines as possible. Or, when that’s impossible, to establish new ones. Just because no one’s going to see you, don’t stay in your pajamas all day. Shower, shave, put on make-up, do your hair…whatever, and get dressed as if you were going out.

Sally and I have been able to do that. She’s had a real-life incentive to do so: an online conference with her school faculty and principal every day at 9 AM. I’ve allowed certain activities to settle into rough time slots each day: writing, blogging, Facebook (way too much), correspondence.

The new traditions we’re making include having coffee together in the morning; one or two daily walks down East River Parkway to the Shriners’ Hospital where there’s a pleasantly situated bench and enough open lawn to let Sylvia run around off-leash; playing cribbage (Sally’s rapidly becoming a worthy opponent!); and watching movies.

For years I’ve made it part of my daily prayers to thank God for a lifetime of freedom and peace at home. And acknowledge how hard it is to truly, deeply appreciate those gifts when I’ve experienced nothing else in my lifetime. Still, I try to imagine what it must have been like for Americans—for our parents and grandparents—during the country’s pre-Vietnam wars, when harsh sacrifices were asked of nearly every citizen. Or to have been a prisoner of war, or perhaps a Black American wrongly imprisoned during Jim Crow days.

Those efforts to evoke such distant times and experiences, have always come up short…until now. Now I can at least begin to appreciate what it’s like to be afraid of something so pervasive, so relentless that you know its attack will go on for months. To experience shortages of a few basic needs. Or to be kept from coming and going entirely at will, fearing that any given morning might be the one when you wake up and realize that the menace has managed to find you, might cruelly isolate you even further as you fight for your life.

Because we’re fortunate enough to be relatively prosperous citizens of an extremely privileged country, I’m reasonably sure we will not starve, nor lose our home. Still, this pandemic has yet to peak in our country. The economy—not just ours, but worldwide—might yet go into free-fall. Ignorant, authoritarian regimes around the world—including the one here at home—are showing signs of exploiting the crisis to consolidate their power and complete their annihilation of democratic institutions.

One of the most stressful elements of any major crisis is uncertainty. And I’d be lying if I were to deny its effects on me and Sally. Yet we’re discovering that we both have more and stronger inner resources than we knew. We could easily be overwhelmed with fear. But, like those folks in wartime, we’re digging deep, adjusting expectations, rekindling a faith that we now know must have been smoldering within for just such a moment.

One of those adjustments is forced on us by the precipitous drop in the value of our investments. As one depending solely on the earnings of those investments, I’m suddenly faced with the reality of having to cut monthly expenditures by $1000 or more. I guess it’s goodbye to my precious $5.75-plus-tip cafe lattes every morning.

4/3
After years of denial and a couple of false starts, we finally joined Netflix. Among the first films we watched was A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood, a biopic about Mr. Rogers. And one of his messages stood out for us: When scary things are happening, “Look for the helpers.”

As each passing day confirms Donald Trump’s aggressive incompetence, it’s become quite clear that I can get better information and more inspiring leadership from my two-year-old…schnauzer. But there are genuine helpers—doctors, scientists, philanthropists, political leaders—who, thank God, are stepping up to carry the load of national leadership.

And there are the regular, everyday citizens—doctors, nurses, teachers, social service providers, first responders, grocery delivery drivers…who are putting their lives on the line every day to maintain law and order, help the sick and injured, save lives, and help us carry on with at least the essentials.

Some folks are pitching in by hand-crafting urgently-needed medical supplies—those the federal government decided not to stockpile for emergencies just like this one:

Mar. 5
Shortly after we returned from Mexico, Sally and I took stock of the situation and considered a strategy going forward. We decided that I, because of my respiratory condition, would have to be extremely careful not encounter any possible exposure to infection.

Sally anticipated having to go to her classroom at least once to pick up supplies for her distance teaching. She wasn’t able to assure me she’d be able to avoid running into colleagues or building staff while there. And that would mean we’d have to self-quarantine from each other for two weeks, a virtual impossibility in our small townhouse.

So she decided, for my absolute safety, to go and live with daughter Jenny, her husband, Joe, and the kids in Mendota Heights. Other than a few return trips to pick up necessary items, and weekly trade-offs of our dog, Sylvia, I’d be completely isolated.

The hardest part is knowing that that isolation will most likely last for several months. Other than maybe meeting through a window or at arm’s length outdoors, we won’t be able to see each other. While I feel like I’m pretty good at being alone, I don’t know how I’ll hold up, especially after this past month when we’ve been so much of a comfort for each other.

I just can’t get out of my mind that graph the NIH developed to illustrate the difference strict distancing measures are intended to make in the infection rate curves. With no mitigation the curve is steep and high; with full-on, aggressive distancing, the curve delineates roughly the same volume of infections, but spread over a much longer period of time. “Buying time,” they’re calling it. For the country’s woefully inadequate supply of critical masks, ventilators, etc. to catch up to the critical demand.

4/5
Today’s the day Sally goes to live with her daughter, Jenny, husband, Joe, and their two kids. We’ve been dreading the day, but, after several frank discussions, but we think it affords us each what we most need and want. For me, it’s as close as it can be to certainty that I won’t be exposed to the virus. For Sally, it’s an ability to continue being generous and productive, and being with her grandkids. Most importantly, though, she fears not being able to be as meticulous and disciplined in her distancing and sanitizing as I, and says she couldn’t live with the guilt if I were to get sick from contact with her.

So, sadly, we’re going to stay apart for a while, pending the outbreak’s having run its course here, or—and of course this is what we pray for—until a vaccine becomes available. We realize it’s all but impossible to predict how long this will be, but have set a tentative expectation that one way or another she’ll move back to our house in two months.

I’m going to find a calendar—on my iPhone perhaps—where, like a prisoner in solitary, I can “X” out each passing day.

4/6
I’ve come up with a couple of ways to stay in close touch with Sally. First, I’m going to mail her a note every Monday morning. The first one, just sent, has a single, small, hand-drawn red heart. Next week it will be two hearts, each slightly bigger. And so on. We’ve decided to put at least a tentative end date on our separation: June 5. So that’s about nine weeks. That should just about fill the page.

We’re going to find a place outdoors where we can meet at arm’s length and talk at least once a week. And, though we originally planned to hand off Sylvia to each other every week or so, those plans have changed. She is suffering from what appears to be an ACL tear, which has caused her considerable pain and immobility.

We think the injury resulted from her “tears,” headlong sprints around the house or yard when she’s feeling her oats. Unfortunately, she also goes on tears when she’s playing with Jenny and Joe’s dog Archie. So, to give the ligament a chance to heal, we’ve got to keep her away from Archie for quite a while.

4/8
We finally got some eggs, a nice little luxury after settling for EggBeaters egg whites since we started sheltering in place. Besides settling for some substitutions, we’re having little trouble getting most of our usual grocery needs. I also managed to scare up some precious rice. This week the sold-out items at Cub were spring water, oatmeal and Life cereal. I’ll survive.


The COVID 19 crisis is squeezing and twisting people in so many ways—emotionally, spiritually, financially—but in doing so it seems it’s wringing out of us our better selves. How profoundly encouraging to witness the courage, the kindness and the creativity that’s welling up in so many people. And, at least for me, the gratitude for those gifts and countless other wonders I usually take for granted brings me to tears every day.

In fact, much of the time, I’m feeling so good that I feel kind of guilty. Most nights—with the exception of one when I woke up at 3 AM in abject terror with a mild sore throat and cough—I’m sleeping remarkably well. Several sunny afternoons I’ve enjoyed a cocktail and music on our deck, and realized there have been few times in my life when I’ve felt any happier!

Happiness is becoming the norm here, despite occasional blows to the head from news report. Definitely a different routine, but I’m flexible. I must remember that for millions here in the U.S. and around the world, there is no such flexibility. Work, paying bills, medical care…even such bare essentials as food and shelter, are quite suddenly in jeopardy.

That said, what I’m learning is that, while those folks, including some I know, are overcome with fear and foreboding about the crisis, I’m somehow managing to put what I can’t change into a little compartment off to the side and tap into a core of hope and faith I never knew was so solid. Let’s see if it holds up as the weeks of shelter-in-place stretch into months. Or if, God forbid, the other shoe drops in the form of a medical or home maintenance emergency.

4/11
Today was pretty significant. Sally and I arranged to meet—at a distance—in the park we usually head for when we walk Sylvia. It was wonderful sitting on the grass, in the sun, and just talking. Sylvie was so happy to see her! Sadly, though, we’d decided to trade her back and forth every week, and I had to say goodbye to my little companion and bed buddy.

4/12 (Easter)
It’s the first major, family-centered holiday during the quarantine. How sad to think of all the folks who’d normally be headed for church, wrangling kids for easter egg hunts, cooking Easter dinner… I’m afraid there will be at least a few more of these suppressed holidays.

Without all the usual trappings of the holiday—getting dressed up, going to church, plans for guests and a big dinner—this day looks and feels exactly like any other since we returned from Mexico. But for Easter—and partly to recognize that Sally and I usually go to Al’s Breakfast in Dinkytown for Sunday morning breakfast/brunch—I made my first batch of pancakes in I don’t know how long. And a couple of eggs. And bacon.

To help keep in mind the significance of this holy day, I tuned in to MPR’s classical music station, and listened to their Easter-themed playlist. Not quite the ambiance of some lofty, echo-chamber cathedral, but nice.

Around mid-day, the expected blizzard hit us. Snowing quite heavily all afternoon, it seemed more like Christmas than Easter. It just seemed to add to the utter strangeness of the whole scene. Surely an Easter to remember.

I don’t know what I’ll do tonight for my Easter dinner. Alas, there will be no ham, no lamb with mint jelly like I remember from my childhood. Maybe a big chunk of the rotisserie chicken I’m always picking away at. And some of the brown rice-onions-and-peppers medley I made last night. Oh, and some leftover asparagus.

I awoke this morning with my usual prayer: Dear God, thank you for getting me through another day and night without contracting the C-bug. Bless all my loved ones and keep them safe too. 

But this gratitude turned to concern. I realized, after three weeks of semi-confinement, that I’m getting used to the new routines. Starting to take for granted my success to date managing to avoid the bug. Oh, and God, please keep me frightened enough to not get complacent—in either my actions or my thinking.

Actually, that latter thought has popped up several times recently for me. I must not allow myself to get so proud of my disciplines and strategy for staying well that I start feeling I’m somehow better than others who can’t or don’t have the same regimen as mine.

Tomorrow, despite all I think I’ve been doing right, I could easily be the next one to awaken to the dreadful reality of having caught the virus. Pride, yes, perhaps, but tempered with humility.

One of many little silver linings I’m discovering about this shelter-in-place status is a return to my writing and blogging. For several years now, the number of my inspirations and postings has gradually diminished. Now, though, thinking and its natural (for me) offshoot, writing, have become essential parts of my day. They not only provide an outlet for my creativity, they give these otherwise shiftless days a sense of purpose.

Purpose is a powerful idea; it’s widely credited with allowing folks healthier, happier, longer lives. I know, from having read just about every adventure/survival book ever published, how essential it is

Another benefit I’m deriving from this new lifestyle is inventing new ways to exercise. First, there are the twice-daily walks, first with the whole family unit—Sally, Sylvia and me—then, after Sally left, just Sylvie and me; now all by myself.

I found that the ideal walking route, down along the banks of the Mississippi, didn’t feel safe. The long stairs down to the river are just too narrow; you can’t avoid coming within a few feet of other people, some of them huffing and puffing.

But up above along the nice East River Parkway there are nice broad sidewalks flanked by an even wider grass boulevard. So, when you see someone coming, one of you can swing quite wide, keeping my preferred 20+ feet distance.

4/13 Mon.
Woke up once again grateful to be feeling well. I did the full grooming thing: shower, shave, trim mustache and along the hairline on the back of my neck. Clean shirt and jeans, and I was ready for a productive day.

After a very busy day blogging yesterday, today I’m feeling uninspired. Unfortunately, that leaves me vulnerable to my baser instincts, including getting sucked into Facebook and venting about the continuing Trump disaster.

I took a brisk mile-and-a-half walk along East River Road. Though the grass was still covered beautifully in snow from yesterday’s blizzard, the sidewalks were mostly bare, except for a few icy spots. This spring’s exceptionally long-lasting Siberian squill is beautiful against a white background.

4/14
I’m feeling another wave of gratitude this morning, especially since I’m now really alone without Sylvia, for the electronic technology that’s keeping me busy, affording me a creative outlet, and enabling at least virtual connections with friends and loved ones.

I keep thinking What if I were to wake up some morning with a dry, raspy cough, or a headache, or a fever? I had one very brief passing concern a week or so ago, and that was a mere taste of the terror, the panic, I’d experience if I was certain I’d somehow picked up the C-bug.

Same, though on a much, much smaller scale, as I’d feel if my tech should quit on me. Laptop, internet service, cell phone, TV—I fear I’d be lost without them. After all they’ve taken on the importance of being my connections with the world beyond these four walls.

So far, I’ve had my men’s group meetings, had drinks and eaten breakfast with friends, and even played charades via the remote meeting app, Zoom. Tomorrow, I’ll meet with my shrink via Google Duo.

Strange weather’s adding to the surreal feel of these days. Full-on blizzard Sunday; more snow yesterday; and today, bright sun and blue skies alternating with gray, blustery snow squalls. Still, it hasn’t kept me from my now-habitual daily walks.

As much as I love having Sylvia along on walks, it’s been nice to settle into a faster, unbroken pace. It’s not only helping me compensate for all the sitting—and eating—I’ve been doing, it’s become something of a meditation.

I’m also finding renewed enjoyment in photography, looking for interesting animals, plants, patterns and the like to capture and share on Facebook.

Lots of my Facebook friends, bless their souls, are trying to cheer everyone up, posting and sharing funny, inspirational stuff. I did my part this morning, collecting a dozen or so photos of animals “smiling.” From a snake to a sloth, to an owl—and I challenged folks to find the one image with a fake smile. The was the last one, a dog with a beaming, human—and clearly digitally applied—grin.

4/15
Tax filing deadline. Well…not really, since this year’s deadline’s been pushed ahead to July 1.

Sally and I decided, since Sylvia’s been showing signs of stress in the busy conditions at Jenny’s house, to switch her back and forth every few days instead of weekly.

I joined the three other couples we usually spend New Year’s Eve with for a virtual cocktail hour. Again, thank goodness for Zoom, FaceTime and the other virtual meeting platforms. You get to see and hear from friends…and you don’t even have to clean the house!

I got a request from one of my closest friends today that’s got me rethinking my rather compulsive resistance rants on Facebook. Todd asked me—and several others—not to email him any more anti-Trump complaints, memes or jokes. He says he’s “at the breaking point.”

Of course I’ll comply, but I keep wondering when it will overwhelm me too. I know the daily fight-or-flight response is costing me years off of my life.

I managed to check in with several people on my list of those I fear might be especially susceptible to loneliness or depression during the crisis

I’d thought I’d tapped out all my ideas for new blog posts on One Man’s Wonder. I’ve been brainstorming, and today I decided to chronicle my 1998 canoeing expedition to Ontario’s Quetico Provincial Park to memorialize my dad. It should keep me busy for a few days.

I’m so lucky to be in generally good health. My back surgery a few years ago, my efforts to eat right and keep my weight down, and my defensive measures against bronchitis triggers have all left me as ready as I reasonably can be should I contract COVID 19.

In fact, most days I’m feeling so good inside and indoors, that I almost forget how perilous it might be outdoors. The daily walks feel really good, even in the brief reprieve of winter we’ve seen during the past week.

Still, the slightest little cough or sniffle, I have to put myself into my Zen space to keep from panicking.

4/16 Thurs
Woke up rested and grateful once again.
At 9:00 I met with my shrink, Jacqueline, in a video conference call. I couldn’t help but wonder how her practice must have changed over the past month or so. It was good to share with someone the chaos of emotions I’ve been feeling.

The general theme of my reporting, though, was gratitude for discovering what a strong core of faith and hope I possess, as I imagine millions of folks around the world are much less prepared to handle hardships ranging from minor inconveniences—like mine seem to be, at least so far—to gut-wrenching anguish over loss of jobs, severe anxiety and depression, and even having to watch loved ones die alone.

After a week of daily snow, it was heartening to see the sun shining this morning—though it’s still unseasonably cold. Sylvie and I went for our usual two-mile morning walk, which she’s come to totally expect every day. Around 10:30 she gets up from whatever chair, sofa or rug she’s been sleeping on and comes and stands at me feet, looking up expectantly. If I dally too long, she starts in with a sort of plaintive little bark I just have to call a plark.

4/17
Last night, as I walked Sylvie around the block, I looked up and saw the evening “star,” Venus, punching its dazzling little hole in the black western sky. Imagining the path its light had taken to reach my eyes, I was suddenly keenly aware of the sheer scale of the universe. I pondered in turn the immensity of the heavenly body I was standing on and its irrelevance in the Scheme of Things.

It’s so clear, especially now that Creation’s message to us has gone viral, how little the earth belongs to us and how much we belong to it. How infinitesimal, how utterly insignificant, we human beings really are.

As I’ve walked around the neighborhood, watching pedestrians and motorists driving by, I see many—I’d guess around half of them—wearing masks. They range from what look like the real deal, the N-95s, to obviously home-made ones of every imaginable pattern.

Until a month ago, I’d always thought of this as a purely Asian phenomenon. I’ve read that masks used to be as much a fashion statement as a functional safeguard. Now, though, it’s all changed. Now masks, even those ill-fitting DIY ones, are proving, immunologically, to be the difference between life and death.

4/18 Sat.
Sally and I met once more at “our bench” this afternoon. It was wonderful getting to chat for a while, but I had to hand off Sylvia to her, based on our new theory that Sylvie starts missing her absent “parent” and/or either gets run ragged by Archie and the kids when she’s with Sally, or languishes in boredom when she’s with me.

We’ll see how it goes. I hope she’ll soon start getting used to the new reality as we have had to do.

4/19
I’d have expected to see that other icon of Asian culture, Godzilla, walking our streets before this many people in masks. Yet here they are, right where I live.

I wonder, now that live television shows and most formerly face-to-face communications are now done with all participants in their own respective homes, if all such media won’t embrace and make trendy the slightly-off, not-super-high-res. images and sound

4/19
It continues being a challenge remembering which day of the week it is, or even what time of day it is. On today’s afternoon walk around the neighborhood, I said “Good morning!” to five or six people before I checked my watch and found it was 1:30.

This disconnection from time is a bit unnerving, but it’s also liberating. The stress of having to remember appointments and deadlines is off—except for the occasional tele-meeting with my shrink or friends. I eat not during my predetermined time slots, but when I’m hungry.

It has grown quite clear to me that I have an addiction that’s been sucking the positive side of life from me. Facebook. Well, not all of Facebook; just the part where I can’t seem to resist engaging this one avid Trump supporter I actually know in person.

I know it’s an addiction because I’ve recognized the harm it’s been inflicting on me for months, and that I needed to just stop. But I was getting sucked in anyway,  arguing with Carol, a person I don’t respect or even like, about that charlatan occupying the presidency.

I was seeing a side of me that I’d not realized was so dear to me: extreme discomfort with a lack of resolution with any living organism. I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing, but I need to manage it, at least trying to put things right without sacrificing who I am.

So, instead of following my first instinct and just “unfriending” Carol, I decided to connect with her personally, explain why I just had to stop engaging her, and basically wish her well. We’ll see how it goes, but for now it feels like a huge relief. Now I can devote all that clever, raging composition to what I really want to do, which is to spread wonder and awe…and perhaps a ray or two of hope to folks who could really use it.

4/20
I wonder if all this physical distancing and techno substitutes for real human contact will change people’s personalities. Will what’s been happening to young people over the past 15 to 20 years—a manic attachment to social media and gaming; loss of interest in real interaction with others and with Nature; declines in physical and mental health—eventually befall everyone?

4/21
Today’s first thought: Ever since I became aware of the potential severity and scale of the novel corona virus infection, I’ve been extending my expectation of the crisis’s duration. First there was Trump saying it didn’t exist—I don’t believe a single word that tweet tweets. Then I read about weeks-long scenario.

By the time of our premature return from Mexico March 18th, I’d pretty much concluded, despite the president’s rosy predictions of a “miracle cure” and business as usual by Easter, that this thing would go on for months.

This morning, hearing the experts talk about the various expected peaks around the country—especially with “flattening the curve” efforts looking successful—it’s looking like the average peak across the U.S. won’t come until at least mid-summer.

And that’s just the peak. Assuming the ensuing downslope of the curve will require about the same amount of time as it took to ramp up, now we’re talking around eight months. And then, this morning, Minnesota governor Tim Walz, who’s been doing a fantastic job of leading us through this nightmare, is predicting considerable sacrifices and life-style changes lasting about a year and a half. Gulp!

I’m a bit worried tonight. This afternoon my throat started to get sore and my lymph nodes are enlarged. I gave it a few hours without much concern, hoping it was just a little allergy flare-up. But it’s still there, so I’ve taken my first of five prednisone (a steroid) doses, hoping my go-to protocol for recurrent sinusitis / bronchitis bouts I’ve been able to thwart over the past three to four years will work once again. Tomorrow morning will tell. I hope to keep my worry at bay long enough to get to sleep.

I can’t believe how fast I’m going through the groceries. I’ve learned to allow for the three- to five-day delay between ordering on-line and either picking up or getting delivery. But still, it seems every few days I start running out of most of my staples: milk, OJ, and cereal for example.

I’m keeping a list, something I seldom did when I had the luxury of swinging by Cub whenever I needed a few items.

I have not hoarded; I’m just ordering what I’ll need for the next week or so. Still,  the order I’m picking up this Friday, comes to over 30 items. And cost? It’s running at least 50% higher than normal, with my having to settle for quite a few substitutions of more expensive brands or organic alternatives.

And then there’s the tip for the person who’s shopping for me, which I am glad to pay. I’m very grateful to these people, who work for on-line grocery-shopping services like Insta-Cart. So far, they’ve proven effective—except for complete sell-outs of a few items. And they’ve been quite responsive via text messaging while shopping—even taking pictures of some shelves showing replacement options.

4/22 Wed
Today’s the 50th anniversary of Earth Day. And I’m do conflicted. Of course, we want to celebrate this institution and all it’s accomplished since folks my age were in grad school. But it’s hard to celebrate when one considers where we are after all these years of awareness and activism.

This is one of the things sitting at the core of my usually-suppressed fear right now. Whenever—if ever—we get past the COVID 19 pandemic, we hope be able to hug people again. But then we must face a challenge not just to our arrogant little human race, but to every living thing on this planet.

It’s awfully hard to remain optimistic when these two dreadful realities coincide.

Once again I met Sally at “our bench,” where we had a nice chat and she handed off Sylvie to me for my three- to four-day stint. Poor thing still can’t quite understand this new routine. The whole way home, she kept turning and looking back to see where Mommy went.

Gorgeous day, mostly blue skies and up to about 65. That meant more folks were out enjoying the parkway. Even though the city has closed off one of its two lanes so walkers, runners, bikers and roller blades have more room to pass at a safe distance, most are apparently unaware of the purpose and stuck to the pre-COVID lanes, nearly rubbing shoulders. I think I’ll have to find a way to spread the word.

After last night’s concern over my soar throat, things seemed much better this morning. I felt fine all day, but tonight, again, it feels like, whatever it is, it’s still there. I’m trying not to worry—maybe a good night’s sleep will do the trick.

4/23 Thurs
Damn! I still have the low-grade sore throat. Should take my temp. I’ll also try contacting my ENT, Dr. Janus, for any advice he might have—well, actually, just to get a little pep talk.

Another gorgeous, sunny day. Sylvie and I must take advantage of it, before tonight’s cool-off and the rain forecast for tomorrow.

I’m wondering what a virus’s raison d’être is. I know that for most organisms that purpose is simply to reproduce and survive. I think most of them feed off of something in order to accomplish that.

But with this virus, I get the dreadful feeling that its ultimate purpose is just a bit more sinister than simply surviving. Like maybe it exists solely to kill? To finally collect its due from a species that’s been violating the lease on its home for too long.

Unlike other microscopic entities like bacteria, a virus straddles the fence between living and non-living. Some scientists insist it’s not a living thing at all, but an “agent,” which becomes viable only when it occupies a host’s body.

I’ve been thinking a lot about my temperament. Specifically, how I’ve been able to so successfully set aside things I can’t do anything about, and focus on things I can. Thank God, there’s a thread of faith and hope running through my psyche. Others might say it’s unrealistic or that I’m just in denial, but still I choose to believe something wonderful and miraculous will soon happen.

In fact, just last night, the U of M, partnering with the Mayo Clinic, announced that Governor Walz’s “moon shot” initiative for more and better COVID 19 testing has already been realized, promising the means for testing 20,000 Minnesotans per day, to be fully implemented within the next two weeks.

I watched a movie tonight. It was a nice diversion, about an hispanic high school’s underwater robotics team that beat out 15 college teams to win first prize in a competition. Near the end, when they were all celebrating and hugging each other, a wave of sadness broke over me. This essential human instinct, cruelly, cannot be exercised any more, anywhere, for a long time.

On the subject of time, it’s also occurred to me how significant a part of the remaining time I hope to be alive will be colored by this crisis. I must not let that be a dark color. It will be up to me.

4/24, Fri.
I keep thinking how easy I’m having it under the shelter-in-place mandate. I’m able to buy most of what I need in the way of groceries and incidental supplies. Thank God I can go outdoors and take nice long walks.

But I dread the first time something essential, something requiring service or other contact-prone remedy. An appliance breaking; the furnace; the TV; or, God forbid, my trusty laptop—my window to the world.

Another service-related observation: with hair salons and dog-grooming services not considered essential, it will be interesting to see the “lengthening” of people and pets. If it goes on long enough, I can imagine guys’ pony tails coming reluctantly back into fashion.

With Sylvie, I don’t mind her being shaggy for a while, but I worry about some advice groomers have given me: that hair mats are not just a nightmare for groomers, but also can become painful to the animals. I’m trying to keep Sylvie groomed, but she hates it and I hate to add any stress to her already disrupted little life.

I may have to learn how to cut her coat myself, and to clip her claws. Ouch!

Today, I thought I’d experiment and declare a news hiatus. Not too hard with radio or TV; all I have to do is keep it tuned to music stations. Harder with newspaper, since I do enjoy reading what little non-COVID news remains.

Never in my lifetime do I remember a time when an event has so totally dominated the news worldwide. I mean there’s practically nothing else to read. Ugh!

The suspension of my hospice visits has taken away some of my usual sense of purpose. But, thankfully, the program has adapted to the extent possible, and I’m now writing cards to patients. It hurts to think of these dying patients, robbed of these precious moments to be comforted by their loved ones. I’ll have to dig deep to find the right words of understanding without getting maudlin.

It’s been such a good day. Gorgeous weather—sunny and mid sixties. Two wonderful walks with Sylvie. Very thoughtful and steeped in gratitude. This morning I asked God for a keener awareness of my blessings, and that is what happened.

I think I can attribute much of this positive focus on my decision to minimize my exposure to the news today. And, surely, my feeling better today has had a tremendous impact on my mood.

Alas, the grocery pick-up scheduled for this afternoon has been postponed until Monday. I’m glad I ordered when I did, and didn’t wait until I’d run out of my staples.

4/25 - Saturday
My pals Todd and Dick asked me if I could play tennis with them this morning. The plan is to do so while keeping our distance from each other. It sounded like a good idea, but I’m still in such a defensive mode—and my paranoia surely peaked by the sore throat scare of the past few days—that I decided against it.

I have to wonder if anything will change during the next six months—or even a year—that might get me back to tennis and other activities which, though they involve minimal risk, still involve some risk. That number epidemiologist Mike Osterholm recently threw out—that 60-70 percent of Americans will have to contract the virus before it starts receding—makes me doubt it. I must not get sick.

4/25 Sat.
Another gorgeous day! Two in a row. On days like this, I can feel, and see in others, the powerful urge to get out there…and forget about social distancing. This is not how life’s supposed to be.

I’ll try again to limit the amount of news I consume. I’m quite sure yesterday’s surge of happiness was at least partly do to that effort. That said, I did read this morning that the minor, selective food shortages we’ve all experienced in the past few weeks are likely to broaden as the virus will keep still more folks cooped up—and may trigger more hoarding, which till now has been a factor for only a few items, like the now ubiquitous toilet paper.

I have an inspiration for a One Man’s Wonder post, but I’m struggling with fleshing it out. It started with my recent practice—started well before COVID 19—of being grateful for the blessing of each precious breath, each precious heartbeat.

With the very real threat the virus poses for older folks, especially those like me who also have compromised respiratory systems, I’m more aware than ever of those repeating gifts. They’re so easy to take for granted.

And I think about these poor people—now over 200,000 of them—whose air supply has been slowly, cruelly turned off by this plague. You want to know how precious a breath is? I don’t think one can really imagine until he’s fought and fought for a week or more for each inhalation, and then, just can’t fight any more.

Not pleasant thoughts, but nowadays there’s lots of time for such reflection.

4/26 Sun.

I suspect my ability to cope so well so far, is due to the kind of adrenaline rush one experiences during other types of crises. That jolt is what enables you to sideline your fears, physical limitations and pain just long enough to do what needs to be done, even under intensely challenging circumstances.

Trouble is, the shock that COVID 19 is dumping on our systems has come on not like an air raid, that’s over quickly and whose destruction, though devastating, can be assessed and dealt with, but like a siege, whose severity and duration cannot be known.

I’m afraid it’s inevitable that at some point, the adrenaline rush will wear off and the true scope of the calamity will hit me. I hope that knowing it will likely come may blunt its impact somewhat, but I can imagine some pretty serious grieving.

It will really hit home how much each and every human being on this precious planet will have lost. Loved ones dying, livelihoods lost, precious intimacy denied…not to mention the devastation of our psyches by the sudden awareness of just how vulnerable and, ultimately, how insignificant, we human beings are in the Scheme of Things.

I know I’m already being worn thin in a few places when just about any positive news story—about the bravery of first-responders and care givers, or the extraordinary kindnesses people are offering to each other—can bring me to tears.

This pandemic, the unfathomably corrupt, incompetent governance of our country, and the environmental calamity that awaits even after those are vanquished—it’s a three-way concurrence that exceeds most people’s wildest imaginable worst-case scenario for the world. No wonder kind gestures, moments of diversion, Nature’s unfailing spring beauty and other small wonders move me.

4/27 Sun.
It was wonderful seeing Sally this morning. As much as I’m enjoying plenty of time to think and write without distractions, I miss the conversations, the sharing…the humor which have so enriched our lives since our time together in Mexico and up until we separated.

We talked about various scenarios going forward. Sally has been quite certain that she’ll have to come down with COVID and recover before she can come home again. After all, the medical experts have been predicting that the virus won’t quit until somewhere between 60 and 80 percent of the population has caught it.

Even this hope seems it might be based on a faulty assumption, as articles are starting to appear suggesting there’s no proof yet that recovering from the virus renders anyone immune afterwards. Oh, shit!

We’re still looking at Sally coming home as soon as her somewhat risky teaching responsibilities end for the school year in early June. Then she’d quarantine herself in one bedroom for two weeks till we’re quite sure she’s not positive.

I suppose from then on we could live a fairly normal life vis-a-vis each other. But I believe that, in order to be sure I end up in the 20-40 percent that never get the virus, I’ll have to maintain my current level of caution for a very long time, perhaps even years.

Like everything else, my hospice volunteering has come to an abrupt halt. And, like everyone else, Health Partners Hospice is doing its best to adapt to the no-visitors rules. It’s just so awfully sad that these poor folks who have so little time left, have to spend their waning days isolated, many, I fear, not able to navigate even the poor-excuse telephone or virtual visits they’re allowed.

So, the best I can do right now is to write cards to patients. I did my first two this evening, spending about 15 minutes on each one, trying to sound friendly and refer to at least a couple of their interests as outlined by the volunteer coordinator. I sure hope the cards bring a bit of joy during this unspeakably cruel plague.

I was so excited for my big grocery pick-up this afternoon. It was a big one, since I’m out of many of my staples. I’d ordered a week ago, for pick-up last Friday. It got delayed till Monday. Then, about an hour before I expected to hear from Instacart’s personal shopper, I got an email saying the order was being delayed again, but "Don’t worry, it will still be today. We’ll let you know when."

Needing to plan my time, I went on line to Instacart’s page and their chat interface to inquire about my order’s ETA. Long story, but over the course of the next hour-and-a-half, I asked my question; the agent’s slow response times caused chat to time out; the second agent managed to cancel my order, despite my begging him not to do so; and finally, checking my order again, I saw that it had only been delayed once again, for pick-up May — a week-and-a-half after I placed the order. I was seething.

Fine, I figured I’d just call Cub and ask them to reinstate my order for pick up yet today. But a very nice man said their deal with Instacart gives them no control of orders placed through that service. But he did give me a customer service phone number for Instacart, which I called.

Their agent sounded like he was going to really help me. But when he asked me to hold so he could connect me with “order resolution,” I pleaded with him not to drop my call. He promised that wouldn’t happen, and if it did, he’d call me right back. After another half-hour on hold, I quit, and devoted the next 20 minutes to penning a bad review of Instacart.

Now, I understand the pressure these companies must be under these days, but the errors I encountered were so many and so serious that I figured maybe I could save other prospective customers of theirs the heartache.

The nice guy at Cub had also told me of their 6:00 AM opening time for senior citizens, and promised there’d be very few people in the store. So that’s what I decided to do—after discussing it with Sally.

4/28 Tues.
Up at 5:00, I got ready and drove over to Cub. Donning my N-95 mask and nitrile gloves, I felt like I was marching into combat. But, sure enough, there were only about 10 shoppers in the whole place. I did my shopping, found nearly everything on my list and got out of there in less than an hour! It made me wonder if suffering the delays and uncertainty of on-line shopping are worth the small bit of extra security it offers.

Back home, I spent the next hour-plus on my disinfecting protocol: spray each item with disinfecting bleach solution; let them sit for five minutes, rinse or sponge off the bleach; towel dry; and finally let the items thoroughly air dry.

Finally! After some oatmeal and a cup of coffee, I can sit down and get to work on more fun stuff. I feel like some back-woods man who’s just endured a blizzard and a wolf attack to bring back provisions for his family. I think I’ll enjoy the rest of the day even more for having a full larder.

Weather’s cool and rainy today—all day, I guess. I think I’ll take at least one of my daily walks anyway. They’ve become a necessary and joyous part of my day, and I think I’d feel pretty useless if I didn’t get out for the exercise and fresh air.

I’m finding it challenging to find any motivation today. The blog post I’m working on seems to be resisting my efforts to make it flow and make sense. It’s about breath, and how much more precious it seems during this worldwide attack of a bug that goes straight for the lungs.

4/29 Wed.
I see in today’s newspaper some very troubling news. Infectious disease experts are finding that dogs and cats can indeed catch the virus and possibly spread it as well. So, as Sally handed off Sylvia to me this morning for my next three- to four-day stint with her, I found myself weighing the risk/reward ratio of catching this deadly virus versus social distancing from the one living creature in the world I can still touch. Pretty sure I’m going to have to let the chips fall where they may.

Weather’s gray, cold and windy today. I still decided to walk to the rendezvous with Sally and back with Sylvia. She was again reluctant to part ways with Sally, stopping to look back several time. But the transition was just a bit smoother than last time, so maybe she’s getting used to the half-week on/off schedule.

One of the big new stories involves yesterday’s visit to the Mayo Clinic by vice president Pence. Not the visit itself as much as the fact that of all the people involved in touring the facility and meeting recovering COVID 19 patients, Pence was the only one who refused to wear a mask—violating Mayo’s strict mask policy.

So typical of this administration’s continuing dearth of leadership during the crisis.
I suspect he was ordered by the president to shirk the widely-recommended—not to mention simply decent—practice of wearing a mask, as yet another gesture of defiance against science and the “liberal elites” who value it.

This morning’s gloomy weather has given way to sunshine. There were lots of folks out on East River Parkway. I imagine that, as summer approaches, it will get harder and harder to find a lane with my preferred 20-foot distance from others.

Even with the need for vigilance, these walks sure are good medicine for weathering a quarantine. Good for heart and soul.

4/30 Thurs.
The beautiful weather’s back. Looking forward to two nice long walks with Sylvie today. And to lazing on the deck this afternoon.

I’m worried that Sally’s and my strategy of living apart for a while may be unraveling. First off, I think she’s getting worn down by the workload of caring for two grandkids and one or two dogs; filling in for all four grandkids’ teachers with both in-person and remote art classes; and still handling both her high school and college teaching responsibilities.

All this and she’s coping with both physical and emotional pain. And she doesn’t sleep very well when not in her own bed. She’s sounding like she might be regretting the decision.

Her feelings came out yesterday when she told me how upset she was that I decided to go grocery shopping Tuesday instead of accepting her offer to do it for me. I thought we’d talked it through, but she feels betrayed, having sacrificed so much to help keep me safe, and then seeing me act in a way she found reckless.

5/3 Sun.
I suppose it’s indicative of the increasing feeling of normalcy during the crisis that I’m making fewer entries here.

Today’s Minneapolis newspaper included eleven pages of death notices–about 250 individuals, the most ever for the paper. Some of them referred to COVID 19 as a cause of death, but I suspect that many more were caused by it too.

Sally and met up once again at “our bench.” We had a nice chat, including about a new end date to our separation. Turns out Anna and Jack’s school will be done May 22 instead of the first week of June as we’d anticipated.

So the plan is for Sally to return home then and start her two weeks of modified quarantine.

We also decided that instead of passing Sylvia back and forth every few days, she’ll stay with me most, if not all, of the rest of our separation. Sally feels she’s not happy being at Jenny’s with Archie constantly engaging, if not threatening, her.

5/4 Mon.
The expected time horizon for the pandemic continues to extend farther into the future. One of latest articles I’ve seen suggests we might not see anything close to “normal” until 18 to 24 months from now.

And now, just today, I see that Bill Gates is predicting that we’ll likely not have a safe, effective vaccine for another FIVE YEARS. Oh God.

I placed my first grocery order with Sally today. Having lost all faith in Instacart from last week’s debacle, and having more or less promised Sally I wouldn’t go in-store shopping any more, I see no other option but to put Sally at risk. Not a good choice.

It’s becoming clearer and clearer that life will never return to the “normal” we enjoyed just a few months ago. Apparently COVID 19 will not go away for a very long time. And once it does—say with the release of a safe, effective vaccine—I’m afraid there will by then be some other virus we’ll have to cope with. So I think masks, social distancing, plexiglass barriers and the like are here to stay.

Which begs the question: if the earth, if God or however you picture the Power of Creation, were to give us human beings a sign that we needed to change our ways, what would that look like? Does it bear any resemblance to what’s happening to us right now? Just sayin’…

5/6 Wed.
Good day all around. Two beautiful walks, one of them meeting up with Sally. She did a great job on my grocery list, and I’m getting more efficient at the disinfecting process. Finished it in about 45 minutes this time.

It’s obvious from the grocery receipts that prices have gone up considerably — I’m guessing by at least 40-50 percent. Now stores are starting to put a limit on how much meat or poultry one can buy—a reflection of the drastic cut in meat packing production after several major outbreaks in those plants around the country. So I guess we’ll see those prices rise even more than others.

Looked up at a nearly full moon tonight and had that flash of clarity about the truly cosmic importance of something like this happening to the entirety of the dominant species on a planet. I felt pretty small and vulnerable.

I think the four miles of walking every day and a bit of discipline with my diet are having a result. Last time I weighed myself, I was down to about 182—nearly my ideal weight.  

Once again, I’m aware and quite grateful for how good I’m feeling, and how happy I am. Am I just in denial of the inevitability that around 70 percent of all Americans will eventually have to contract the virus before it gives up the ghost? And of all the awful impacts on the economy and our way of life? And the increasing likelihood of civil war in my own country?

I don’t know. I just know I prefer being happy, at least until….I’m not.\

5/7 Thurs.
Interesting to see how advertisers have adjusted to the crisis. At first, only a few—the quickest to respond—and now more and more acknowledging “During these difficult times…” Or “Now that we’re social distancing…” Actors in the TV spots are sporting masks. And everyone’s offering delivery or curbside pick-up or “touch-free service.”

When conversations are depicted in ads, some now have each participant in his/her own box, depicting a “remote” connection.

Brother Dan tells me he’s been documenting photographically some of the visuals of the pandemic: people standing six feet apart waiting to enter a restaurant or a bank; folks wearing colorful home-made masks; empty freeways. It recalls a feeling I’ve sometimes had when viewing telling old photos in a museum: what a debt we owe to folks, like Dan now, who think to document historic events as they’re happening.

Now that the time horizon for COVID 19 has been extended to possibly years, the prospect of spending one or more Minnesota winters on the defensive—when most people are forced indoors.

5/8 Fri.
Well, another week has passed, and still there seems no foreseeable end to the uncertainty.

Waves of protest have arisen and apparently spread over the past couple of weeks. Folks complaining that the true leaders of our country right now—like Minnesota Governor Walz—are abusing their power by limiting people’s movement and keeping certain types of high-contact businesses closed.

If only there were a way to make these Trumpist idiots accountable for their words and actions. Make them sign a pledge that, if they come down with the C-bug, they’ll foreswear any health care at all, saving the scarce resources for those who at least tried to be thoughtful decent citizens.

So typical of this breed of knuckle-dragging louts, demanding their right to screw up, no matter the cost to others.

I wore my bandana again for this morning’s walk, but I’m wondering if it really makes any difference to either the wearer or others nearby, except perhaps to catch a sneeze or cough. Otherwise, normal breath has no trouble escaping around the unfitted edges, and certainly any incoming vapor blown the wearer’s way from others has no trouble at all penetrating the thin fabric.

Still, psychologically, I suppose wearing the mask might help as a gesture of consideration, reinforcing the notion that we’re all in this together.

5/9 Sat.
We’re seeing the face mask becoming an iconic symbol of the times. Historic statues around town suddenly donning masks.        Even little garden gnomes in tiny masks. What about the Statue of Liberty?

Nice visit with Sally—in the garage this time, since the weather’s a bit raw. (Still more snow forecast for parts of the state.) We were going to switch Sylvia so she could be with Sally for a few days and play with “cousin” Archie. But Sally felt Archie and Sally’s grandson, Jack, would just stress Sylvie, so she stays with me for now.

Can’t say as I mind, as Sylvia’s been good company and giving me a bit of structure and purpose in my day.

With my life so relatively unaffected by the pandemic, it’s getting harder to grasp where and how it might come to impact me more seriously than just requiring social distancing and a few other inconveniences. I’m glad I’ve developed what I think are good habits for staying safe.

In my ongoing search for information on where we are today on the projected trajectory of the crisis, I came across an article with graphs showing three troubling scenarios. Each depicted a continuing series of peaks and valleys—of varying heights depending on which model was used—lasting at least two years!

I’m feeling sorry for all the parents—including Amanda—who are realizing that their hopes for an end to the crisis before school starts in the fall are likely in vain, and that they’ll not only have full-time parenting duties, but also some degree of home schooling as well. Glad I’m not one of them.

5/10 Sun.
It’s another cloudy, raw day. Windy and only in the mid-forties this morning. Sylvie and I still took our AM walk, though.

I posed this question on Facebook this morning:
“Just curious how you all would rank these three dire threats now facing the U.S. and the world. (My ranking has changed over the past few days.)
- The COVID 19 pandemic
- Global climate change
- The disintegration of democracy”

If I really let myself think about it, it sinks in what a very, very dark time this is for the human race. It’s a challenge entertaining the shreds of faith I still have in our ability to survive it as a species.

Trump and his toadies continue to methodically destroy every democratic institution they can get their filthy little hands on. Yesterday, it was Trump’s hand-picked Attorney General, William Barr, abruptly dropping all charges against Michael Flynn, Trump’s former National Security Adviser, who last year pleaded guilty twice to charges of lying to the F.B.I. about his conversations with the Russian ambassador concerning Russia’s meddling in the 2016 U.S. presidential election.

I’ve contacted both my U.S. representative and senator, expressing my dread about the demise of democracy and asking for some kind of encouragement that the Constitution can deal with the threat. I doubt I’ll get it.

5/11 Mon.
Another good day. Still feeling quite busy, between caring for myself and Sylvia, and the long walks, and correspondence, cooking, and keeping up with my blogging.

I feel like I’m inside a bubble, protected by a gossamer-thin membrane from the pestilence. As long as I don’t accidentally touch the film, I’m safe. But someone on the outside could break it too.

5/12 Tues.
I see it’s coming up on two months since we returned prematurely from Mexico and this whole saga began. Back then, most of us were expecting that, by mid-May, we’d surely be at least well past the peak of the pandemic in the U.S.  Now, I foresee at least another six months until a new normal will feel more or less routine.

Pretty sure those of us at greatest risk of dying from COVID 19 will still be living in fear, significantly limiting our activities and physical contact with other people.

I’m already anxious about how I will handle my rage if/when the Trump base’s demands for an end to science-driven containment measures prove deadly for hundreds of thousands more victims—victims, I fear, as much of these cretins’ ignorance as of the virus itself.

All I have to manage those destructive emotions are prayer and my get-out-the-vote letter writing. I’m not liking our prospects as a nation—or as a species for that matter—if Trump somehow manages to get re-elected.

Another sign of the times: the sports section in the paper is down to just four pages, and most of that about drafts and leagues’ planning for at best limited schedules starting as early as mid-summer. And those games will likely be played without fans in the stands.

Near the end of this afternoon’s walk with Sylvia, I was suddenly confronted with just how thin that bubble of security is that I’m placing my trust in for avoiding the virus. I’d turned the corner off of the broad River Parkway onto a narrow, four-foot-wide sidewalk.

Stuck between someone’s fence and a row of parked cars, I stopped and looked down at Sylvia. I looked up to see an attractive young woman jogging my way—unmasked, right on the sidewalk. Before I could move—if I’d had anywhere to move—she ran past me. I didn’t have the presence of mind to pull my bandana up over my nose and mouth or even hold my breath for that matter.

She was wearing ear buds, so I yelled, “That’s too close!” I doubt she even heard me. Maybe she’s one of those Trump zombies for whom having to take a six-foot zig or zag seems a grievous assault on their fucking rights!

But for me, that’s exactly how easily it could happen. Lose my focus for a second; inhale a second or so after she exhales. So, yet another event starting the clock on another two-week possible incubation period. But who would even remember?

5/13 Wed.
Sally did a great job on my grocery list.

But our chat led to something that troubles me: she said she’s agreed, even after she moves back home, to take care of her grandkids every Friday. She feels that, by changing her clothes and maybe showering when she gets home, and wearing a plain fabric mask, that we should be able to minimize the risk to me.

First of all, I thought we’d agreed that the reason we’d picked the date of her moving back home was that that was when she’d no longer have any significant, avoidable exposure to possible infection. She’d suggested that, just to be safe, she’d self-quarantine in one room for two weeks after moving home. Now, if she goes through with the new plan, such a quarantine would no longer make sense.

Second, I don’t think Sally understands what it takes to really prevent this virus from spreading. Her changing clothes, or even wearing a home-made mask will do very little to protect me. Because of that, I feel all the responsibility will fall on my shoulders.

We’ll have to be on high alert all the time, frequent disinfecting, distancing, and constant wearing of masks. And my mask will have to be one of the two remaining N95 ones I have in order to be effective. Those will last—should last—no more than a week. She says she understands all this, but I know Sally; I’m pretty sure it will become a source of friction.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t think telling Sally she can’t help her daughter with the kids will go over well. I’m getting this sinking feeling that my catching COVID 19 is inevitable unless I can be largely in control of my living environment. Maybe, to survive, I’ll need to quarantine myself indefinitely.

I’m scared…and I think that’s only going to get worse.

5/14 Thurs.
I woke up this morning to the stirrings of depression, triggered, I’m sure, by my talk with Sally yesterday. Add the constant barrage of bad news—even with my limiting my exposure to it—and the plodding routine I’ve fallen into, and the ingredients are all there. I fear this is just the beginning.

The uncertainty about the future, especially in terms of how much longer we should expect life to be this frightening and this alienating, has been bad enough. But now, ironically, it seems there’s been added an even more troubling note of certainty—that ultimately there’s nothing I can do to avoid getting sick.

The new reality for me is that with Sally now trying to justify what amounts to risky behavior, and with immense political pressure being put on the governor and other leaders to re-open parts of the economy at the same time as health officials are cautioning against it, I am no longer in control of my fate. That’s a dreadful prospect.

I think I know myself well enough to know that when I have a goal and then find I’m no longer in control of what needs to be done to reach it, I tend to get discouraged, and resigned to failure. And this leads me to turn into myself and tune out to other people. The last thing someone who’s already dealing with isolation needs is to eschew what little connection remains.

I’ve been doing calculations in my head all day—of my odds of survival for various options that I feel are left to me:
I stay home alone as I am now indefinitely — 90%
Sally comes home, quarantines for 2 weeks and then we stay more or less at home — 75%
Sally comes home, but continues to care for grandchildren, do grocery shopping and other errands — 50%
These figures are tentative. Very likely way overstated. Probably different tomorrow.

5/15 Fri.
I finally took Sylvia to doggy daycare again after nearly two and a half months without it. They say they’re considered “essential” and that they’ve adopted a number of safety measures in the dropping off and picking up of pets.

What I actually experienced was 90 percent business as usual: I brought Sylvie in on her leash; the owner came out to welcome us, without a mask; he came over and stood about three feet from me as I took the leash off and put it in a little lettered cubby; and then he took her in to see her little friends.

I’m very glad Sylvia can once again play with other dogs. It’s been so sad seeing how excited she gets every time we pass someone walking their dog. I’m also very glad I was wearing my N95 mask when I went in to drop her off.

This is the kind of laxness that, when multiplied by tens of thousands of occurrences every day, multiplied by the number of days till the virus is all but gone, that will surely hasten the ultimate 70% infection rate predicted by the epidemiologists.

One of my friends called last night, saying he felt his marriage was over. He was thinking he might have to move out of the house soon, but had no idea where he’d go. I thought about telling him he could come and live at our house for a while…but just couldn’t, given the possible risk. Choices like this are what’s eating away at everyone—even those of us with the luxury of having choices—I’m sure manifesting in skyrocketing rates of anxiety and depression.

5/16 Sat.
I played tennis this morning for the first time since the first of March. My buddies, Dick and Todd, and I met at a park with public courts in Bloomington—because Minneapolis public courts have been closed. Instead of our regular, years-long tradition of Canadian doubles—two players versus one—we just played singles, rotating players every 10 minutes or so.

We managed to stay at least ten feet apart all the time, and used hand sanitizer frequently. I felt fairly safe with those measures, but it was still necessary for all of us to touch the balls, and that also made our racket strings suspect.

Trump continues to bungle, and then blatantly politicize the COVID 19 crisis. The shit can’t stand anyone around him pretending to be smarter or more respected than he is. So he keeps up with the absurd claims—like that the country’s nearly “open” and back to “normal,” and that the U.S. is leading the world in virus testing. It is not; we are far down the list, tied with the likes of Belarus.

There is still the threat that he’ll fire Fauci, the long-tenured lead voice of medical science in what’s become an exercise in walking on pins & needles around the monumentally insecure pretend president.

Yesterday, the vaunted Lancet medical journal, called out his performance in managing the crisis. It sharply criticized the Trump administration, saying it has marginalized the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention to a degree that is dangerous for both the U.S. and the world. It continued, "Americans must put a president in the White House come January, 2021, who will understand that public health should not be guided by partisan politics.”

5/17 Sun.
Rainy all day, so Sylvie and I missed our daily walks. We did some stair climbing indoors instead, but it wasn’t as liberating as outdoors time.

Sally came over and we had a nice talk, including my sharing my feelings about the safety of her planned return in a few weeks. Turns out she’d been thinking about it too. She thinks Jenny would be okay with her caring for the kids only every other Friday, hoping that Joes parents can handle the alternate Fridays.

That’s certainly not ideal, since it will still expose both of us to the possibility of infection, but I think it may be the best we can do. We’ll still have to be quite careful when we’re in the house. I hope we won’t get complacent and let our guard down.

5/18 Mon.
Today’s the start of a new phase of “containment” issued by Gov. Walz. Many businesses, those deemed able to maintain social distancing among customers and safety for employees, are now allowed to open.

I think psychologically, today’s change from “stay home” to “stay safe” will be opening up more than folks’ workplaces; I think it will cause many to let down their guard. Experts caution that “opening up” too soon might unleash a second spike in the COVID 19 curve.

I could easily hear the difference in this morning’s freeway noise. Alas, I’m sure the city’s overall ambient noise level will soon be back to its pre-COVID level.

I wonder if all this living alone might turn me into a hermit. I feel like I’m thriving in some ways. I get to make my own agenda, have things in the house organized the way I like them and focus on tasks for as long as I wish. We’ll see how it goes when Sally comes back home.

There’s a tendency to think of this period as a time of putting life on hold. You know, hunker down and just wait it out. But the problem with that is that I don’t have that much of my life left to live. I must not put on hold my full awareness of life nor my full enjoyment of every moment.

A kind of quarantine renegade movement continues to get more than its share of media coverage. Some are just so anxious to get back to business—their own or shopping at those of others—that they’re engaged in wishful thinking. Others are hard-core Trump supporters who want no one messing with their perceived “rights” to do whatever the fuck they want to do, regardless of whom they might kill in the process.
 
That said, all public health eyes are watching closely to see what happens to these segments of the U.S. population over the next month or so. I do hope someone’s figured out how to identify and track them.

Also, we’re watching Sweden, which has mandated very few containment rules, allowing, instead, each citizen, each business to use common sense. I dare say most Swedes do have more common sense than these redneck Neanderthals in the U.S. who think the whole pandemic is a…yep, hoax.

5/20 Wed.
I met remotely with my shrink this morning.

I decided to take on the challenge of making this coming Memorial Day weekend as close to “normal” as possible. Sally’s coming over Sunday at 5:00. I’ll make my signature mango margaritas (“Jeffs”) and grill cheeseburgers as we always do.

Only real difference is that we’ll be in the garage, with the door open, and about 15 feet apart. We’ll even take in the national Memorial Day concert on TV as always, but we may have to settle for just the sound part, as it will be coming from the TV inside the house.

This seizing of something normal feels good; I’m surprised how excited I am about it.

Another thing that’s exciting and normal is that tomorrow, weather permitting, I’m putting my canoe on top of the car and heading up to Franconia to go out on the St. Croix. This has always been a treasured freedom—and privilege. And the loading, unloading and flipping of my canoe has been an annual proof of my fitness and independence, despite this aging body.

5/21 Thurs.
I went canoeing and fishing on the St. Croix today. It was wonderful getting away from the new routine for a day. Never came close to needing a mask. Got an invigorating dose of both upper body exercise and of Nature. Eagles, orioles, some kind of amazing frog or insect chorus in the woods everywhere I went. Even caught a couple of fish!

5/22 Fri.
Taking inventory of my toilet paper supply, even though when we first heard of the general shortage we fortunately had plenty, I now can see running out in the next few weeks. I should probably start looking for some I can order on-line, assuming that, if it’s even available, it would take a while to get it.

I’m taking a bit of a risk today, heading to Bachman’s Floral for deck pots and window boxes planting stuff. They “request” folks to leave the last hour of the day for older and COVID-vulnerable people to shop with less crowding. But since it’s Memorial Day weekend, we’ll see how that will play out.

Another runner snuck up on me from behind and passed about three feet from me. I yelled, but she—with no ear buds as an excuse—ignored me. Old fart; what do I care, right?

Today I saw a TV spot for breath mints touting their effectiveness on “mask breath.”

The trip to Bachman’s was probably the most risk I’ve encountered since we got home from Mexico in mid-March. Despite their “request” of customers to leave the last hour to seniors and other vulnerable shoppers, it was impossible to get to any of my intended purchases without passing within about four feet of other shoppers.

Everyone but a couple of store employees was wearing a mask. And I had on my N95. The product selection and the quality of several of the plants I wanted were worse than I remember from any previous spring. The check-out process seemed pretty safe.

5/23 Sat.
The constant hiss and hum of the freeway running right behind our complex is back. I’d say it’s back to about 60 percent of pre-quarantine days.

Sylvia, back from her two-day stay with Sally, Jenny, the kids and Archie, exhibited some of the effects that seem associated with the trauma of being hounded by another dog and manhandled by an eight-year-old: swallowing her kibble whole and then throwing up.

I’ve worked on it and I think she now knows what “crunchy-crunchy” means and hasn’t barfed today. Also, I’m doing a pretty good job keeping ahead of any major matting in her coat. She’s learning to accept the grooming, thank goodness. If I can keep it up for another two weeks that’s when she has a grooming appointment.

Speaking of hair, mine’s getting about as long as it’s been since the 70’s. It’s been since March first—eleven weeks instead of the usual six or seven weeks between haircuts. I don’t know when I’ll be okay with seeing my barber again; can’t really see how the process could be safe. Maybe I should turn the denial into opportunity and shoot for a pony tail.f

5/24 Sun.
I feel really good about reclaiming from the jaws of COVID one of Sally’s and my cherished Memorial Day weekend traditions, grilling cheeseburgers on the deck and watching the National Memorial Day concert from Washington. The concert was superbly done considering the restrictions on gatherings.

So no massive crowd on the south lawn of the Capitol. But the hosts, the performers and the stories of brave vets and their families were as heart-rending as usual. And they added a salute to current health care and essential services workers who continue to serve despite the threat of catching the virus.

5/25 Mon. (Memorial Day)
Rainy day. I’m hoping for a break so I can run over to clean up and decorate the graves of my parents.

I’ve been feeling quick outbursts of anger over little things. It’s territory I know well and have been trying to avoid, or at least rise above when they start coming on. I fear it can only get worse as the wear of this now-two-month-old reality starts to show.

My fear of actually catching the virus seems to have abated a bit. I’m somewhat less anxious getting within six feet of Sally, for example. I don’t want to lose my paranoia, as I believe it’s helped me stay safe.

That said, our country’s political and moral calamity is starting to look even more deadly to me. If Trump is not held accountable by the electorate for his laughable behavior and failure of leadership, we are in much deeper shit over this and future public health emergencies, over the looming threat of global climate change, and over the disintegration of democracy, than over this pandemic.

A slight drip has appeared in the water feed line for the main floor toilet. I think I’ve stopped it just be lessening the flow, but it reminds me that I might just have to let maintenance people into the house at some point. Indeed, last week I had to let a technician in to do annual maintenance on the A/C.

I’m glad most everything else in the house was reasonably up to date before this pandemic hit. Fortunately most of our appliances have been replaced in the past four or five years. But a few must surely be on their last legs. I just don’t want anyone coming into the house until this thing’s either much better contained or till there’s a readily available vaccine.

I’ve been seeing many people’s flags flying at half mast. I don’t think it’ just memorial day, but a nod to the 100,000 Americans who’ve already lost their lives to the plague.

I’ve had to cut my personal budget to compensate for the 25% or so reduction in the value of my investments. Surprisingly, giving up my morning latte—also occasioned by the closing of my favorite coffee shop—has been surprisingly easy. I make a decent cup of regular French press coffee.

I’ve ordered a disconnection of our home, land-line telephone and of Earthlink, one of my ISPs, among many other little cuts to the budget. But I realized that planting flowers on our deck would be one luxury I couldn’t cut out. Essential to my soul.

5/26 Tues.
I’ve been watching the graphs showing the trajectory of the pandemic in Minnesota and in the U.S., looking for any indication that we might have reached the peaks. It looks to me like Minnesota’s numbers are still on the increase, though both numbers of new cases and of new deaths definitely have started leveling off.

Looking at the national numbers, both new cases and new deaths are on a clear downslope, with the peak having occurred around mid April.

While this is very good news and gives me some long-awaited hope—by no means certainty, but hope—I think we should expect the widespread movement to start opening up businesses and some social activities to have an impact, probably another spike.

Nonetheless, it’s hard to see from these numbers, how the pandemic will last as long as the two years some epidemiologists are predicting.

Hard to believe it’s already the end of May. It seems like we’ve basically lost our spring. This recalls my previous entry about how important it will be not to simply mark time during this crisis, but to embrace and celebrate the time. Life’s too short to write off even one precious day. But I still get these waves of sadness and feelings of loss.

I think it has to do with other, coincident crises that are impacting the U.S. and the world. I cannot overstate the outrage—the intolerable outrage—of having Donald Trump occupying the office of the presidency. His hard core followers, incredibly, see nothing lacking in his management of nation’s pandemic response, not his increasingly bizarre, obviously disturbed behavior.

I’m taking some solace in my get-out-the-vote letter writing, but it feels kind of abstract in the face of the immediate, life-and-death impact of this cretin’s criminal negligence.

It’s getting to me having to rely on Sally to bring me my groceries. Not a big deal in itself, but tonight I opened my last container of plain yogurt—one of my staples—only to discover that it’s vanilla. Now, I’m running low on a few other items and since we’re meeting tomorrow morning at 11:00, it won’t be possible for her to shop for me by that time. So I’ll have to wait till our next meeting Sunday.

5/27 Wed.
They say it’s important, when weathering a crisis, for one to nurture a vision of things to look forward to. That’s been quite hard during the pandemic, since its duration is so unpredictable.

Still, I believe the advice and look forward to many things: Sally’s coming home in a couple of weeks, albeit with no date certain at which we can be sure she’s not infected (because she’ll be caring for her grandkids at least once every other week—so, maybe the week before she does that might be relatively low-risk for contagion).

After that—who knows when—I look forward to when everyone can get vaccinated, when Sally and I can sit close to each other free of worry, including taking trips in the car.

This summer, we’re both looking forward to our long-planned drive up to the Gunflint Trail to spend a few days at Poplar Haus with our friends Todd and Caren. We’ll still have to be very careful, I’m afraid, but we all think it’s doable.

I look forward very much to being able once again to call on hospice patients. That too will hinge on the discovery of a vaccine.

Last night, it appears Minneapolis police needlessly killed a black suspect in the attempted passing of a counterfeit $20 bill at a store. One of four officers at the scene is shown in a bystander’s video kneeling with his full weight on the man’s neck as he lay face down on the pavement. He is heard to say “Please, I can’t breathe!”

There didn’t seem any cause for the duration of the hold, which continued for several minutes, even after the man had stopped moving, and despite the protests of bystanders.

Tonight, violence has broken out in the area around the city’s Third Precinct headquarters. Looting of a Target and other stores, one store set ablaze and objects thrown at police.

I mention this because I’m quite sure the pandemic and its effects on the psyches of everyone is playing a role in how this new crisis is unfolding. I suspect things might get much worse.

5/28 Thur.
Beautiful morning. I took a double risk—calculated ones—this morning: Dropping Sylvia at doggie day care wasn’t bad; not much contact at all, and this time Vicki was wearing a mask.

The second venture felt more risky. I stopped at Pletcher’s greenhouse on my way back from doggie day care and bought the remainder of the stuff I’ll need to finish plantings on the deck. Aisles were tight, but they had them signed “one-way.” Not everyone noticed the signs.

And checkout left a bit to be desired. I had to load my items into my cart after they were handled by the clerk, give and take my credit card and sign for the purchase. I had my N95 mask on and wore gloves, so I’m not too worried, but the protocol was definitely full of holes for someone at risk.

After spending over $250 on gardening stuff between Pletcher’s and Bachman’s last weekend, my new, bare-bones budget is now full of holes too. I’m justifying it as a mental health necessity.

5/29 Fri.
It’s been a good, and safe, day. Two good walks with Sylvie. Very pleasant cocktails and music on the deck at 5:30.

This morning I had a video meeting with my dentist about the troubling gum inflammation behind one of my top front teeth. I didn’t want to risk the problem blowing up over the weekend and requiring a trip to urgent care or the ER. We decided on a conservative course of treatment—basically just home-remedy stuff—and keeping an eye on it for a few days. Fingers crossed…

The violence in response to yesterday’s police murder of George Floyd continues tonight, this time further east along Lake Street, despite this morning’s announcement the cop directly responsible has been arrested and charged with second-degree murder.

Again the mayhem has put hundreds of people in close proximity to each other, some with masks. It remains to be seen if this will impel another spike in COVID 19 cases. And it’s getting closer to home for Sally and me, with our Walgreen’s and our newly-discovered Mexican restaurant, La Poblanita, along East Lake St. both being trashed and looted.

5/30 Sat.
More, and worse, rioting last night. Many businesses trashed, looted and burned all along Lake St., as close as about a mile from our home. That ominous scene of news (and possibly police) helicopters hovering over the area, clearly visible from where we are.

Sally went grocery shopping for me again this afternoon. Even though our closest Cub is in the Quarry shopping center seemingly out of harm’s way, the nearby Target was closed and boarded up, and she said Cub was extremely crowded, with check-out lines running all the way to the back of the store.

Once again—predictably—Trump, to his base’s delight, is doing all he can to fan the flames, tweeting ridiculous race-baiting barbs, and then threatening to close down Twitter when they started marking his tweets as the lying bullshit they are.

Only a week until Sally comes home. It will be wonderful to re-unite, albeit pretty tentatively, as our little three-member family. But I’d be lying if I said I’m not worried about the possible opening this will provide for the virus. I’m still not sure how I—and, more importantly, we—will cope with that risk and my paranoia.

It would be one thing if it were a one-time challenge, just quarantining Sally for a couple weeks and then both staying out of harm’s way as much as possible. But with Sally continuing to spend time with her grandkids, the risk will renew every two weeks.

5/31 Sun.
Seemed like a lot more helicopters late this afternoon—around 5:30—many headed not so much toward Lake St. as due west, around the U. of M. Turns out a semi oil tanker somehow got onto I-94 just as they were closing it off. Meanwhile, at the Mississippi bridge, a few thousand people were marching peacefully on the freeway.

In a huge stroke of luck, the marchers managed to get out of the way and the driver stopped. The cab was mobbed and the driver pulled out and beaten, but quick response by some in the crowd and by arriving police saved the man, who was arrested.

The rest of the evening was tense, but no major injuries or property damage.

Tonight, walking around the East River Mews complex was wonderfully, eerily quiet. With the freeways shut down, the unrelenting hiss of tire treads on concrete was completely gone. I could actually hear myself breathe — easily the quietest evening here since we moved in twelve years ago!

6/1 Mon.
Beautiful day, getting summery-hot. Had to shorten our PM walk since Sylvie slows down when it’s hot.

My gum infection is feeling better. Very relieved that I may not have to have it looked at by anyone.

In a sign of things improving, Minneapolis curfew will start at 10:00 PM tonight instead of the 8:00 hour the past few nights.

It dawns on me that, in the grand scheme of things, the coincidence of COVID19, global climate change, a leadership vacuum in Washington and the institutional racism exposed by the death of George Floyd might not be…well… a coincidence. Might mean that the Universe has run out of patience merely suggesting that the most destructive creature ever to inhabit this planet start changing a few things, and is now insisting that we change everything...now.

6/2 Tues.
I’m finding myself starting to compromise on my original vision and strategy for keeping myself safe from the virus. In looking forward to Sally’s return, and eventually wanting and needing to get back to my studio, and to socialize a bit, I just can’t see doing it without relaxing some of my hyper-paranoid notions of proper distancing, mask usage and sanitizing protocols.

And after such a long period of time living with these distasteful measures and not catching the bug, instead of reinforcing those measures’ importance, is starting to make me wonder how necessary they really are. I’m not proud of it, but if it were clearer that people who defy social distancing and mask-wearing recommendations—whether swarming the beach, standing elbow-to-elbow in a bar, or marching hand-in-hand to protest the killing of George Floyd—do, indeed, get sick at a higher rate than others, that would help reinforce the necessity for me.

I need to fight this urge. The stakes are too high. Maybe it will come down to more carefully assessing certain risks. For example, can Sally and I sit in our Lazy Boys, in their accustomed positions about four feet apart, if we’re both masked?

Meanwhile, a new study published in the Lanset further insists that social distancing is perhaps the biggest factor in preventing spread of the virus, and that even the difference between six feet and two meters (a bit over six-and-a-half feet and much of the world’s guideline) makes a significant difference.

I INSERT HERE A POST I’VE JUST PUBLISHED IN MY BLOG, ONE MAN’S WONDER, ON THE PITFALL OF PUTTING ONE’S ATTITUDE, ONE’S LIFE, ON HOLD AS WE WAIT FOR AN END TO THE PANDEMIC.

It’s early evening on a hot, humid, July-like day. A thunderstorm is rolling through. I’m sitting here writing, something I find very satisfying. Sylvia’s curled up at my feet and I’m nursing a martini—with capers instead of olives.

The happiness of the moment has just expanded to an intense appreciation—it feels almost holy—of how blessed I am in the face of so much pain, tragedy, hate and grief in the world.

Tonight, I’m watching Stephen Colbert again. He’s become my go-to late-night host because I so appreciate his intelligent, scathing, no-holds-barred barrage on Trump. It helps me remain sane during the nightmare, which gets worse every day.

6/3 Wed.
It was a wonderful day. Gorgeous weather; time with Sally at our little park; an afternoon / evening out on the St. Croix—this time (first time) with Sylvia. It’s pretty easy to forget the pandemic and the many-whammy state of chaos in the world when you’re paddling a canoe and fishing.

I’m so grateful that I’m able to be this independent, including still being able to flip my canoe up and down from my shoulders.

I had a few moments of frustration today which verged on rage. I’d say I can blame at least a part of it on the impact of all these life-and-death things I worry about, but I’ve had these outbursts now and then even BT (before Trump). I must learn to catch myself as I slip into one of these outbursts; I can’t be the kind of man I want to be and still fly off the handle.

6/4 Thurs.
I’d love to see data showing COVID infection rates by political leaning. I suppose that’s not as easy as I’d wish, but it sure would help reinforce my barely suppressed wish that these Trumpies who insist the virus came from the Chinese, and in the same breath claim it doesn’t exist, would pay a fitting price for their ignorance.

I’m seeing more and more cultural changes due to the COVID 19 pandemic. Among them, masks joining cigarette butts and candy wrappers as items commonly littered. I find at least one on the boulevard or in the street every day.

The other is seeing TV spots advertising masks. The one I just saw touts its product as washable and infused with silver to absorb and filter out the virus.

On my way home from picking Sylvia up at doggy daycare, I came to the intersection just off the exit to University Ave. from Hwy. 280, and there was what looked like a whole company of the National Guard and their vehicles just waiting in the parking lot.

Some soldiers seemed to be on watch all around the area, and all were armed. Few wore masks. It reminded me of the first time we saw heavily-armed troops driving around our Mexico getaway, Zihuatanejo. In that case, it’s the drug wars, and they’re always masked to protect their identity.

6/5 Fri.
I’m getting sick and tired of yielding the sidewalk to people who either don’t look like they’re about to move for me, or maybe do move onto the boulevard, but not far enough for me to feel safe.

Just this morning I’m walking Sylvia on Franklin where there’s about two feet of boulevard between the sidewalk and the busy street. It’s our usual morning route, where she picks up lots of scents she recognizes and usually gets the urge to poop. But just as we were approaching the most fruitful stretch, here comes a couple basically taking up the whole sidewalk.

I don’t want to get stuck with Sylvie in the middle of a poop, unable to move as two people I’m positive are infected pass within two feet. They’re almost on us, so I yank her toward the street, wait a few seconds for a bus to pass, and then head for the other side of the street.

Nope. Another couple has laid claim to that sidewalk. Sylvie and I wait in the middle of Franklin Avenue for them to pass. Fortunately, there’s a lull in the traffic.

Not that this one episode is enough to think twice about, but it’s been happening in one form or another—on a few occasions resulting in my nearly brushing shoulders with a panting, maskless runner or biker—and I’m fed up. I’m not sure I have any options.

I suppose I could stand my ground in a sort of COVID chicken game. Or put the heel of my hand against pursed lips and make a farting noise. Oh…no…I’ve got it;  just start coughing really loudly.

6/6 Sat.
It was a banner day. I ventured out (and in) more than I have since the whole pandemic response started. Sylvia to the pet groomer, which, among other businesses, even those requiring fairly close contact, like hair salons, gyms and restaurants, are allowed to open with some restrictions; to my studio, which really isn’t much of a risk; to Walgreen’s for prescription refills (Our regular Walgreen’s, nearby on Lake Street, was torched during the riots this week.

So I filled the order at another Walgreen’s, at least four miles away on Larpenteur. And even that location had its drive-through destroyed in the unrest. So I had to actually walk into the store to get my prescriptions.) And then another walk-in, to pick up flowers for Sally’s return at Soderberg’s on Lake Street, which was also damaged during the protests and was still boarded up.

Finally, to Zipp’s Liquors on Franklin, just across the bridge from our home—yet another business vandalized and looted, crippling their curbside service. So a fifth walk-in, minimal-distancing venture of the day.

Sally came home this afternoon. It’s wonderful to have her around again, and I’m sure it’s great for her too. But we both recognize that the situation isn’t ideal in terms of virus safety. We’ll see how it goes.

6/7 Sun.
Our reclaiming of “normal” continues. Sally and I—and Sylvie—are enjoying sitting six feet apart with masks on and talking, just being together.

We ordered breakfast from Al’s and picked it up curbside. That was a welcome return to a near-normal routine for us. And we’re glad to help support owner Alison and her crew.

6/8 Mon.
After a good night’s sleep, I awoke and listened to a radio panel discussion of the psychology of people’s weathering crises—specifically, how we begin to rationalize, perhaps reshuffle priorities when assessing risk. It hit me as a wake-up call.

The scientific reality of this process, the exact rationalizing and reshuffling I’ve been finding such relief in the past few days, is that it may make us fees a whole lot better, but does nothing to diminish the risk itself.

So when I came downstairs and Sally and I jostled for position in our five-by-ten kitchen, it hit me all over again how risky it will be when Sally continues inherently risky behavior like caring for grandkids, shopping (with only a cloth mask) and getting her hair done.

Basically, to give myself the best chance, I have to assume that she has the virus all the time—because I can’t be sure she doesn’t. And both her exposure level and frequency, and her lack of understanding of how the virus can spread increase the odds of her catching it.

Even with my loosening up my comings and going a bit, the fact that I’m isolating every one of them with a properly fitted N95 mask makes me feel quite secure. But the relative certainty that our house is uncontaminated, a luxury I’ve been enjoying with for the past three months, no longer exists.

We talked about it, and she’s showing signs that, as much as she wants to protect me, my asking her to tighten her security regimen is going to become somehow competitive: If you’re so worried about my being around my daughter, her husband and grandkids with at best a cloth mask, then you have to give up some of your hopes for getting out and about and just keep sheltering in place as you have for the past three months.

I don’t know how to resolve the matter, other than to ask her to move back to living with Jenny, Joe and the kids, which I’m not going to do, because it means so much to me to finally have her home. One measure she promised is to wear her N95 mask while with the kids indoors. I appreciated that, but still can see no end to my anxiety.

After all of that, I’ve headed to my studio, where I’m quite safe since no one but me ever comes into the room. I think spending much of every day here will have to become part of my strategy. Here, even when I go to the bathroom, I can pretty much control my exposure.

The studio is also a place where I feel comfortable meditating, a daily practice that I’ve dispensed with while sheltering in place with Sylvia at home. It will be a great help resuming that.

6/9 Tues.
Yesterday it hit 96 degrees here in the Twin Cities. One of my Facebook acquaintances lost his A/C and was lamenting the bind that put him in. With movie theaters, libraries and other public spaces with A/C now closed, he felt he had no option but to sweat it out for two days till his appointment with the repair person.

I’m thinking more about the various types of masks folks are wearing, and their relative effectiveness in preventing infection for both the wearer and others nearby. There’s a list of various materials, from tee-shirt cotton to paper towels to coffee filters. Near the top of the list is canvas.

But these ratings are based on the assumption that people will actually be drawing inhaled air through the fabric itself and not around the mask’s edges. The metaphor I see is that even a mask with a particle filtering capability ten times greater than an N95 respirator, if it’s not fitted properly—sealed to the user’s face all around its perimeter—is no more effective than a dam that spans only 3/4 of the width of the river.

I’m afraid there are lots and lots of people out there who don’t understand this, and may have a false sense of security when around others. Now that Sally’s home, I’m learning for myself how easy it is to forget one’s protection while engaged in a task or a conversation.

Many of these COVID-era days, I get through to late afternoon and wonder where all the time has gone. I feel like I’m busier than before the pandemic—all the time. Well, I realize that’s due to several unusual factors, including extra time taking care of myself (long hand washings, donning and maintaining masks, being extra-thorough with my nasal/sinus care, including Neti rinses, etc.).

There’s also keeping in touch (calls to friends & family who are alone or having a hard time, and note-writing in lieu of my normal face-to-face hospice volunteer work). And lots of time—as much as a couple of hours every day—spent researching the latest information and best practices for preventing transmission.

I wonder, if this virus or others were to hang around for generations as some experts predict, how we humans might adapt physically. Might we start losing some of the touch and strength of our fingertips because we’ve been using other parts of our hands to touch surfaces? Might our lungs get stronger for the extra work it takes to draw air through masks?

6/10 Wed.
I finally got around to planting three rather scrawny tomato plants in our little half-plot in the community garden. Clearly, while the rest of us may be hunkered down and socially distancing, the weeds have no such problems. They were thick, and many over a foot tall.

Anyway, though it was a lot of work, it felt so good to work that tiny patch of soil and do something that feels like ever-so-small an investment in the future.

Sally and I continue getting accustomed to staying apart while being together. Because she dislikes wearing a mask so much (who doesn’t?), she’s adopted a rule of having it on only when we’re both on the same level of our home. She’s being so patient and understanding. She must really love me.

To help give her a sense of more freedom in her own home, I’ve decided to spend as much time as possible at my studio. That way, she can get done what she has to do without the claustrophobia.

I had a long conversation with my daughter, Amanda, about her determination to come to Zihuatanejo next March for my birthday (a trip thwarted this year by the pandemic). This, though there remain some hurdles, has done the most to lift my spirits of anything I can think of.

Questions remain about the safety of flying anywhere, and the status of the pandemic as the time for that trip approaches. It looks like the cost and availability of flights won’t be a problem.

6/12 Fri.
More adjustments, both in behavior and, more importantly, in attitude to get my heart and soul out of their hiatus:

Shopping for a very high quality mask I can substitute for my few remaining N95s. Looks like one made in Israel—multi-layer, copper-infused, washable, very comfortable looking…and $50 each—might be it, but waiting for a reply from them as to whether it has a nose wire.

Sally and I walked up to our favorite coffee shop, the Workhorse, on University Ave. , which has finally re-opened with a walk-up window. Very nice to have my usual latte after more than three months without (though I still need to stick to one a week as part of my budget slashing).

I have two social events this weekend: tonight, with my Spanish-speaking pals, Silverio and Larry in Silverio’s back yard for drinks and dinner; and tomorrow with Sally to our friends, Todd and Caren’s house for the same.

After a very pleasant get-together with Larry and Silverio, I’m left with a concern that, with so much “normalcy” now being reclaimed by so many around the world, and epidemiologists warning that there will be a price to pay for it, we are nowhere near the peak of this pandemic.

Michael Osterholm, the renowned Minnesota epidemiologist, agrees, promising that there will inevitably be longer and larger peaks ahead, likely in the fall and winter, and that ultimately roughly 70 percent of the population will have to get the virus before anything like a “herd immunity” will be achieved.

Osterholm is also quite guarded in his anticipation of a vaccine, stressing that it will likely take at least a year for one to be available to the public. And that, even then, that relief will probably have to be considered only a temporary remedy as the virus persists in adapting to our best defenses.

It remains to be seen how the hope so many of us are beginning to allow back into our lives will survive reality’s persistence.

6/13 Sat.
We had another social gathering tonight, with friends Todd and Caren, sitting in lawn chairs on the boulevard in front of their house. It was fun and felt fairly safe given that it was outdoors and it was breezy.

But the resentment I’ve expected to arise from Sally about her distancing from me and masking arose in the car on our way home. She feels I have a double standard, feeling free to mingle with my friends and others without my mask, but not with her. She feels I think of her as somehow “dirty.”

She cites my time with Silverio and Larry last night, during which I was as careful as possible given that I needed to unmask to eat and drink. And the fact that I walked to within six feet of both Todd and Caren tonight to reach the chips and guacamole. On this latter point she was right, and I need to re-evaluate why I felt I could take that risk, but still feel I have to mask while in the car with Sally.

This discussion has brought to the fore once again my feeling of dread—which has consumed me a couple of times since this all started—that, ultimately, there’s no realistic way I can control my exposure to possible infection unless I live alone.

It may well be that this, like anything else in life, will require compromise, but the increased risk, however small, leaves me feeling very apprehensive. And quite alone. And sad.

6/14 Sun.
I’ve really been getting into researching and buying a face mask that will work well defensively, short of an N-95, which are unavailable anywhere right now. There seems to be some merit to a couple of Israeli masks which employ copper-infused fabrics. They are re-usable up to 30 times, or up to 90 days. Very expensive, though—$30 - $50 each.

I really want a mask that fits well and is easier to breathe through than the N-95. Re-usability is important to me too.

The key for me, regardless of how well the fabric filters out particles, and fights bacterial growth, is how well the mask conforms to the face, especially over the bridge of the nose. Unfortunately, about half of the ones I’d consider do not have a metal strip or wire to conform to the nose.

I’m still feeling quite low, alone with my fear of catching the virus. Sally, though I’m convinced she’s doing the best she can, will never understand. And I’m still left to ponder what activities and commitments are important enough to compromise my most paranoid of instincts.

After hours of research, I decided on the Sonovia mask from Israel — zinc-infused, with very good filtration of all particles bigger than 5 microns (N-95 masks take out particles greater than 3 microns.) I had to buy a pack of three masks. Cost: $159, including shipping. They need either paper tape or a loose metal strip—which I requested— to shape the mask to the bridge of my nose. Can’t wait to get them!

6/15 Mon.
Well, another week starts. It’s getting pretty hard to distinguish one day from another, weekday from weekend.

If all I had to go on were the daily graphs of Minnesota and US COVID stats, I’d be encouraged. All the graphs seem to show that most areas have passed their peaks. But the experts still say the worst is surely yet to come, suggesting that there will be more peaks, the one this fall possibly being the highest.

I’m still struggling with what feels, logistically, like shutting down, putting life on hold. Yet, I know I somehow have to keep my spirit, my hopes, my joy alive and kicking. It helps to talk about it as Sally and I do, and as we did Saturday with Todd and Caren. But ultimately, this buoyancy of spirit has to come from within.

I think it’s a case of being as well-informed as one can, having the best survival tools one can get, following the real experts’ guidelines, and then let go of the worry. Easier said than done. Writing about it helps.

6/16 Tues.
I’m finding it harder and harder to get up in the morning. I know this is not a good sign of my mental state. I’m definitely feeling down, especially since Sally’s and my discussion the other night about our respective efforts to stay safe.

It’s the futility of all the concern and work I’ve invested over the past three months in avoiding the virus. The only way I can be reasonable certain I won’t catch it, is to live by myself and never go out of the house. But with Sally’s needs and her comings and goings factored in—not to mention my own growing hunger for independence—that will clearly be impossible.

And, still, no one who’s credible has given me any reason to keep hoping that there’ll be a vaccine very soon. Fauci is still saying at the very least a year.

To keep from sinking into an ever-deeper hole, I’m going to have to get out of myself. I must get back to my systematic calling and e-mailing of friends and relatives I know are isolated. And it would help a great deal if I could get back into my lampshade crafting. That’s proving quite hard to do.

I keep hoping the stock market will continue its unexpectedly-steep rate of recovery shown since it plummeted back in March. Though I’m concerned it might give Trump something to crow about. (Not that he needs any real accomplishment to do that; he’ll just make something up.)

In the past week, though, there have been some pretty hefty drops in the market as investors apparently feel some of the same despair I’ve been feeling.

I took my own advice to myself and reached out to a few friends and family members this afternoon. This included my son, Jeff, with whom I’ve had quite limited correspondence for many years. You know, birthdays, Fathers Days, a very  occasional in-person visit…and that’s all.

But today, we had a wonderful, hour-long chat by phone. And what makes it even better is that he initiated the call! I’m not sure this has anything to do with the COVID 19 crisis, but it sure gave us a lot to talk about, as did the racial justice awakening since George Floyd’s death a couple weeks ago.

6/17 Wed.
Once again, I’m so grateful for waking up with no COVID symptoms. I must get through the day with no lapses in judgement or protocol.

Spurred my recent discussions with Sally about how careful I need to be, I’ve made
an appointment (video) with my wonderful ENT, Dr. Seth Janus. I want to ask him how his patients with the degree of bronchiectasis I have fared against the virus since the outbreak started here. What are my odds? Am I right that I’d likely not survive?  And where might I get more of my precious N95 respirators—or even KN95s?

6/18 Thur.
Yesterday’s visit with Dr. Janus has made a huge difference in both Sally’s and my outlooks. He supported most of my efforts to avoid COVID 19, but assured me that my bronchiectasis is nowhere near the worst he’s seen and that, given my good overall physical condition and lack of any serious vulnerability besides age, my chances of surviving a bout with the virus would be quite good—about 90 percent as he put it.

Still, that’s not a chance I’m willing to gamble much on. But it does remove a very important barrier that’s been troubling both Sally and me: our—especially her--feeling we have to wear masks while anywhere near each other in the house. Dr. J. said he feels that measure is not worth it, considering the risk/reward ratio.

This is a great relief. I feel like the knife’s edge distinction between safety and sanity has been ground down, rounded off to one that can no longer cut.  

6/19 Fri.
Now that I know for sure even my ENT can’t get me N95 masks, I’ve ordered a few KN95 masks from MedicalSupplies.com. Highway robbery at $10 each, but I’ll feel a lot better knowing I have some extras after rotating the old N95s I already have. Dr. Janus confirmed my hunch that rotating just two or three masks, leaving each one to sit for several days after use, should allow any virus on it to die off.

6/20 Sat.
Got out in my canoe yesterday, on the St. Croix River, my happy place. Nature always fills my soul, connecting me with all of life beyond COVID 19.

Tonight is Trump’s big, ill-advised rally in Tulsa. I’m finding it impossible not to hope there’s a massive infection of all those shunning masks because they think they’re a sign of liberal weakness. My sympathies lie not with a single one of them—all forced to sign away any rights to sue the Trump campaign for infecting them—but with those innocent folks they’ll be infecting in the coming couple of weeks.

On the other hand, if a pronounced spike in COVID cases doesn’t materialize, I fear for something even worse, the collapse of our democracy.

I’m anxious to get the masks I’ve ordered, especially the copper-infused ones from Israel. I think there’s an element of fashion to this. I feel exactly the way I would after ordering a really nice shirt or pair of shoes. Not that these masks are especially attractive— just white with black edges, I think.

So maybe it’s more like ordering something more functional…like a watch or fishing reel.

As life begins feeling more normal, I must remain conscious of my distance and watchful for those who are not conscious of theirs. And I must remember that, as blessed as I am and, so far, everyone I know is, today alone there are 28,000 new cases and 700 deaths—in the US alone. Millions have had their lives cruelly interrupted, and so many have died, many of them all alone.

6/21 Sun.
It’s Father’s Day, my second such personal holiday—after my March 21 birthday—celebrated under the cloud of COVID 19. I feel well-remembered by my kids—and their mother, God bless her. But as I sit here watching the 4:00 PM skies darken with storm clouds, the darkness feels connected to a lump of darkness yet in my soul.

Why don’t I focus on the many, many blessings I still enjoy—and which I’ve touched on more than once here?

I saw a TV commercial tonight—for an automotive accessory, I think—offering a free ten-pack of face masks as a sales incentive. They’re definitely becoming a part of life here. In parts of Asia, they’ve been commonplace for some time.

6/22 Mon.
I’m worried about Sally’s ability to stay safe. Yesterday, she went to a father’s day party at daughter Jenny’s house. I’m not sure how much distancing was even possible, but I do know that she’s very hands-on about most things. She does, though, do a pretty good job of masking when she interacts with people.

On my end, I will be taking a bit of a risk tonight, meeting with my men’s group in person for the first time since the pandemic started. We’ll be at Lake Harriet in the picnic area, where, especially nowadays, there are likely to be lots of people. We’ll see how well we can distance — from each other and from others. I should be prepared to bow out if I’m not comfortable with the situation.

As comfortable as I’ve been feeling about my ability to get through this, I heard once again that worldwide the pandemic is showing no signs of going away any time soon. In fact, at least one expert I read about this morning says it will likely be here for another two years!

C’mon, researchers! Hit a walk-off homer for us!

This afternoon, while I was taking a delicious, breezy nap on the screen porch, between doze and dream, a couple of things came to mind. First, I wondered if I’ll ever be carefree again.

The other, odd as it may seem, is that I’ll bet sales of cold and flu remedies are way down this year—even over the rather slow pace summer always brings. With everyone wearing masks and distancing, I just can’t imagine many cold germs getting around.

More specifically, I don’t recall any time period during the past decade during which I haven’t contracted as much as a cold. A silver lining, albeit perhaps a tarnished one.

6/23 Tues.
My nerves are once again getting raw over the conflict between what the public health officials are saying about the continuing threat of the virus, and what people are doing to reclaim normalcy. I’m afraid these folks, like the mostly under-20 group I saw last night at Lake Harriet maskless and getting very close, quite accustomed to instant gratification, simple don’t take it seriously.

6/24 Wed.
Last night I turned on the Tennis Channel and watched my first COVID-era pro tennis match. No audience, no line judges; just the chair umpire, one ball-boy and the two players. The players were on their honor to call their opponent’s shots in or out.

It was so odd watching a really amazing point played out, with a brilliant shot winning the point, with not a peep of applause. I wander if athletes feel, as those in music and drama do, that an audience is an indispensable part of their performance.

6/25 Thur.
With what seems an immutable urge to “re-open”—businesses, social events, pro sports—and some segments of society in outright denial of the pandemic, the virus has wasted no time in showing us who’s in charge here; infection rates are up dramatically in those states that eased restrictions most hastily.

It’s hard not to see the dark underbelly of the beast. We—as individuals, as communities, as a nation—have apparently decided some of our countrymen are to be sacrificed so that our social lives and the almighty economy can get back on track.

Of course, there are degrees of nuance to this. Most of us have rationalized to some extent how far we’re willing to go to protect others…even to protect ourselves. But the elephant in the room is the weighing, by many, of our personal and societal freedoms versus the safety of the most vulnerable.

And, as is appears today, Gramps and cousin Elsa with her heart condition are not tipping the scales. How will history judge us?

Reflecting back on our truncated stay in Mexico and the gut-wrenching decision we had to make back then, I’m so grateful we decided to head home right away. Since then, even though the U.S. has failed miserably to manage the COVID 19 crisis, Mexico is by no means out of the woods.

At that time, we were thinking our imagined time horizon for any of our scenarios was a few weeks, maybe a month. Now it’s clear that we may be talking more than a year. And the idea of being stuck in Mexico—in a town not known for any very sophisticated medical / hospital care, and, as I understand it, not a single ventilator—has long since become the stuff of nightmares.

6/26 Fri.
It’s been nearly three-and-a-half months now since Sally and I became aware that COVID 19 might affect our lives. The ways the federal government and the respective states have dealt with the crisis are telling.

The president’s leadership by denial has proven disastrous, already costing tens of thousands of lives. Many of the governors onto whom he thrust responsibility have taken on the challenge much like the way eldest children take on family responsibilities when a parent is rendered incompetent by drugs or alcohol.

I’m happy and proud to say our own governor Tim Walz has been among that number. Other governors, along with some local officials and other Trump lemmings, have bought into the president’s denial and criminal optimism, forcing businesses and organizations to open prematurely and encouraging folks to shun social distancing and mask wearing as symbols of liberal meddling with their “God-given freedoms.”

Those states and municipalities have now become—big surprise—hot spots in rates of infection. Spikes in their death rates will likely follow. And the denier-in-chief’s response? Since testing is showing these COVID spikes, just stop the testing and we’ll be fine. Unbelievable!

Some observations about money during the pandemic:
At my last meeting with my financial advisor, he heaped praise on me for my nice, low percentage-of-earnings spending over the past quarter. Well, duh-h-h, what could I have been spending on, besides groceries, prescriptions and the occasional fill-up of gas. So, call this a silver lining of the crisis.

I read this morning that the nation’s supply and flow of coins has been completely thrown off by the C-bug. Count me among the many, apparently, who’ve made it a point to handle cash as little as possible, paying instead by credit card. I’ve even refused coin change a few times while paying in cash, guessing that metal is a better host for the virus than paper.

6/27 Sat.
It’s hard to overstate the impact the corona virus is having—and will have—on the U.S. elections. The recent Wisconsin primary proved that forcing voters to congregate, even stretched out in long waiting lines, at physical polling sites. And the very logical solution, voting by mail, is being opposed by Trump and his minions because they feel—with little if any proof—it enables more folks likely to vote Democatic than Republican.

Of course, this fits right into the broader republican voter-suppression strategy, one that couldn’t possibly play out any better for undermining Americans’ trust in the centerpiece of democracy if Vladimir Putin had personally engineered it.

My super-duper, copper-infused, $50-apiece masks arrived from Israel. I’m pretty disappointed. First, they’re too small to fit my fairly average adult male face, their height not quite spanning the distance between my chin and the bridge of my nose. Second, the first one I removed from its cellophane wrapper had two minor production flaws.

Finally, though I knew there was no metal nose strip integral to the mask, I was sure the separate strips they provided could be sewn onto the mask to make it seal to my face all around. Sadly, the too-short length of the strip, combined with the too-short height of the mask still leaves gaps on either side of my nose where air gushes in and out.

So my hopes for an effective mask that doesn’t look as formal and off-putting as my N95s, are dashed. When it really counts, I’ll have to go with the N95s—or one of the two new KN95s I just bought.

6/28 Sun.
I recently imagined here how profoundly things will change when we actually know someone who has the corona virus. That has transpired, albeit a bit more remotely than I’d pictured.

A friend of Sally’s daughter, Jenny, and her husband, just tested positive for the virus. And Jenny and Joe have just spent a weekend together with him in close proximity. We learned this just this morning, as Sally was packing up for a much-anticipated day together with Jenny and her family, and her son and his family who drove up from Texas.

Suddenly all plans have changed to avoid contact with the possible carriers. Sally and I are both very relieved—I told her I feel supported—that our family is so aware and so respectful. The main concern is Jenny and Matt’s dad, who’s been battling cancer. I probably come in second with my bronchial condition.

It’s a strange mix of emotions, but what rises to the surface are love and gratitude.

6/29 Mon.
I’m getting accustomed to my new $50 Israeli masks. Though the fit’s a bit small, I like how closely they fit to the face. So I don’t have to inhale the half-a-fist-sized pocket of just exhaled carbon dioxide before any fresh air reaches my nose. With the  metal nose strip I sewed on, and the fabric that close to my mouth and nostrils, I do manage to get most of the air I inhale to actually go through the fabric.

Donald S. Trump continues to utterly abandon the American public with his criminal negligence in failing to exert the slightest leadership during the COVID 19 crisis. He’s still shunting responsibility of leadership to states, cities…anyone with a clue. And he’s actively encouraging folks to gather in close quarters without masks—anywhere, but especially at his rallies.

The “smoking gun” showing his true colors is the fact that his campaign makes all attendees at his rallies sign a waiver promising they’ll not sue if they catch the virus while there. Where the hell is republican party leadership as this imbecile continues to kill tens of thousands of Americans by his reckless, irresponsible behavior.

6/30 Tues.
I may have mentioned this before in this log, but I fear that public health officials and political leaders (pointedly excluding Donald Trump and his lackeys), while focusing on the COVID 19 virus as it is, will fail to anticipate what it might become.

I’m no expert, but I think viruses, like fires, are moving targets. You have to treat them not only where they are, but also where your anticipate they’re going to be. In the case of the corona virus, that means understanding its ability, just when we think we might have it contained, to morph into something else. Like perhaps it learns to hover longer in the air, spread through our pets, or even resist whatever vaccine we might come up with.

Even if we do this, shouldn’t we assume, as we’re working to anticipate what it might do, that it might be doing the same? Not a pleasant thought, but one I hope folks smarter than myself are considering.

7/1 2020 Wed.
This morning infectious diseases expert Anthony Fauci is saying that, if we don’t quickly pull in the reins on the latest surges of COVID 19 in those states which rushed the re-opening of commerce, the nation could soon be seeing infection rates of 100,000 per day.

And still there are those who deny the seriousness of the threat and defy common sense social distancing and masking rules. They continue to personify the Trump era, racing toward a cliff they either insist isn’t there or from which they demand the right to plummet.

If that’s all there were to it, I’d say fine, go ahead and kill yourselves—fewer idiots left to vote for their reality-star hero come November. But each of them will infect at least a few others, some of who will not deserve their fate.

7/2 Thur.
Many states and municipalities have re-instated social-distancing and mask-wearing recommendations, including some outright mandates. Minnesota Governor Tim Walz, even though the state has been managing the pandemic relatively well, is considering a masking mandate.

The upcoming Independence Day holiday is already feeling strange. Not that we’re exactly partiers, but it seems like a day of gatherings, maybe even mass gatherings for concerts or to watch fireworks. There apparently will be some of those things going on, but we—and the experts—still feel that’s foolhardy.

I went canoeing and fishing again on the St. Croix River. Again, it was wonderful escaping any notion of caution while outdoors. On the way up, though, I stopped in Chicago City to buy night crawlers, and no one in the bait shop, including the kid behind the counter was masked.

Shortly after that I passed a Chicago County patrol officer who’d just pulled someone over on the highway. They were talking face to face, about three feet apart, neither of them masked. Are such folks ignorant of what the science says; do they know what the science says and just don’t care about anyone but themselves; or are they Trump supporters, which would encompass both those sins?

7/5 Sun.
Hard to believe this warped summer is half over. The Fourth of July yesterday was pretty weird, with few large gatherings of people, including big fireworks displays. There were exceptions. Sally and I had our celebration mostly on Friday the third, grilling brats and streaming the phenomenal musical, “Hamilton.”

Last night I went to my friend, Silverio’s house for drinks and another cookout, gathering in the back yard. I was surprised and quite nervous about his and his work colleague, Osa’s, disregard of distancing between the two of them. Our other friend, Larry, and I both set up our chairs far back from the picnic table, but they sat right next to each other and stood nearly shoulder to shoulder talking as Silverio grilled. Neither was wearing a mask.

Both in Silverio’s block and around her at our home, there were lots of illegal fireworks going off. (Minnesota allows nothing that leaves the ground or explodes.) I suspect there were thousands of such infractions, and that police didn’t bother to ticket anyone.

Today, I began in earnest to rouse my lampshade crafting from its four-month hiatus. It’s been hard to get back into it, but I think I’m on my way, and that will help restore a sense of purpose to my life.

The pretend president today promised “therapeutics” or a vaccine for COVID 19 “long before the end of the year.” I doubt the infectious disease pros endorse this promise. We’ll see, won’t we? Given the rock-solid consistency of the imbecile’s lying, I don’t believe a word he says.

Due to Trump’s reckless comments and shirking of responsibility to unify the nation during the pandemic, some liberal groups have labeled him “the leading cause of death in the U.S.”

7/7 Tues.
Still struggling with the uncertainty. I’d so love to look forward to Mexico as usual come spring, 2021. But the experts—and an editorial in the Star Tribune this morning—are still saying that, despite the airlines’ best efforts and promises, it’s foolhardy to think of flying yet.

I heard another news story about companies already at the testing stage of both a treatment and a vaccine for COVID 19. Evidently, the U.S. government has to give them the hundreds of million dollars necessary to roll out production of hundreds of millions of doses even before enough testing is done to assure that the drugs actually work.

Looking forward to our Gunflint Trail getaway with friends next week, even though I’m a bit nervous about our ability to both socialize and be safe. Still, getting away will be good for all of us.

I’m concerned about my friend Dick, who spent last weekend in Iowa with his sister-in-law and her family. He says there was absolutely no effort by anyone to mask up or social distance. He says he did his best to keep safe, but I’m afraid his indomitable need to schmooze, along with a reticence to complain might have added up to a dangerous potential exposure for him. Fingers crossed…

7/8 Wed.
Thank God, during the pandemic, for my computer, for the Internet, for email. I feel so fortunate for having caught onto, and kept up with, at least some of communications, information and entertainment technology of the past few decades. I know many folks, including my four-years-older brother, did not, and feel left behind.

During COVID 19, older people are feeling isolated enough by social distancing rules. But, if one is robbed not just of physical closeness, but also of the ability to at least connect virtually by remote meeting apps, I can only imagine the depth of their loneliness.

I wish every one of them were lucky enough to have a tech-whiz grandkid to come in and save the day by hooking them up online and showing them at least the basics of emailing, FaceTiming and navigating the Internet.

The battle continues between those recommending—especially those leaders mandating—mask wearing in public and those who insist that not complying is their constitutional right. In Oregon, for example, the governor has mandated mask-wearing in public, but state police officers are refusing to enforce the order.

If only there were a way to brand such recalcitrant folks so that when they end up in some ICU the medical staff will see that these idiots have made their choice and know not to waste their time and resources caring for them.

The pretend president continues to tacitly—and in some cases explicitly—support these thoughtless bastards.

7/9 Thur.
I’m conflicted, trying to reconcile “Christian values” as I know them with my disgust with these people—mostly Trump supporters, I’d wager—who are bitching about mask wearing as an infringement on their “personal liberties.” Their campaign has broadened to include rejection of any sort of COVID 19 response mandated by government: no social distancing, no business / workplace guidelines, no dent in in-person school attendance this coming fall…  

I know I should be kind and try to understand that their words and actions are coming from a place of fear and pain. Well, God damn it, so were Hitler’s and Son of Sam’s! There are times when folks just deserve the consequences of their idiocy. And, since their selfish ignorance promises to kill the people they demand to infect, I say what’s good for the goose is good for the gander.

This pandemic so highlights the chasm separating Trump’s apologists from the rest of us—an us-versus-them gulf Trump dredges anew every time he opens his kissy little monosyllabic mouth:

We think that if people or entities do things that hurt other people or entities, now or in the future, the government might have something to say about that. It’s liberty for all, not just for those with the most money or power or the loudest mouths.

They think liberty starts and ends with the individual. That they—or their employers—can do anything they want to do even if it costs someone else, maybe future generations dearly. That if anyone else has a problem with that, that’s their problem.

7/10 Fri.
The WHO has just confirmed what I’ve known intuitively since the start of the pandemic, and that others have been suspecting: spread of the virus through aerosol (vapor) is at least as likely as through larger “droplets.” And vapor can linger, suspended in the air, for at least minutes after it’s expelled through breathing, speaking or even singing. This longer suspension is most likely indoors where there’s little air flow.

Another reason why only an N95 respirator—or KN95, one would hope—is effective as a defensive measure. And then, only if it fits properly with no gaps around its perimeter where it sits on the wearer’s face.

The WHO also announced, for the first time unequivocally, that the virus is spread by asymptomatic carriers.

As our Gunflint Trail getaway with Todd and Caren approaches, I’m nervous about the new setting, especially since it sits in an area where a lot of very independent, “individual liberties” folks live and work. Poplar Haus assures me their staff all wear masks, that they disinfect rigorously, and that they’re mindful of distancing in the restaurant. But we’ll see how that translates into actual experience.

If I’m not comfortable with their safety measures, we can always order take-out from the restaurant and eat it at our cabin.

7/11 Sat.
The homeless encampment in Powderhorn Park has grown to over 300 tents. There are other, smaller ones around town. I’ve got to think it has something to do with the pandemic—folks afraid to go to the hospital, social service
programs or bricks & mortal shelters. Layoffs from work. Mental illness exacerbated by stress.

The tragic irony is that these concentrations, caused, at least in part, by the pandemic, may actually help spread it. Rising crime rates, noise and sanitation complaints, domestic disturbance calls and drug O.D.s in Powderhorn suggest the homeless community there may not be capable of understanding or acting on COVID 19 safety measures.

I’ve got a pain in my lower left abdomen. Started last night. With it still there today, I’m feeling some concern. First guess would be kidney stone since I’ve been prone to them and a CT scan a few years back showed several small stones. I don’t want to go to a hospital, no ride in an ambulance, for any reason!!

It’s interesting to see how advertisers are dealing with the pandemic. Some seem to be pretending it’s not here, showing folks happily using their products and services, with no distancing, no masks. Others show people wearing masks, staff sanitizing and waiting lines marked off in six-foot-apart floor stickers.

7/12 Sun.
I’m grateful for having the mental and emotional resources to weather the pandemic as well as I seem to be doing. I’ve been reading statistics showing that, in the U.S. alone, staggering numbers of people are experiencing serious emotional stress. One study, by Consumer Reports, showed 76 percent of those surveyed report being either very worried or extremely worried about COVID 19.

Other studies are showing that fear and uncertainty are affecting not just people’s attitudes, but also their physical health. I credit my parents, my education, my experience for my knowing most of the preventatives and remedies for such impacts: maintaining routines, helping others, eating right, staying in the moment, and that great 12-step mantra: not worrying about the stuff you can’t change.

Word among public health officials is that the virus is now infecting a much younger demographic. This is probably due to the recent surge in infections contracted in crowded bars and beaches. Since younger patients are still thought to die at a lower rate than older, compromised people, it’s no surprise that today’s (Sunday’s) obits in the Star Tribune run to just eight pages, way down from the twelve pages I was counting a month ago.

More confirmation, coming from all quarters, that the virus is spread not just by gravity-prone droplets, but by aerosols—finer particles, able to hover in the air for minutes, especially in indoor spaces without aggressive ventilation. To quote my comment here of April 2: “What if the current focus on the plague’s spread by “droplets” expelled in a cough or sneeze is failing to acknowledge contagion by vapor?”

The University of Minnesota is working, like everyone around the world, on various aspects of COVID 19. The focus of one study: exactly how much of the virus does it take to get infected. This is another of the questions I had early on when planning my strategy. I was surprised at finding nothing then; apparently there’s still not a definitive answer.

It’s funny how the weeks all seem to run together. There’s now even less difference for me between weekdays and weekends that there was pre-COVID. And sticking to my resolution never to wish time would speed up for any anticipated pleasure is awfully hard right now. I imagine that’s true for most everyone: a proven treatment, a vaccine, just can’t come soon enough!

The pain in my gut is a little better today. Still there though. I pray it’s on its way out of there for good.

7/13 Mon.
Sorry to say the pain in my lower-left abdomen is still there, and, I think, getting worse. This morning I did a major grocery shopping trip—getting ready for our northern getaway tomorrow. The whole time I felt quite hot and sweaty in addition to the intermittent, dull pain four to five inches to the left of my navel. Even though it’s neither very hot nor humid today, I continued feeling hot.

I took my temp and it’s normal, so, likely no infection. There are no other symptoms.

I had a virtual visit with the only doctor I could find with a video appointment slot open today. He didn’t know any better than I do what’s going on. Could be diverticulitis, in which case, if it gets worse, I can take a course of the antibiotic I already have on hand for sinus / bronchitis attacks. Still, I’m a bit nervous about heading five hours away from home with a possible big problem lurking.

The idiocy continues in some parts of the country. In Florida, now suffering the same rate of new cases as some entire countries did near their peaks, woohoo!, Disney World is open again! What could go wrong there.

Right here in Minnesota, senate majority leader, Paul Gazelka, is outraged at people’s opposition to sending kids back into crowded classrooms again this fall. His scolding rationale: “Not a single Minnesotan under 20 has died from COVID 19.” Wow, how can people this stupid be in charge of anything? Or maybe he just thinks Minnesotans are stupid.

Gazelka leads a bunch of shameless, Trump-groveling idiots, who, to the person, showed up at the last special session massless. (While every single democrat wore a mask.) Unbelievable! And they want to strip the emergency powers Governor Walz has used judiciously to accomplish exactly what he promised to accomplish: “flattening the curve” so the build-up of resources to treat COVID wasn’t outpaced by the build-up of cases.

Nationally, Dr. Anthony Fauci, the one sane presence in the Trump un-reality show that’s still pretending the pandemic isn’t real, is now being disparaged by the president, simply because he won’t in good conscience support Trump’s misleading words and actions.

We’re in deep, deep trouble as a nation, as a world community…as a species. Right now I’m having trouble finding any reason for hope. Even if we succeed in ousting Trump, he’s caused so much damage, ruined so many relationships, cost so many lives that Biden will be faced with digging us out of a very deep, very dark hole.

7/14 Tues.
So disappointed! My gut pain is still there and has worsened a bit. So we had to cancel our long-anticipated trip up north with Todd and Caren. I spent half the night worrying, and got up knowing I couldn’t risk going. I’ve requested an “e-visit” with my regular doctor to see what he says about diagnosis and treatment.

This adds yet another layer of uncertainty and fear to my already-burdened spirit. First there’s the smothering pall thrown over us all by the pandemic. Then, with the one shred of normalcy, the one pinhole of light, offered Sally’s and my spirits by this four-day getaway now blacked out, it really feels like the fates are piling on.

I’m aware that I do enjoy countless blessings—gifts millions and millions of people around the world cannot open. But there is one denied gift nearly everyone is grieving in their own way. Hope.

So now the question is what is there to look forward to. Nothing comes to mind beyond welcoming with gratitude each day I’m fortunate enough wake up not sick with COVID 19. Precious summer, whose promise of long days, of light and color and freedom, is already half over. And, thanks in great part to the failed leadership of a president and his minions, even the long-expected waning of the pandemic in the U.S. is a dream betrayed.

Once again, I’m lucky to have the inner resources of spirit and temperament to find some strength within.

As I retire tonight, I’m hoping our friends, Todd and Caren, and the couple they asked to join them on the mini-vacation we should have taken, are having a wonderful time. I’ve gradually gotten past my extreme sadness this morning, with the help of an “e-visit” with my regular doctor about my gut pain—and a couple of meds he’s prescribed.

Overall, I know I made the right choice in staying home and feel fortunate to be able to expect a speedy recovery. Again, I don’t want to have to go to a hospital for any reason during this pandemic.

7/15 Wed.
It’s been a down day for me. Though I’m relieved to be on the road to recovery from my diverticulitis, the disappointment of having had to stay home from our little vacation started to really sink in. Combined with a frustrating, nearly hour-long, fruitless attempt to set up remote payment for my prescriptions at Walgreens (so I don’t have to handle money or my credit card), it just got the better of me.

All day I’ve felt listless, uninterested in most of my routine. And I think my having to swear off all alcohol for ten days—because of severe interaction with one of the drugs I’ve started for the diverticulitis—is contributing to my funk. My daily cocktail or two has been a great help in not just chemically dulling the blow of the pandemic’s reality, but also symbolically, as an assertion of personal freedom.

New study results have just aired on local news, showing that even the best non-N-95 mask (of two layers: one of silk and the other of high-thread-count cotton) drop in their ability to contain both droplets and aerosolized particles from 80-90 percent to around 35 percent when there are gaps around the perimeter of the mask where it meets the wearer’s face.

This is no news to me—it seems perfectly logical—but the most virus-averse people like me might find the information useful.

7/17 Fri.
I still don’t know anyone who’s contracted COVID 19. I know this is bound to change, and I dread the day. I just hope it’s no one in my immediate circle of family and friends. But, with the way the pandemic continues to spread, and leaders—especially the federal government—continues to botch the crisis, I’m thinking it’s just a matter of time.

And it could well be me. I’m still struggling to hold at bay a sense of resignation, that it’s unrealistic, given that life continues as close to normally as it is all around me, to expect I can avoid the virus forever. As what’s left of my life continues to wind down, I grieve the loss of what could have been—should have been—relatively carefree days.

Yesterday I rediscovered the power of Nature to sooth, heal and inspire during these stressful times. I started the day in a foul mood. At Sally’s urging, I accompanied her and our pup, Sylvia, on two long walks down East River Parkway.  In both cases, we took our time, soaking in the lush green, the amazing colors of flowers, the sweet, oxygen-rich air. Along the way we stopped to sit for a while in a shady spot on the grass.

This afternoon I doubled down on the Nature therapy: up to the St. Croix River once again for some canoeing, fishing and just a bit of photography. It was blissful, but for the recurrence of my gut pain, now after three days of double antibiotic treatment. Worrisome.

It’s so good to get away from the constant reminders we encounter in the city of the need to distance and wear masks. I didn’t have to get within 50 yards of anyone. Plenty of space; plenty of breeze. But then it up and slapped me in the face. There, aboard the Taylors Falls excursion boat (three of them passed this afternoon), scores of people, apparently not keeping six feet apart, no evident mask wearing. Idiots.

I wonder if people’s ignorance—or, more charitably, wishful thinking—factors into epidemiologists’ models of how this pandemic is likely to play out. Specifically that 60 to 80 percent figure for the number of people in Minnesota will ultimately contract the virus before it starts getting starved out.

7/18 Sat.
It’s only the fifth day off the sauce (avoiding serious interaction with one of the antibiotics I’m taking for the diverticulitis), and I’m already counting the days till I can have a margarita. I guess the daily cocktail has been a crutch for me getting through the weirdness.

It’s a scorcher today—more like a steam bath. Hardly anyone is out walking or biking. I can only imagine what it must be like at the homeless encampments in the parks around town. And it can’t be good that people who do have any means at all might be looking for air conditioned places to gather. Let’s hope they have A/C at home.

The price Donald Trump is exacting on this country for his services continues to go up. I don’t know what the opposite of leadership is—perhaps it’s leadership, but in the wrong direction…right off a cliff. The maniac will end up—let’s hope that end will be in January, 2021—killing hundreds of thousands of Americans. And that’s just with the corona virus. Add to that the toll of his denial of climate change, his deference to ruthless tyrants like Kim Jong Il and Vladimir Putin, and that cost might easily reach the tens of millions.

7/20 Mon.
As if anyone needed any further proof of Trump’s derangement, in a Fox News interview yesterday he rambled, denied and lied as never before. He still denies the severity of the pandemic, insists his administration has done an amazing job, and, answering what was surely a baiting question by Chris Wallace, would not commit to actually leaving the White House voluntarily if he’s not re-elected come November. Likely just another ruse to steer people’s attention away from his deadly mishandling of the corona virus pandemic in the U.S.

I’m slowly getting back in the saddle again with my leaf lampshade crafting. It will give me a much-needed sense of purpose each day to head into the studio and produce some art. I’m just finishing up the conceptual and preliminary layout phases of a design featuring dragonflies (made of plant materials).

7/21 Tues.
Our social life’s picking up just a bit, with distancing being the watchword. Last night I hosted my mens group at a beautiful, quiet spot in Como Park. Thursday, my brother, Dan, and wife, Ruth Ann, are coming down from Scandia for coffee and pastries on our garage apron (inside the garage if it rains). And Sunday it’s our neighbors Bob and Jane coming over for cocktails, also on the driveway.

Even these very measured attempts to get back to whatever normal has become increase our risk, especially when there’s food and drink involved, as that makes masking impossible. But I’m afraid this kind of trade-off is the new normal.

Promising news about some companies’ progress on a vaccine gives me a shred of hope. But one cannot overstate the ability of the Trump administration to mismanage and corrupt whatever they touch. It would enrage me but not surprise me if they managed to abscond with the vaccine formula and hold it hostage till some of Trump’s fat-cat fake friends get enriched in the process.

I don’t dare get too excited, but it feels like my dual antibiotic treatment for he diverticulitis is close to getting rid of the pain. And by Sunday, I should be able to have a cocktail or two without suffering the side effects with one of the drugs—barfing my guts out.

The above entry was this morning. It’s now evening, and the pain in my gut is back. Not bad, but not a whole lot better than it was a week ago when I began taking the antibiotics. Now I’m worried. I don’t want to see my doctor in person, much less go to a hospital.

This concern, heaped on top of the constant, underlying fear of getting the corona virus, reminds me how thin my defenses, my emotional strength, is.

7/22 Wed.
The gut pain is still there. Still nothing acute, but there’s definitely something that doesn’t feel right. I have the first available appointment with my doc, but it’s two days from now—Friday. Meanwhile, I left a message with my care team and expect someone will call me to discuss if anything immediate should be done. I suspect I’ll have to go somewhere I’d rather not go to get some imaging done. We’ll see. All I can do is try not to worry about anything about which I can do nothing right now.

I emailed both our U.S. Senators and our U.S. Representative about my concern with Trump’s continuing assault on democracy. His deployment of federal troops in unmarked uniforms and vehicles in Portland OR, supposedly to control peaceful equal rights protesters is just the latest. It’s like the proverbial frog in a pan of water that gets heated gradually to boiling. A gradual boiling to death of democracy with no increment outrageous enough to get millions of us into the streets.

Between COVID 19, these threats to our democracy and my personal health concerns, it’s pretty overwhelming right now. Uncertainty to the max.

No return call from my Health Partners medical care team. The pain isn’t really much worse, the sense of something wrong in the lower-left quadrant of my gut is pretty insistent. I just hope nothing critical happens before I either get that call or, at the latest, Friday when I see Dr. Radosevich.

Watching my first Minnesota Twins baseball game of the season. It’s so strange seeing the stands—in this case at Soldier Field in Chicago—completely empty. Fox Sports has decided to use canned crowd noise in the background as commentators talk. It even includes roars from the “crowd” when the home team gets a hit. Sounds lame, but I can’t imagine a game with no crowd noise.

Governor Walz today issued a statewide mandate requiring everyone—with some logical exemptions—to wear a mask while indoors in any public space. Police, if called by a proprietor, are to first offer the offender a mask, and then, if it’s refused, issue a $100 fine. I hope there’s widespread compliance to help keep the state on a trajectory toward fewer infections and deaths.

7/23 Thur.
Gut pain is still there. I called the clinic again to make sure the message they said they’d get to my care team got through. It did not. The receptionist put me through to Dr. R.’s nurse, Megan, who thoroughly, cheerfully, went over my symptoms.

She didn’t feel I need to do anything right now but wait till my in-person appointment with Dr. R. tomorrow afternoon. She assured me of the clinic’s sanitation measures and said she’d encourage her senior citizen mom to come in without a second thought.

For some reason, this—and just talking with such a nice medical professional—gave me a palpable rush of confidence. For an hour or so afterward, my spirits were up, and the pain was down. I think I’m going to be okay, but still look forward with both hope and anxiety to my appointment tomorrow. And most likely getting some imaging done to help see what’s wrong.

7/24 Fri.
Prominent scientists are now saying that mask-wearing alone could, despite what might appear modest results, add up to saving some 34,000 lives in the U.S. by November. About 40% of us now wear masks all the time while near others; it would require 95% compliance to achieve that number.

With a president and a Trumpublican party incapable of leadership, I’m afraid I don’t see that happening soon.

My whole day revolves around my 4:00 doctors appointment to check out my gut pain, now two weeks running. Finding out what it is and what to do about it will lift my spirits immensely—as will resuming my daily cocktail habit now that my dual-antibiotics treatment is winding down.

It sounds like Sally’s going to listen, if not to me, at least to both her kids, about not flying home after her extended stay in Texas starting next week. They’re adamant that she accept Matt’s offer to drive her back home after her visit. Another small victory to add to the “Whew!” column.

7/25 Sat.
I’m so grateful to finally—after two weeks—be feeling some relief from my latest bout with diverticulitis. With any luck, I’ll get through this one without having to go to a hospital, or even to get imaging done.

Hoping my original courses of antibiotics have worn off, I took my first tentative drink tonight just to see if the possible vomiting side effect would occur. It didn’t, but I only drank half a beer. Tomorrow night, a margarita!!

I got an invitation to meet a couple of friends over lunch next week at a restaurant with a large outdoor patio. But, since I’d have no real control over how far apart people would be—people unmasked so they can eat and drink—I had to decline. Sad.

But I suggested a better alternative, getting take-out and meeting at Como Park (the same picnic area I picked for my mens group last Monday).

7/27 Mon.
Governor Walz’s statewide mandate for mask-wearing in all public indoor spaces took effect Saturday. I don’t hear much griping, though state Trumpublicans are still insisting Walz has overstepped his bounds in leading us through the pandemic.

My diverticulitis continues to fade away, thank God. As it turns out, I never even had to go get images. The only possible risks were going into the clinic for a face-to-face exam from my doc and picking up my prescriptions at the Walgreen’s drive-through.

Every day I read news items about groups of people, most in rural areas and/or the South, getting together in close quarters like bars, restaurants, churches and halls, without masks or social distancing. The one that jumped out at me today was in the Minnesota town of Effie, where 20 people who attended church services—discouraged by their pastor from distancing or masking—have tested positive for COVID.

People like this—leaders who, like their reality-show savior in the White House, just plain decide not to lead—should be prosecuted at least for malpractice. And, when folks die, for murder!

7/28 Tues.
Sally’s off to Texas with son Matt and his family in their new 200-foot RV. The thing has a smoking room and a bowling alley. Sally says they’ve been very careful during the pandemic, so I shouldn’t worry about her…but I do. She’ll be back in two to three weeks.

Meanwhile, it’s just Sylvie and me. Lots of work, but I can do whatever I want whenever.

Tomorrow we head up to Danbury, WI to my friend, Todd’s, cabin for a brief, two-day, overnight visit with him and partner Caren. Looking forward to it, and I think we can stay safe. Unless, that is, we have to venture into any of the nearby small Wisconsin towns which I’m pretty sure teem with give-me-liberty-and-give-me-death, anti-mask, pro-Trump Cretins.

7/30 Thur.
The getaway was a very welcome diversion. The woods and water and clean air were a fine tonic. It was so quiet compared with our noisy urban location. And, since we were outdoors or in very well ventilated indoor spaces all the time, no one even thought about wearing a mask. I hope that wasn’t tempting fate.

Former GOP presidential candidate Herman Cain just died of COVID 19 he likely picked up while attending the recent Trump rally in Tulsa. If there’s any justice left in this world, lots more of these idiots will be forced to acknowledge the pandemic…or, more likely, just lie about their well-documented comings and goings to let the virus off the hook.

Today, an open letter to political leaders signed by hundreds of health care professionals, called on the leaders to “Shut it down, start over, do it right,” referring to the Trump government’s criminally-inept efforts to control the pandemic in the U.S.

In the letter, signatories note that “If our response had been as effective as Germany’s, estimates show that we would have had only 36,000 COVID-19 deaths in that period in the United States. If our response had been as effective as South Korea, Australia, or Singapore’s, fewer than 2,000 Americans would have died. We could have prevented 99% of those COVID-19 deaths. But we didn’t.”

Just wait for the response from the twit-in-chief discrediting all those health care heroes!

Article in todays paper about the complex matter of trying to decide, once a vaccine becomes widely available, who get’s it first? Healthcare front-liners? Folks who volunteered as Guinea pigs for vaccine testing? Seniors and other vulnerable segments?

7/31 Fri.
I heard a commentary bemoaning the way we seem to have become accustomed to so much death. The question was, what if three loaded jumbo jets were crashing every day? Wouldn’t we be outraged, demanding action, seeing massive displays of sympathy and mourning?

The answer seems to be that people grow accustomed to tragedy fairly quickly. After a while it becomes something we know to expect—a new normal. So while tragedy itself—“the curve” being high—may not have the power to hold our attention for long, sudden change—a steepening curve--does.

Fascinating to see how various businesses and organizations are trying to adapt to the closing of their normal operations. For example, the massive Minnesota State Fair, by far the state’s biggest concentration of people every late summer, has distilled one of its biggest draws to a manageable size.

It’s the food. The Pronto-Pups, mini-donuts, cheese curds, corn on the cob and just about anything on a stick. The Minnesota State Fair Food Parade has brought together 16 of the most popular food booths from the fair and made them into a drive-through experience. They’re selling tickets and folks are reserving times for their drive-throughs. I hear there’s even ticket scalping going on! I guess some people are getting pretty desperate for any taste, no matter how small, of something “normal.”

8/1 Sat.
We’re four-and-a-half months into the pandemic here in the US, and, surprisingly, I still know not one person who’s gotten sick with the virus. If it’s inevitable that 50-60 percent of us will ultimately get sick, what this tells me is either that that’s wrong, or that this thing’s going to last a very long time.

How I wish I could make plans for a trip. My Spanish is already taking a hit for lack of use, and that would normally signal another immersion trip to Latin America. Next on my list of likely language school locals would be Oaxaca, Mexico. But I just can’t see lining anything up simply on the hope that there’ll be an effective vaccine within the next few months.

Even Sally’s and my beloved March stay in Zihuatanejo—as we’ve done every year for the past 12—is in doubt. Though there are certainly other factors in play, I blame Trump and rededicate myself to helping turn out voters for the November election.

8/2 Sun.
It’s a day of pleasant routines: to Work Horse for the large latte I’ve reduced to a once-a-week indulgence to cut back on expenses; two long walks with Sylvia; reading the Sunday paper in leisure; a margarita on the deck with music and a good book.

These are all habits acquired since the beginning of “shelter-in-place” restrictions due to the pandemic. I celebrate them as silver linings to the ominous dark clouds hanging over everyone for the past four-and-a-half months.

Meanwhile, the Trump administration continues its widespread assault on decency and democratic institutions so often and on so many fronts that people are overwhelmed. Like a flock of killer starlings, there’s so many of them swirling together that the corruption hawk can’t even pick a single bird to start with.

The virus continues to make inroads in rural areas, places where Trump-leaning people have been defying what public health officials and scientists have recommended. If only there were a way to link stupidity like this with it’s deserved consequences!

It’s August, and they’re still playing NHL hockey! So strange. And Major League Baseball has started out at what amounts to the thick of the pennant race. With sports seasons condensed like this, the normal long, drawn-out seasons requiring players to pace themselves are gone, so everyone has to play with playoff-type intensity.

8/4 Tues.
The personal medical concerns continue. I’ll be virtually meeting with a colo-rectal surgeon next week to discuss my options for treating my diverticulosis. If it ends up calling for preemptive resection of the colon, I feel I’m well prepared to deal with the surgery. Still, having it in the context of the pandemic is of great concern.

It was a good day in the rarified air of my little bubble here, but the craziness continues elsewhere. Looks like the annual gathering of a quarter million bikers in Sturgis, South Dakota is still on. In light of Governor Kristi Noem’s very convincing TV commercial touting her state as a government’s-hands-off place for businesses to do whatever the damn well please without government regulation of any kind, it’s not surprising. As usual, the rest of us will ultimately bear the cost of these morons perceived God-given right to infect whomever they will.

Again, one can only hope someone—perhaps a few journalists—will document who’s there and what the effects are in the two weeks or so following the event. I suspect the whole thing will be deemed a huge success if the result is just the deaths of a few thousand elderly, vulnerable South Dakotans. Small price to pay for personal liberty, right?

8/5 Wed.
"It is what it is." That’s Trump’s latest flip, blasé comment about the monster he let out of its cage a few months ago—and which he’s insisted on leaving out ever since. In an interview with Axios on HBO, Trump claimed the virus in the U.S. is "under control as much as you can control it,” despite the tragic and unnecessary spike in infection rates and deaths.

The United States, at more than 155,000—now averaging 1,000 deaths every single day—has suffered nearly a quarter of all global fatalities from COVID 19, far outpacing that of any other nation. "We're lower than the world," Trump prattled in an incomprehensible response when pressed on the disconnect.

I’m occasionally losing my focus on established routines and maintaining, as much as possible, a life of purpose. When that happens, I can feel the hopelessness welling up like acid reflux of the soul. Sometimes it just feels like grief. For so many people’s lives lost. For so many students, athletes and performers losing their dreams. For my own loss of normalcy, closeness to distant loved ones and the ability to plan adventure travel, one of my great joys.

8/6 Thur.
As if anyone needed—or, in the case of many Trumpies, heeded—proof, new data from Kansas, where masking mandates have been left to the counties, shows that in those counties where mandates have been issued infection rates have held steady, while in all those not requiring masks the rates have increased significantly.

I keep catching snippets of information and opinion that suggest Trump is in real trouble and headed for decisive defeat. I hope to God folks aren’t letting this lull them into complacence.

We know what Trump is, and like the rest of the cockroaches, he keeps finding ways to survive. The COVID nightmare has proven, as perhaps nothing else could prove so well, that he’s a mass-murderer, and nothing will ease my outrage short of the political equivalent of the death penalty.

Then there’s always the hope that Nature might deliver her own brand of justice to this worthless turd in the form of the same viral threat he’s played down and denied coming back to bite him. If I weren’t such a decent man, I’d have my fingers crossed.

8/7 Fri.
Minnesota’s infection rate is spiking for a second time, new positive tests now surpassing even those of the first crest back in May. It looks as if the “rollercoaster” trajectory predicted by epidemiologists is playing out just as they foresaw.

On a hopeful note, University of Minnesota doctors and researchers are testing whether genetically modified “killer cells,” developed to fight lymphoma and other cancers, might also attack the COVID 19 virus. Apparently, there’s been some indication that this re-purposed immunotherapy shows promise. That would be good news indeed.

Here, as in other states, the prospect of re-opening public schools, and in what manner, is proving very stressful, not only for parents and students, but for those seeking to guide the discussion and policy-making. In general, I think districts are leaning toward a “hybrid” model, combining in-person classroom attendance with distance learning.

Whatever happens, the pandemic is sure to have a profound, long-lasting effect on education around the world, which will, in turn, likely impact economies’ ability to rebound after the initial trauma of widespread business cutbacks and shutdowns.

Tonight I invited my friend, Silverio, over for drinks and delivery Mexican food. With Sally not here, it was a ton of work getting ready, but it was incredibly important for me to break my near-total isolation and feel like I could do something more or less “normal.”

Still, I was quite nervous. As I’ve mentioned here, Silverio still goes to work every day as a banker, interacting fairly closely with colleagues and the public. Wells Fargo has just recently mandated masks for all employees.)

It’s clear Silverio’s notion of safety and mine are quite different, and I could see several instances during the evening where we might easily have transferred some of the virus. Handling the same snack bowls and pitchers; passing my credit card back and forth; his trying to hand me his cell phone to see a photo.

Since we were eating and drinking, masking wasn’t really possible. I used the sanitizer I had on the table between us often, but he, alas, did not do so as often.

Nonetheless, it was one of what will be many such trade-offs between total safety and practicality for all of us. Sadly, frighteningly, there are too many folks who see no such trade-off; it’s practicality (or “personal freedom,” or ignorance) all the way.

9/8 Sat.
I’m anticipating Sally’s return from her three-week grandkids’-care stint in Texas with great concern. I’ll be driving an hour and a half south to Albert Lea to pick her up after son, Matt drives her that far.

So, after she’s been in the home of folks, and running various errands in neighborhoods that might have been infected with the virus, for three weeks, we ride home in the same front seat of the same car. And then spend two weeks sharing space at home.

And then, in a few weeks, Sally goes back to teaching, which, even after all the discussion about various scenarios, will almost certainly involve at least some classroom time with students.

This is how COVID closes in on someone—even someone who’s been doing his level best to avoid getting infected. During times when my blind optimism ebbs, it’s hard to fight off the sense of resignation.

In a commentary in the New York Times, Minnesota’s esteemed epidemiologist, Michael Osterholm says that we’ll need another round of the strictest social distancing and masking—including massive shut-downs of businesses—to turn the tide on the pandemic in the U.S.

It’s quite clear by now, though, that, between temperament and political instincts, Americans have neither the discipline nor the attention span to do what’s necessary, as citizens in many other countries have. Once again, in yet another way, it is supporters of Donald Trump who are leading the way in this country’s reckless race to the bottom.

I’m afraid we will continue as the world’s leader in COVID 19 infections and deaths. I’m so disappointed in my countrymen!

8/9 Sun.
Pretty discouraging information on today’s papers: first, a graphic from the New York Times showing fields of little gray dots, with each dot representing about 450 people who’ve tested positive for the virus.

Japan’s field of dots is about the size of my thumbprint. Australia’s and Canada’s, each the size of my pinky fingerprint. Europe’s, about baseball size. And the United States: seven inches in diameter—the size of a bread plate. Over the past month, the U.S.’s 1.9 million positives is more than five times that of all those other areas combined. And with half the population.

The other, a further confirmation that, according to Michael Osterholm, we’re “still in the early innings” of the crisis. He and other health experts say the trajectory is still shaping up to be one repeated peaks and valleys, lasting 18 - 24 months!

I’m also still reading that there’s a distinct possibility that the corona virus will never be completely eradicated, but will hang around in the background like the regular flu, and become a “normal” part of life for all of us.

How does one avoid getting overwhelmed by all of this? There are already anecdotal signs that folks are getting worn down, burned out, by the barrage of facts and warnings. And it’s an image clouded, often purposely so, by the continuing sabotage of Trump and his apologists.

I keep trying to get my message out there via my very limited social media presence: a personal resolution to vote in November (or before with an absentee ballot) may not be enough. Everyone’s got to figure out a way to convince a few other people—ideally folks who may be considering not voting at all—to step up and be counted.

I’ve been using the hashtags #LeverageYourVote and #VoteFwd as a way of promoting the letter-writing I’ve been doing since late February for Vote Forward.

Today was a good day. Nothing exciting, but hey, I’m not sick. My diverticulitis is all but gone, and my life is certainly blessed. I’m a very lucky man. I pray for those whose lives the pandemic has impacted directly.

8/10 Mon.
It’s apparent that Trump is using the pandemic as cover for attempts to gut Social Security and Medicare. And one report I read this morning suggests that, still, some 50% of white Americans support the man. Unbelievable!

8/13 Thur.
I think this may be the longest I’ve gone with nothing to say here. I guess that means things are finally settling into such routines that none of it seems worth noting anymore.

Also, I’ve been quite busy, what with Sally still in Texas: taking care of myself and Sylvie, starting to clean up the house a bit for her return, keeping all our plants alive, grocery shopping and the attendant disinfecting.

It’s been a pretty good week. Perhaps the highlight is my video conference with Dr. Carlson, a Health Partners cool-rectal surgeon, about my diverticulosis and how to deal with its likely recurrence.

Bottom line: it looks like I may go ahead and have about eight inches of my colon removed (a resection). And it could happen within the next month or so. Despite my fear of heading into any hospital—any public building for that matter—I’m already rationalizing, What safer place could there be than an excellent hospital’s (St. Paul’s Regions) surgery suite?

On a lighter note, I’m finally warming up to watching the Twins despite the strangeness of no fans in the stands. Like a lot of other things these days, I guess we’ll all just get used to the strangeness…until it’s not strange any more.

It sure looks like the safety measures followed by the players are full of holes. Inconsistent masking, lots of near-face-to-face celebrations and touching. So, whether these guys realize it or not, they’re facing some considerable risk to entertain us nearly every night. We owe them—along with others performing for the public despite the risk—our thanks!

8/14 Fri.
Sally’s back from her three-week grandchild-care mission in Texas. We drove back from Albert Lea (about 1.5 hours) both masked, and with a good flow of outside air passing between us. Felt pretty safe.

Now that we’re both home, it’s once again awkward trying to figure out when/where to wear our masks. Sally’s talking like all she has to do is a sort of semi-quarantine for two weeks and we’ll be able to hug each other. But, with her going out often for meetings—and soon teaching, at least partly in-person in the classroom—it doesn’t seem we can ever be truly safe. Alas!

Trump yesterday admitted to trying to cripple the USPS’s ability to process the mail. And, incredibly, that he’s doing so in order to hurt Democrats’ efforts to enable all Americans to vote without the risk of contracting COVID-19.

The twerp and his ego-manipulators are clearly counting on the pandemic to deter the mass demonstrations that such outrages might otherwise provoke. They also, despite all their efforts to disenfranchise progressive-leaning voters, realize COVID-wise folks are unlikely to take to the streets and take matters that Congress is proving incapable of handling into our own hands. Perilous times for what, just four years ago, was a democracy envied by the whole world.

8/15 Sat.
I played tennis with Todd and Dick this morning. First time in quite a while, due partly to my reticence to get close and partly to my frustration with my game. Today, though, I was able to hold up my end of the deal, tennis-wise.

Also, we played indoors this time, at Nicollet Tennis Center, which has done an impressive job of revamping for COVID safety. I felt fairly safe in playing doubles with Dick; we had little trouble staying at least 6-8 feet apart.

Now that it’s cooled off a bit here, I feel better about Sally and me sitting in our den about six feet apart. Without the A/C on, we can have all the windows open and there’s a very nice breeze flowing through.

I’m ordering a small fan to blow a gentle breeze across the space between us, which will make me feel safer, especially when we have to have all the windows closed.

One legacy of COVID-19 will be the many newly-applied words and terms it’s adding to the lexicon: flattening the curve, social distancing, curbside, PPE, contact tracing, elbow bump, COVID hair, herd immunity, contactless, shelter-in-place. There will be many more.

8/16 Sun.
A glimmer of hope, one that refutes some previous, anecdotal reports that post-infection immunity to the corona virus may not be very strong or long-lasting. The New York Times reports that scientists who have been monitoring immune responses to the coronavirus for months are now starting to see encouraging signs of strong, lasting immunity, even in folks who had only mild cases of COVID-19.
“This is exactly what you would hope for,” said Marion Pepper, an immunologist at the University of Washington and an author on one of the new studies, which is currently under review at the journal Nature. “All the pieces are there to have a totally protective immune response.”
8/17 Mon.
The CDC reports that, to date, there have been 5,374,002 diagnosed cases and 168,690 deaths in the U.S.

Another round of corona virus emergency financial aid is stuck in Congress, with Democrats, typically, holding out for a more generous allocation and the Trumpublicans, less.

The almost entirely virtual Democratic Party National Convention starts today. I hope the dems can outshine the Trumpublicans in adapting to the
virtual format, and paint a convincing, positive image of what American can be—and must be—post-Trump.

8/18 Tues.
It was a great day out in my canoe on the St. Croix. I didn’t think about COVID-19 one time, even when I encountered a few other folks out in their kayaks and canoes, and even on the landing when I was putting in and out. And no news. What a relief!

I read more information online about the colon surgery I’m considering. The indications for my specific condition are not unanimous for surgery, but I think the fact that the surgeon says I already have an abscess (now a few years old since that’s how old the CT scan he referenced is) might tip the scales toward surgery. The area in my gut still feels like something’s wrong down there.

8/19 Wed.
Schools in several states, including Indiana, Louisiana, Oklahoma, Tennessee and Georgia, which had caved to mostly-conservative political pressure to open more or less normally, have ended up closing to in-person learning this month after students and staffers tested positive for COVID-19, once again sending thousands into quarantine and remote learning.

With students returning to many colleges around the country, it’s rapidly becoming clear, in spiking COVID infection numbers there, that there will be a price to pay for impatience with this disease.

Speaking of prices to pay, I’m getting less and less willing to get up at 5:00AM to do my grocery shopping. For a while, I tried going to Cub late in the evening—10 or 11PM—figuring that might be a less popular hour for folks.

But today, I’d run out of a few items and really wanted to get the job done. It just seemed so inconvenient going early or late, so I ended up shopping at 4:30PM. It was fairly crowded, but I rationalized that even though I passed many people at less than six feet, everyone was masked…and I held my breath and closed my eyes until we had more separation.

And I was wearing my best N-95 mask. I hope I’m not putting too much trust in it. And I hope I’m not being reckless.

8/20 Thur.
In my session with my counselor, Jacqueline, this morning, I realized that one reason I may be hesitating in scheduling colon surgery is my suspicion that the diverticulitis might be caused by stress—and therefore might be cured by better managing my stress.

8/21 Fri.
I did go ahead and schedule my surgery, for Oct. 16, with the understanding that I need more info and hand-holding before committing. That will, I hope, include meeting the surgeon, Dr. Carlson, face-to-masked-face, discussing risk vs. benefit a bit more, and maybe getting a current CT scan to see what’s going on in my gut right now.

8/22 Sat.
No surprise, the idiots who swarmed Sturgis for the annual motorcycle rally a week ago or so, are starting to test positive. And, of course, have brought the virus home to infect their respective communities. I hope they had enough fun to justify the cost.

I wrote more emails to members of the USPS’s Board of Governors, following up on those I sent last week urging them to stop the ill-considered, ill-timed steps to hobble the service—ordered, coincidently, by the large Trump donor the president just installed as Postmaster General. Just as Trump brazenly admitted that his goal, indeed, to disable
USPS.

Mr. DeJoy apparently felt the pressure, promising he’d delay what he insisted were simply prudent streamlining measures until after the general election. My letters today insisted on not just that ceasing, but on immediate restoration of the mail-handling capabilities he’s already junked.

I read an article by an expert suggesting that, even if an effective COVID-19 vaccine is available soon, Americans will have to continue social distancing and mask-wearing for as long as another two years. Yikes! I remember when, early in this log, I was exclaiming at how the time horizon for this whole mess was so cruelly stretching from weeks into months.

8/23 Sun.
The telltale signs of the new reality are everywhere, not least on the boulevard grass and in the gutters: discarded surgical masks, wipes and little sanitizer bottles.

8/24 Mon.
They say time flies when you’re having fun. If that’s so, does the fact that this summer seems to have dissolved before my very eyes mean I’ve been having a ball? Maybe. Maybe it’s a sign that Sally, Sylvie and I have been making the best of a dreadful time.

8/26 Wed.
I realize the frequency of my posts here is winding down. Some days, I have nothing to say. I feel that might have more to do with my state of mind than the amount of information and reflection I might be reporting.

Just as I write this, a news bulletin is breaking about a sudden outburst of violence and looting in downtown Minneapolis, apparently triggered by social media rumors of another police killing of a young black man. The city immediately released a building security camera video showing the man, a murder suspect the police were indeed pursuing, shooting himself.

It’s so incredibly outrageous that the program preempted for the breaking news was Mike Pence’s lying, provocative speech at the Republican National Convention.

I pray, again and again, that enough folks will see through the bullshit and can see this Trump fiasco for what it is so that the election (if Trump can’t find a way to hijack it) won’t even be close. He’s already promised that if he loses it will only be due to the election being “rigged.”

8/28 Fri.
I noted, several months ago, how surreal it felt to know how many folks around the world, and how profoundly, the pandemic was affecting, while we didn’t even know anyone who knew anyone who was sick. And how it might feel when the first person in our immediate circles caught the virus.

Well, that time appears to be approaching. Yesterday, my friend Larry, who’d been spending time with a neighbor/friend, learned that she’s got symptoms and has been tested. (Results expected by tomorrow.) And this morning, my friend Todd, who’d just spent a week in fairly close proximity to his son-in-law, who’s since tested positive. (No symptoms yet.)

Is it inevitable, I ask myself once again, that this is how the reality will eventually close in on me? I’m feeling I must absolutely take greater precautions at home with Sally, since she’s out and about far more than I am, and spends close, unmasked time with her grandkids, whose parents aren’t especially cautious about their own protection.

Not to mention that Sally will soon be teaching again, in classroom, with students who I feel are quite unlikely to be very careful. Sobering.

Meanwhile, the state of Minnesota is investing millions in the development of a saliva test for COVID-19. Supposedly, that test will be faster, easier and cheaper than the current nasal swab method—and less shiver-inducingly invasive.

One of the things I’m grieving most during this time of many kinds of loss is the freedom to travel. Notice I said not travel, but freedom to travel, since that’s really what it’s all about. Normally, I don’t travel that much, but knowing I could travel is extremely important to me. This has been clarified by the age of COVID-19.

Tonight, I watched an episode of Rick Bayless’s Mexican cooking show, and found myself pining for my adventures there. Not just in my beloved Zihuatanejo, but anywhere in Mexico, especially with my compadre, Silverio. This, I’m discovering, has become part of my identity, part of my soul.

When will we be able to travel safely again? Who knows. But until then—probably after a vaccine is widely available, and then only, still, with masking and the greatest of care—I’ll just have to dream. And hope that, once I can again travel, I can still walk!

8/29 Sat.
Here we are, six months into the pandemic, the delusional president boasting to his delusional base of his success managing the crisis, and still, here in Minnesota, you can’t get a COVID-19 test unless you present symptoms of the infection. That is, unless you’re willing to fork over $150 to a private testing service.

Things are getting sticky at home. Between two of my friends now quarantining because of their exposure to folks who’ve tested positive, and seeing Sally in her car yesterday with her two grandkids in the back seat—all unmasked—I feel like the virus is closing in on me.

I won’t ask Sally to change her time with her precious grandchildren, nor her eager return to classroom teaching next week. But both of those things put her—and thus me—at risk. I’m prepared to take measures to protect myself as if we knew Sally had the virus, but I’m afraid it won’t be that simple.

Already, just a day into my latest wave of paranoia, she’s resenting my acting as if, somehow, my distancing and wearing a mask while in the house, means I don’t value or trust her. Or that I think she’s guilty of poor hygiene. I must say she’s been doing an amazing job of respecting my need for as much control as possible of my potential exposure, but she admits to a bit of resentment.

I know Sally; with her sometimes insecurity and hair-trigger sense of justice, this was entirely predictable. She’s already asking if I want her to move back in with Jenny, Joe and the kids in Mendota Heights, but I’d much prefer, at least so far, that she not do that.

I recently read that one possible factor in my repeated diverticulitis is stress. I like to think I’ve been managing the pressure pretty well, but am I? Another reason to double down on my meditation practice, making it a daily routine.

8/30 Sun.
I happened to tune in Rick Bayless’s Mexican cooking show yesterday. Between scenes from his homes and favorite haunts in Mexico, the food he was preparing (this time it was enchiladas in green sauce) and his obvious fluency in Spanish, I got a twinge of the deep affinity I feel with that country and my exercise of the language while there.

It’s not so much that I have to be going there all the time, but more that I have the freedom to make that choice. Of course, it’s mostly about our beloved Zihuatanejo and the uncertainty around when we can return there…safely.

On the same note, I read that American Airlines is now using a method of sanitizing the passenger cabins of its planes with a new substance. It’s claimed to coat every surface—seats, arm rests, tray tables etc.— with a disinfectant that kills any virus within two hours keeps on working for a week before re-application is needed.

This is only one part of the formula it would take for me to feel safe flying, but it’s a start. Assuming this method gains acceptance by other airlines, and assuming new safety measures will be employed—and that an effective vaccine will soon be available—maybe there’s hope. If not for March, 2021, maybe for 2022.

8/31 Mon.
Well, I see I now have just about enough scribbled here to amount to a book (over 150 pages). Would anyone at all be interested? I noticed, months ago, that the MN Historical Society was soliciting documentation of various types of the COVID-19 pandemic. I submitted an on-line form, but have heard back from no one.

While my story’s certainly far from extraordinary—hell, I still don’t even know anyone who’s gotten sick—maybe that’s one of its selling points. It’s just the day-to-day copings of an average guy determined not to give the C-bug a chance to prove its mettle with him.

CNN reports today that the US Food and Drug Administration might consider an emergency authorization for Covid-19 vaccine even before Phase 3 trials are over.
But several prominent physicians and experts are calling for the creation of an independent commission to review data from coronavirus vaccine trials before a vaccine is allowed on the market. This in light of how deeply the toxic politics of the Trump era has tainted even those aspects of  American life we once felt were above reproach.

A CNN poll this month showed that “40% of Americans do not want to get a coronavirus vaccine when it becomes available, even if it's free and easy to access.” This would suggest, to the certain outrage of the rest of us who are praying for the vaccine, that the anti-virus folks are not happy simply enabling, in large part, the uncontrolled spread of the disease in the first place, but will insist on continuing to infect us indefinitely with their insatiable ignorance.

9/1 Tues.
Over the past few days, I’ve been feeling signs that the whole mess we’re in—COVID, political insanity, extreme racial unrest, probable election fraud, climate change—is breaking through my defenses. I thought I was managing all the uncertainty, fear and anger pretty well, keeping busy, turning my focus toward helping others, working for voter turnout.

But the underlying sense of dread—combined with sadness and despair—is welling up more often. A good term for it might be heartache, grieving for immense losses we’ve suffered as a nation, as human beings, in just the short four-year reign of our first-ever petty dictator. Losses of decency, of standing in the community of nations, of pride, of confidence and so many other noble aspirations we’ve always assumed our country stood for.

A good part of my funk is the additional layer of stress caused by my personal medical issues. I’m having doubts about my scheduled colectomy, wondering if the risks are worthwhile to prevent something that hasn’t happened yet (i.e. a potential ”complicated” attack of diverticulitis requiring emergency surgery). What’s hard is that from day to day, I don’t feel much discomfort.

I’m also dealing with a persistent fungal infection of my tongue (oral thrush), as well as a few other minor health concerns, many of which could very well have been brought on by stress.

My men’s group met last night via Zoom (one member is in the final days of a self-imposed quarantine after learning he’d been exposed to someone who’s tested positive for COVID). The other guys wanted to commiserate about all the issues I’ve just outlined, mostly the political nightmare and its long-term effects on our country even if Joe Biden wins the presidency in November.

In my critique of the meeting, I told the guys that none of that discussion did anything to make me feel better. That the only part of the meeting I felt helped was the occasional injection of laughter. (Later, I realized that, regardless of the topics, simply meeting with my best male friends, knowing they’re there for me, did indeed help.)

There was one other small, helpful takeaway from the meeting: Todd mentioned a group called the Lincoln Project—a PAC started by some smart, principled current and former Republicans who are fighting to keep Trump from being re-elected.

9/6 Sun.
Clearly running out of steam with my entries here. Partly due to things having become more or less routine. Also, I’ve been quite busy with health concerns.

After some second thoughts about my scheduled colectomy for diverticulitis Oct. 16, I’m leaning toward going ahead with it. I meet with the surgeon, Dr. Ryan Carlson, this Wednesday, and also with Dr. Radosevich, my primary doc on Tuesday for his perspective.

I think I can go into this with confidence that I won’t catch COVID in the hospital. (What other choice do I have if the doctors say the surgery will save me a possible emergency later?)

It’s been interesting getting ready for our condo complex’s National Night Out celebration Sept. 15. Very few of our neighbors are anxious to do anything at all, but the more positive-minded “doers” are determined to come up with a creative solution for celebrating our little community while remaining safe.

Sally’s organized a driveway chalk-art activity, and I’ve put together a photo scavenger hunt so people can wander around the complex looking for the scenes and objects I’ve pictured on the tally sheet. A call for volunteers to simply assemble little snack packs for everyone came up empty!

Still, with all this work by a few of us, I’m afraid very, very few folks will even come out of their homes.

Trump continues making outrageous claims of credit for anything good that happens with COVID, even if he’s been the cause of the problem in the first place. He’s still promising a vaccine by the end of this year, but believable people still say it’s quite unlikely anything will be widely available for distribution until at least mid-2021.

9/8 Tues.
The weather has changed abruptly; suddenly it’s fall, with cloudy skies, drizzle and high temps today barely reaching 50 here in the Twin Cities, and falling below freezing up north.

It’s a reminder of the long, dark winter looming. I don’t know how we’ll cope, with our warm, sunny walks somewhat challenged, our wonderful
little porch and deck rendered useless, and proper ventilation a challenge.

There’s also the huge factor of our having lost the one thing that’s gotten us through each of the past 12 winters: our annual March stay in beautiful Zihuatanejo, Guerrero, Mexico. It doesn’t look like there’s going to be a real vaccine available before March, and if there is one, who knows how long it will take to get distributed and administered.

It’s hard to think of a reasonable substitute for a warm-weather vacation after a long, hard Minnesota winter. The things we love about Mexico—the warmth, the color, the people, the long walks, the constant respiration of the Pacific surf, the Spanish immersion—are impossible to replicate virtually.

I suppose we could try cooking some Mexican food…oh, and drink lots of margaritas. Seriously, though, I’m quite concerned that we might not be able to keep our spirits up. This would be true to some extent even if our only challenge were getting through another winter. But with COVID-19, climate change, our national racial paroxysms, and the dreadful prospect of another term for Donald Trump all ganging up on us, how do we keep our heads above water?

I’m loving my new relationship with Target. I haven’t set foot inside one of their stores for months now. With the Target app, I order on-line, let them know I’m coming, and usually the person is standing there in one of the drive-up spots waiting for me. They scan the bar code on my phone, or check a 4-digit code, and drop the bag(s) in my trunk.

I wonder if there will be any bricks & mortar stores ten years from now. Maybe they’ll be more like distribution centers, more like semi-automated warehouses, where the interchange occurs not at a cashier, but at everyone’s car. This might be the case for other businesses too—like restaurants.

Kind of sad, though, for the lack of human contact, which we all need—maybe more than we yet realize.

9/9 Wed.
My hair’s looking like a telling measure of the long haul with the pandemic. Not ponytail material yet— maybe another year, but I’m still scared to sit in front of a stylist whose mask, at that distance, would be of little help in containing her breath.

That said, I have, in the past few days, been pretty close to an ENT physician’s assistant, a dentist and a surgeon. Only the dentist was well-protected, with not just an N-95 mask, but a face shield.

After meeting with the colo-rectal surgeon today, I’m on board, enthusiastically, with the colon surgery Oct. 16. He explained that the state of my diverticulosis is pretty dangerous, with an unusually large diverticulum, with perforation contained only by its fortunate location up against the rib cage.

9/12 Sat.
Time continues to feel warped by COVID-19. Most Americans, I think, are used to waiting a little while for things. The least patient of us—like those who just can’t live without their favorite bar—minutes, maybe hours. The most patient—I might be one of them—weeks or months.

But COVID-19 is asking us to wait for what looks like it will be more than a year until we can even begin feeling like we’ve been able to reclaim any sense of normalcy: traveling, dining out…can we ever imagine hugging again?

I must continually fight complacency. There’s only so long one can deal with fear before it begins to feel normal. Our defenses, after countless applications without being breached, are bound to let up just a bit. I now regularly go in-store grocery shopping—though early mornings when there are fewer shoppers.

I’m now going to in-person doctor and dentist appointments. I’m playing tennis and meeting up with my men’s group and a couple of other friends.
I’m putting a lot of faith in my N-95 masks and rather paranoid distancing requirements. Still, I wonder if those masks have yet saved me from what, otherwise, would have been a direct exposure.

9/15 Tues.
This year’s National Night Out event is proving challenging. Our condo/townhome complex has been putting on a very nice pot luck under a tent in the parking lot. Obviously, the pandemic’s made this impossible. Some in our association have refused to get together in any way.

The rest of us, though, have put our heads together (virtually) and come up with a safe alternative. Sally and I have taken on the challenge of designing activities that might be both celebratory of our community and supportive to everyone—even those who’ve chosen not to participate.

Sally’s leading a driveway chalk art project. Each participant will draw a resident’s street address from a hat, and then will draw a simple, hearts-and-flowers type design, possibly with a message of love and support, in that neighbor’s driveway.

My bit is a photo scavenger hunt. I’ve roamed the property, taking pix of various natural, architectural and decorative details. Each participant will get a check-off sheet with the photos, and will check off each one they spot. One point each for the easy ones (Robin’s-Eye); three points for the hard ones (Eagle-Eye).

I’m proud of, and grateful for, our community of kind, caring, creative people, all doing our best to get through this dreadful chapter in our lives. So far, no one we know of has contracted the virus.

The imbecile-in-chief’s reign of error continues. As stated in his latest skirmish with Joe Biden over climate change, here’s his strategy for dealing with the threat that might make COVID-19 look like a blip on the chart of human health and well-being: "It will start getting cooler. You just watch."

9/17 Thurs.
Once again, the presumptive president of the United States has contradicted his own national infectious disease experts, insisting that masks are not effective in controlling COVID-19. He’s also still insisting that science is not to be believed. And so his killing spree continues.

He’s also feeding on people’s fears and frustrations, stoking them. And it’s taking a toll on my spirit. My fears and frustrations—endanger—is not aimed at “the other”—immigrants, minorities, “liberal elites”—but at Trump himself. And it is not healthy.

Today the CDC again predicted that there won’t be widespread availability of a vaccine until at least the middle of next year. Trump, insisting there will be a vaccine by election day, is desperate to have whatever the labs are working on released by then, even if it’s unproven, even if a premature release ends up killing people.

I honestly believe history would ultimately prove the man’s assassination to be justified.

9/18 Fri.
The COVID-19 death toll in Minnesota is now 1,950 since the pandemic started. Of these victims, 1,414 have been residents of long-term care facilities. This begs the question: how many folks have pulled Gramps and Grammie out of their nursing homes, knowing that statistic.

Israel today joined the small number of countries which have imposed a second nationwide lockdown.

Our neighbor to the west, North Dakota, now leads the nation in number of COVID-19 cases per capita. One can pretty much picture exactly how the virus is spreading, and it’s not from one properly-distanced, mask-wearing, functional adult to another.

Incidentally, North Dakota is the fourth strongest Trump bastion of all the states, with 63 percent of the vote going to him in 2016. And, to these idiots, wearing a mask and social distancing are pointed political symbols, indicating fear, stolen liberty and caving in to the evil liberal elites. May they live with the consequences of their ignorance—and not pass them on to a single innocent victim.

9/19 Sat.
I’ve been low on coping skills for some time now, but it seems to have gotten worse the past couple of weeks. And then, last night, we learned of the death of Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg. When I heard Sally scream, I thought she’d just learned of a sudden death in the family.

This morning, after tennis with my buddies, I tossed my water bottle into the front seat of my car, only to see that I’d not closed the top. Water poured onto the seat and I went into a paroxysm of rage. Gnashing my teeth, cursing, slamming the car door—way out of proportion to the seriousness of the situation.

I can only attribute it to the grinding toll the pandemic, the criminal leadership of our country, the aggressive ignorance of my countrymen…And now, with Trump and his lackeys licking their chops at the chance to further stack the high court with fascist sympathizers, it’s overflowed the flimsy dike of my patience.

For the first time, I heard these words come out of my own mouth: This means civil war. If this keeps getting worse, I’m afraid my disciplined aversion for the virus might get worn down too—with nascent thoughts that maybe I won’t want to live any more, at least not in a Trump-soiled country.

Where does one find the strength to go on? A few possibilities: continuing to write my voter turnout letters (now, with Sally’s help, closing in on 500 letters written), focusing on loved ones, Nature and the here-and-now, prayer…

9/20 Sun.
A couple of troubling twinges of pain from the area of my diverticulitis. I’m praying the big abscess can hold on and not rupture before my 10/6 surgery date.

Still feeling extremely grateful for each day I awaken without COVID-19 symptoms. I pray I can keep being safe enough to get through without catching it.

9/22 Tues.
Yesterday, the CDC, having just released another advisory that the corona virus can be transmitted beyond the common six-foot perimeter from an individual by the drifting of “aerosol” droplets. Nothing new, since most public health experts now agree on this.

What’s interesting—no, shocking—is that the CDC almost immediately withdrew the advisory, claiming that it was only a mistakenly-released “draft.” This on top of an alarming number of other such quashings, almost certainly the result of the White House’s constant pressure on the CDC to change potentially life-saving science to suit the political needs of Trump. Outrageous!

9/23 Wed.
It’s fascinating to see how creative businesses, especially those which depend on some degree of foot traffic to survive—like restaurants—are being to try to survive the pandemic. I’ve noticed that many, apparently bending zoning requirements, are finding ways to add outdoor seating. I can’t see how many will survive without at least a curbside pickup option.

Other places, like theaters, concert venues and museums, have devised ways to convert to virtual events. I saw an article about a local senior center switching to drive-up bingo, where residents and, I assume, family members sit in their cars in the parking lot while numbers are called over loudspeakers.

As I try to cope with the loss—temporary, I hope, but I’m not sure—of adventure travel during these, my few remaining years of mobility, my therapist advises I continue to plan trips, even if I can’t be sure when or if they can be realized. Is that a good idea? Wouldn’t that be like putting a nice steak dinner just beyond reach of a starving man and telling him that’s better than just sitting there pining for food?

I’ve offered to share this journal—now approaching 180 pages—with the Minnesota Historical Society for inclusion with their materials documenting the COVID-19 experience for Minnesotans.

9/24 Thurs.
These manifold menaces are wearing my patience quite thin. The pandemic, Trump’s outrageous assault on democracy, decency and truth; the tinderbox of racial tensions (yesterday, the Louisville police charged with the murder of Breonna Taylor were let off with no direct consequences, setting off a night of street violence in that city, with protesters closing down I-94 here in the Twin Cities for a while last night); and the always looming reality of global climate change. It’s all too much.

I’m flying into a rage over the smallest thing. Spilling some water on my car seat last weekend. Ripping my check register trying to dislodge it from my planner. Stupid stuff. But my response is way out of proportion. Frustration, fear, outrage, sadness: it feels like a perfect storm of stress. I hope I can keep the damage to my relationship with myself, and not let it spill over into my relationships with loved ones.

9/25 Fri.
Some parents in Wisconsin, and a few elsewhere in the country, have insisted on sending their kids to school with COVID-19 symptoms, or even after they’ve tested positive for the virus. This makes hanging out maskless at a bar look like an innocent oversight.

They say crisis brings out a person’s true colors. And what the current confluence of crises is revealing about large swaths of the American public is truly frightening.

9/26 Sat.
The CDC has now lowered Minnesota’s status in managing the pandemic to “uncontrolled.” I can just hear Paul Gazelka and the other Trumpublicans in the state legislature, after their dogged opposition to distancing and masking guidelines or any other type of leadership from Governor Walz and state public health experts, now putting the blame squarely on the governor.

9/28 Mon.
The U.S. has surpassed 7,000,000 COVID-19 cases. Our infection rate continues rising to the stratosphere as other developed countries around the world have seen their rates peak out much, much lower. Worldwide, we will soon see the one-millionth death from the virus.

Finally, it looks like the long-hidden tax records of the COVID-19 denier-in-chief are coming out. The New York Times released many findings yesterday, including the fact that in 2016, the year off Trump’s election, the billionaire paid exactly $750 in federal income tax. Let there be more, and more damning, revelations!

9/29 Tues.
My men’s group met via Zoom last night. As cold, dark nights loom, I’m so grateful for technology’s making our meetings possible even when meeting in person, indoors, becomes impossible. What a blessing it is to be able to share our feelings, our support and our inspiration with each other.

A topic that keeps coming up for us is how to safeguard our kinder, gentler, smarter selves during this time of extraordinary divisiveness in our country, when we’re all letting the psychopath-in-chief get into our heads, reacting with our instinctive fight-or-flight response.

We all realize fear and anger are costly, and largely unhelpful, emotions. Not to mention the toll they take on our outlooks, our health and our relationships. Together, the group is discussing ways to turn those harmful responses into thoughts and actions that are more constructive.

Sept. 30 Wed.
The stress generated by the nation’s—and the world’s—compound crisis is taking a toll. The frustration, the fear, the rage are eating away at people and families. Besides the millions and millions of human beings who are dying because of the criminal neglect of duty shown by Trump and other neocon leaders, untold numbers of lives are being shortened by the stress.

I heard a report of people losing their hair in clumps, apparently not from the ravages of COVID-19 itself, but from the anxiety it and other calamities are causing.

And this morning, I learn that the impact has come home, or nearly home, for me. My daughter is suffering, she thinks, from extreme anxiety, manifest in complete loss of appetite, three straight days of sleeplessness, cold sores and near-debilitating back pain.

If Donald Trump bears much of the blame for the shameful mismanagement of the country’s response to the virus—and the deaths of many of the over 200,000 Americans who’ve passed away as a result, he also must be held accountable for the collateral damage to folks’ mental and spiritual health.

In one of the few stress antidotes I have, I’m closing in on my goal of 500 hand-written get-out-the-vote letters prepared for Vote Forward. The organization is still aiming for 10 million letters to be mailed October 17. I’m proud to say I’ve persuaded several friends and family members to pitch in.

I’m finding my hair, now uncut for six months, to be a problem. I can’t keep it out of my face, and it’s getting snarled, tough to comb. Sally’s forbidden me to wear any kind of head band, and dislikes the look when I slather on a tablespoon of gel to slick it all back.

So, it looks like I’ll have to take the risk and get a haircut. Since I’ll have to wear my N-95 mask—with straps over the top of the head and behind the neck—I’ll have to be creative to protect myself and still let my stylist gain access to all spots on my head. Maybe I’ll just hold the mask in place with my hand while she’s working on the top.

I know I can’t trust that the stylist will be wearing an effective mask, so I also want to have a fan—either theirs or one I bring with me—blowing sideways between us.

10/1 2020 Thurs
Minnesota has tallied the highest number of daily new infections since          .     Apparently, the deals with the devil made by schools, bars, Trump rallies and other premature “openings up” are making it ever harder to maintain the denial that’s driven them.

I understand the juggling act with virus-containment measures and trying to salvage a reeling economy, but, as I’ve said here, it bothers me to know that the unspoken equation really involves the number of human lives—most of them still older folks with already compromised health—we’re willing to sacrifice for the economy.

News outlets are reporting that Hope Hicks, counselor to president Trump, who accompanied him in Air Force One on yesterday’s junket to Minnesota, has tested positive for COVID. Trump and others are being tested to determine if / when they might be infected by the virus that doesn’t exist because it’s a hoax.

10/2 Fri.
This morning’s Star Tribune headline: “TRUMP HAS VIRUS.” Decent folks who, like me, have been taught some self-control, are reluctant to say anything. I can’t help but fantasize, though, having written a prominent sub-hed for that lead article: "Chorus of Little Whimpers of People Biting Their Tongues Audible From Space."

Sally mentioned the other night how much she misses our touching, hugging, being close without worry. I miss that closeness too! Not to mention not being able to even see my kids or grandchildren in person. It’s hard to stomach the fact that it may be, some experts are warning, years till we’re more or less back to normal in terms of distancing and masking.

Pretty sure we’ll all get used to one degree or another of distancing and paranoia, but it will, I’m afraid, continue to take a toll on our psyches—if not our physical health.

Last night there was a frost/freeze warning. Looks like the plants on our porch and deck survived, but it’s an omen of what’s to come: a very grey, dark, cold…and long…winter. I finally turned the furnace on.

I’m trying to be creative about getting some exercise after it gets wintry around here. I’m not sure I’d be comfortable going to the gym—where I love the treadmills, weights and steam room. So maybe I’ll head for HarMar Mall every morning. They’re open for an hour and a half before shopping hours for walkers. I think I can get into a nice routine with that. Also, if it feels safe, I can still do a couple of of my ten-minute stair-climbing sets each day at my studio.

Well, I did it! I made an appointment with my hair stylist. Seven months now without a haircut. It’s really getting uncomfortable with the hair well down over my collar, hanging into my eyes and ears… I could have let it go—was kind of wondering how I’d look with a ponytail or man-bun, but Sally nixed that idea, as well as wearing a headband.

My stylist, Jenny, says I can bring a small fan in with me to blow lightly across us as she works. She doesn’t seem to understand why, but it will make me feel safer. I’m kind of excited! As if I’m reclaiming another grudging part of normalcy.

Oct. 4 Sun.
Today’s the big day. Just posted a selfie of my long-hair “before” look—no haircut since March. Biggest concern for me, besides air movement, is how to use my N-95 mask, with its over-the-head and behind-the-neck straps, without interfering with Jenny’s work. I guess I’ll have to hold the mask against my face with my hands.

The president’s COVID infection is bringing out, once again, the utter chaos that has marked his administration from the start. Mixed messages about exactly where and when he first reported symptoms. No one wanting to admit that he may have already had symptoms when boarding Air Force One for his latest campaign swing to Minnesota last week.

Everyone’s on pins and needles, waiting for the critical 48 hours to pass after diagnosis to see how well he’ll fare once his body’s “inflammatory response” kicks in. Some folks hope he’ll get sick enough to (maybe) humble him, but not kill him.

Sounds like there just aren’t enough people taking the pandemic seriously enough to bring it under control any time soon. This is exactly what the epidemiologists predicted would happen if folks didn’t distance and mask up as mandated. And the responsibility falls squarely on president Trump for making such common-sense measures into tribal symbols—and on the ass-kissing flock of Trumpublicans who’ve attached their cars to his cliff-bound train.

Hard to listen to my better angels when these idiots have worked so hard, so insisted on ignorance that they’ve brought the plague on themselves. Sadly, they won’t be the only ones to pay the price. It really is criminal.

10/5 Mon.
The haircut went better than expected. Jenny was fine with my blowing my little fan on us as she worked. Turns out I could wear my N-95 and just put both straps behind my neck instead of one over the top of my head. Sally thinks it’s the best haircut I’ve gotten in years!

Getting my hair cut is doing a world of good for my psyche. I can see why people might take far greater risks than I did to get the benefits. And I felt good again helping support Jenny, who said her business, even after things have “opened up,” is still off nearly 50 percent. I paid her double, I guess as an apology for having abandoned her for so long.

10/6 Tues.
I went to bed last night with pangs of doubt about our upcoming dinner out with friends. They were thoughtful in reserving a table outdoors at Barbette, a nice little place in Uptown. And at an early time, when there might be fewer people there.

When they first invited us, I thought (wishfully) that, okay, we’ll be outdoors. We’ll be fine. But then I pictured the scene. Even if the restaurant has generously spaced their tables on the patio, I’m pretty sure they’ll not be very big. So we’ll be sitting within a few feet of people we have to think of as possibly contagious. And none of us will be wearing masks.

Now, if there happens to be a nice breeze Saturday evening, I’d feel a little better about the risk, but we can’t count on that. So my stomach is in knots at the prospect of telling our friends we can’t do it—or maybe can do it if we make it take-out and head for a not-too-crowded park.

10/8 Thur.
After seven months of this, I still am not seeing the bend in the COVID-19 graph curves suggesting an overall crest in the infection or death rates in the US. Can’t help but think the health experts knew what they were doing when, months ago, they predicted the course of the pandemic would be a very long series of crests and valleys.

Did those models take into account the stupidity of folks who think that, because the curve is down a point from yesterday, we can suddenly “open up” the economy again—as in opening the bars and restaurants, sending all the kids back into their famously poorly ventilated classrooms again, and throwing big maskless kegger parties in every town in Wisconsin?

Trump is proving once again that there is not a shred of humility in his plump, soul-less body. Instead of coming out of his brief stay at Walter Reed with gratitude, or perhaps  word of support for other COVID patients who don’t have helicopters and experimental drug “cocktails,” he’s minimizing anew the whole idea of this disease that’s crushed so many souls around the world.

I am not praying for his recovery. I am praying for America’s recovery.

10/9 Fri.
Trump is now calling for the DOJ to prosecute those he considers his enemies: Obama administration staffers, Hillary Clinton…you name it. At the same time, a planned coup to take over the government of Michigan and kidnap Democrat state officials was foiled. The culprits: a radical-right self-styled militia group called the Wolverine Watchmen.

The attempted coup, including the kidnapping of the governor comes after President Donald Trump called on his supporters to “LIBERATE MICHIGAN,” and members of the group vowed to “water the tree of liberty with (Michigan Governor) Whitmer’s blood. Another key factor in their rage: the fact that Whitmer is a woman, and these armed-but-impotent little brats are scared to death of women.


10/10 Sat.
Two articles on page one of the Star Tribune today: the first, reporting that the WHO announced a new daily record high for new coronavirus infections worldwide: 350,000. In one day!

The second article, about Andy Slavitt, a former health official in President Obama’s administration, who laments the unforgivable failing of Donald Trump, other leaders and many in the general public to take the pandemic seriously and with the discipline health officials warned us it would take to contain the pandemic.

“If someone would have said ’Six weeks,’ like they did in the rest of the world…’six hard weeks. If you do this, you crush the virus.’ “That was never an option,” he says, because no-one offered that expectation of the people.

It’s less than a week till my colon surgery. My pre-op plan is going well—my daily meditation/alert hypnosis program; pre-op physical passed; cutting out certain medications and supplements; and starting on what, for me, is a new dimension of preparation for surgery: taking an intensive, five-day course of hi-powered nutritional supplements, supposedly having a positive effect on avoiding infection during and after the surgery.

Even with all this prep, I’m still feeling quite anxious about the surgery. And I attribute this to the impact on my psyche of the pandemic and our national leaders’ shameful, criminal failure to manage it.

10/11 Sun.
It still appears the pandemic is far from peaking. Many states are reporting record high daily infection numbers. It’s clear how the cycle works: younger and Trump-supporting people get bored with restrictions that affect their lifestyles. About a week later infections spike among that demographic.

Another week or so and older folks—those, ironically, who tend to be more compliant with COVID-wise guidelines—start to show on the infection curve. And another week or so, and the death rate spikes. And so it goes in a country, shamefully, devoid of the leadership, personal integrity or the self-discipline it would have taken to get a handle on the virus.

I am not proud of my country right now.

10/14 Wed.
I had my first—and I hope my last—COVID-19 test today, in preparation for my surgery Friday. It was about what I’d expected, except for the fact that when I drove up I was second in line. I only had to wait a couple of minutes to get tested.

The swab wasn’t pushed nearly as far into my nose/sinuses as I’d read in some of the horror stories. They swab into both nostrils. Very easy.

There’s a new testing lab opening in Oakdale that will analyze saliva samples instead of nasal swabs. More sites will be opening next week, and the state will be testing a mail-in text kit soon.

Meanwhile, Facebook’s just announced it will be banning anti-vaccination content on its platform. Apparently there is a

10/15 Thur.
Minnesota’s daily death toll from the corona virus yesterday, at 29, was the highest since June. It’s clear, still, again, that we are not willing, as citizens, to exert the discipline, make the comparatively small sacrifices necessary to control the virus and save the most vulnerable among us.

I know keeping the economy functioning at even something close to a sustainable level is a very serious concern. I can see how government policy must acknowledge that by allowing businesses some leeway in remaining open—as long as they adhere to basic safety protocols.

But what’s fueling the new spike in infections and deaths is not businesses following guidelines; it is people—individuals, families and some Trumpie-led organizations who, in continuing denial of COVID-19, are simply thumbing their noses at health experts and the political leaders trying to following their advice.

As with everything else that’s happened during these past few surreal years, this attitude cannot be separated from politics. Thanks to Donald Trump and his cultivation of people’s worst instincts, everything COVID has become just like everything global warming, everything immigration, everything women: values whose manifestations he’s made his follows believe are symbols of everything they should hate: face masks, Subarus and Priuses, anything blue…

It’s 10:00 PM, and I’ve survived the incredible array of various meds and nutritional therapy drinks I’ve had to take to prepare for my colectomy surgery tomorrow morning. My bowels are clear and I’m already desperate for some solid food (a testament to my privileged status the I’m suffering so from just a day’s fasting.)

I’m not concerned about catching COVID when I’m in the hospital. Maybe I should be, but the gravity of the surgery surely makes any slight risk necessary to take. I’ve read that, with the current second crest of infections that’s swept the state, nearly all available hospital beds are needed for those patients. So I wonder what my accommodations will look like. I’m hoping for a single room, but will understand if they have to double me up.

Well, journal, wish me luck. I hope to be making my next entry here very soon.

10/18 Sun.
Just two days after my colon surgery, I’m home from the hospital. I came through it very, very well, and apparently the procedure was successful; I’ll follow up with the surgeon in a week or so.

COVID-19 was the least of my worries while at the hospital, but I felt safe, considering the extent to which the hospital is going to keep patients so. Still, there was some risk, obviously, in the same building that treats hundreds and hundreds, if not thousands, of COVID patients. Yet another two—week wait-and-see period.

10/19 Mon.
It’s so good to be home and recovering so well from my surgery. It’s a lot for us to go through while also dealing with the constant dread of COVID-19 and a long, dark winter looming. But we’ll do it.

If our country manages to somehow rid itself of the infection of Donald Trump and his devotees, it will be so much easier. There will be such a sigh of relief that I think it will be audible in the streets throughout the country. I hope, I hope, I hope…

In Saturday’s paper—while I was still in the hospital—there was an editorial which painted a picture of what life might be like “post-COVID.” The writer based his brush strokes on current projections by independent health care professionals.

It was November, 2021. Yep, over a year from now. But people were going out to eat—maybe a bit further apart, but not like now. Folks were going to movies, plays, and sporting events. And, most importantly, a scant fraction of the number of people now dying of the virus were contracting it. In other words, the virus was, at least in epidemiologists’ parlance, “under control.”

It was just one person’s vision, but it gave me a shot of hope, something we all need about now.

My emotions have been so close to the surface these days. I just watched a sappy Hallmark movie and am sitting here in tears. Any window to the real decency and generous kindness I’ve spent my whole life believing defined the soul of America, and I’m weeping.

10/20 Tues.
Another report today from Minnesota public health officials: the spread of the coronavirus has spread faster than our ability to test for it. Just one more reminder that this thing is nowhere near “control.” And the Trump administration has aggressively championed this failing since the earliest days of the pandemic. I’ll say it again: criminal.

My daughter has reminded me several times of her desire to make up for last spring’s COVID-cancelling of her birthday visit to us in Zihuatanejo. I’ve had to be honest, and tell her I can’t promise we’ll go.

Nothing has changed that uncertainty, but each time I connect with one of my friends from Zihuatanejo, I nearly weep with the disappointment of not being able to look forward to that now 12-year tradition. I suppose it’s still possible, but chances are still quite slim.

10/22 Thur.
Yesterday saw the highest daily number of COVID fatalities in Minnesota since May 28 (35). I still can’t help think what people’s and government’s response might be if that many folks were dying each day from some other cause—car accidents, a fire, a mass murderer…

Our emergency response and legal systems are prepared for most such calamities. Ambulances go out, hospitals make room, and those responsible are eventually held to account.

But it’s not that easy to accommodate a deadly crisis when it keeps happening every day for seven or eight months. And, more troubling still, it’s tough when the country’s laws and political realities prove incapable of dealing with a dysfunctional, criminally negligent head of state and his enablers.

The CDC has redefined what “close contact” means when it comes to possible exposure to the virus. Now, instead of simply being within six feet of someone who’s infected for a period of 15 minutes of more, the new guideline includes a cumulative exposure to the infected person totaling 15 minutes within a 24-hour period. The new definition does not mention whether that’s masked or unmasked.

10/23 Fri.
Again, I must keep my focus on being vigilant. I must remember that Sally, as careful as she is with her day-to-day interactions with students, colleagues and her side of the family, could, any day, unwittingly contract the virus. And she’d be able to spread it even days before showing any symptoms.

We continue to respect each other’s distance, and in what I feel is an under appreciated, but effective measure, we have a small fan blowing across the five-foot space between us when we’re both sitting in our den.

I had a nice Zoom get-together yesterday with my good old friends since high school, Todd and Charlie. No exaggeration that we spent 90 percent of our hour-plus together talking about either the pandemic, our health or the disheartening political dysfunction of our country.

None of us dares, I think, look forward to better times, at least as long as the prospect of another term for Donald Trump looms. It helps that in last night’s final presidential candidate debate, though Trump conducted himself much better than in the previous debate (in which he barely allowed his opponent to speak) Biden conducted himself well, answered the moderator’s questions, and, most importantly, made no major gaffs.

10/24 Sat.
My recovery is going well, though the pain from one of my incisions continues to be basically debilitating, limiting my ability to do the one thing that’s most conducive to healing: walking. I can only stand to be on my feet for a few minutes before the pain forces me to recline.

The worldwide COVID situation is still bleak. Here in the U.S. we saw the most new daily cases since the pandemic started. The pandemic is also hitting new peaks in Europe and other areas around the world. Notable exceptions continue to be those countries with the intelligence and foresight—or totalitarian grip on citizen behavior—to have taken drastic action early in the pandemic.

An opinion piece in today’s paper discourages the polarization of the safety guidelines versus “opening up” sides in the COVID-19 debate, asserting that widespread adherence to measures like distancing and masking actually lowers the “herd immunity” threshold.

New signs every day that people still just don’t get it. Or, they do get it, and don’t care. Football coaches and athletic directors across the country are wringing their hand and searching their souls. “We’re pretty sure we can have a bunch of big, sweaty, heavy-breathing guys grappling with each other face to face and still stay safe.” Or “We just don’t know why infection rates just happen to be spiking in towns where major football programs are insisting on the right to play. It’s for the players, they say. OMG!

10/25 Sun.
Scientists at the Australian Centre for Disease Preparedness have shown that the novel coronavirus can remain infectious for weeks on paper currency, glass, touch screens and other common surfaces. That’s nearly twice as long as the common flu virus. This reinforces the, long-touted case for frequent surface disinfecting and hand-washing.

To be as safe as possible, I need to be doing these things at home. Sally likely would resent having to do them, given all the steps she’s already taking, so I’ll have to do them myself. But at what cost? It’s always a tough balance.

Over 220,000 COVID-19 deaths so far in the U.S. Over 2,200 deaths in Minnesota. And we are nowhere near peaking. “Herd immunity?” We’re nowhere near that either.

There is apparently a war of ideas swirling between blocs of health experts and members of the general public who believe the best way to get past the pandemic is to protect the vulnerable, but pull out all the stops on the rest of the population.

No distancing, no masks. Just let everyone who can survive the virus contract it and develop whatever immunity that affords. This view, supported—no surprise—by many in the Trump administration, is promoted in what’s called the Great Barrington Declaration.

The other side, including Dr. Anthony Fauci, who’s called the Great Barrington concept “total nonsense, has proposed its own treatise, the John Snow Memorandum.

10/27 Tues.
Had my surgery follow-up with the surgeon today. He likes the way I’m mending, including the looks of my four incisions, and apologized for the continuing, searing pain I’m feeling on one side of the largest incision. It’s been severely limiting my walking, which is essential to my continued healing.

He thinks he inadvertently caught my iliohypogastric nerve, which he says is nearly invisible, in one of his stitches. He says those stitches will eventually dissolve, but it could take months. Meanwhile, he offered several measures to minimize the pain.

Discouraging, but I still feel the main purpose of the surgery was a great success.

I thought of another way to characterize the idiots who keep demanding their “individual liberty” to live lives free of any inconvenience during the global crisis of a lifetime. Perhaps, under all the bitching and moaning, what it comes down to for them is some notion of survival of the fittest. Let everyone else get sick. Hell, let me get sick. I’ve got my survivalist bunker, weapons and supplies, and I’ll survive.

Oh, but if I or one of my loved ones gets really sick…then I’ll expect the government-supported health care system—the one my Trumpist representatives are working so hard to dismantle—to take care of me.

10/29 Thur.
It’s day 225 of the pandemic’s immediate impact on Sally’s and my lives. I keep waking up each morning feeling quite aware of and grateful that, at least up to a week or so ago, I’ve not yet contracted the virus.

I must say, though, that it’s hard not to start taking one’s health and safety for granted. Especially if your education, lifestyle and means allow you to follow the infectious disease experts’ advice. Though I do go to my studio and run (mostly curbside) errands, I know I’m still vulnerable, especially when cases are spiking across the country.

At my studio, neither of my two suite mates seems to believe masking is necessary. I’ve just had surgery in a major metro hospital, and a couple of related in-person exams by doctors.

On those medical visits and my occasional in-store shopping forays, nearly all the organizations are bending over backwards to keep everyone safe. But, still, I run the risk of exposure. Mostly, I fear, due to people’s wishful thinking and lack of knowledge about how masks work.

At least we don’t live in some rural burg in Wisconsin. There, widely infected first by Trump-think, and then by COVID-19, many still see mask-wearing as a sign of liberal-elite weakness.

Across the U.S., some 71,000 people are testing positive every single day. The numbers are rising in 48 of our 50 states.

Here in my own household, Sally’s incredibly stressed out about what she sees as unnecessary, knee-jerk reactions by parents and some of her colleagues, who are demanding 100% distance learning. Face-to-face teaching is so much a part of Sally’s being—and so vital to her emotionally vulnerable students in the Area Learning Center—that she feels like part of her is being cut away.

It’s almost as if she were in traumatic shock, describing moments where she can do nothing but sit at her desk, stare straight ahead and despair. She’s sure that if safety guidelines are followed, classroom teaching can, and should, work. I’m committed to understanding and acknowledging her feelings, but, of course, I worry, too, about her risk of exposure…and, thus, mine.

10/31 Sat. (Halloween)
I’m dreading tomorrow morning’s end of daylight savings time. During a normal Fall, I feel the early effects of shorter days—darkness both when I get up and by 4:30 in the afternoon. But this is not a normal year, and I’m afraid the cabin fever that sets in by January will be bad this time.

The outlook’s especially dismal given that we won’t have Mexico in March to look forward to. I’m starting to think about driving to Florida instead; we need some ray of sunshine to get us through the winter.

Everyone’s extremely tense about the election, now just three days away. Most Americans feel the country will go quickly down the drain if their candidate’s not elected. With guarded optimism I believe Biden will win and that the feared response by perhaps militant Trumpets militias will be spotty at its worst. I hope and pray I’m right.

11/3 Tues.
It’s the long-anticipated Election Night. I’ve made it a point to avoid news, as I know every single news vehicle is clamoring to fill air time with only partial, and thus quite meaningless, information. Tomorrow morning’s newspaper might have some Associated Press projected winners, but results will probably trickle in for days.

Everyone I know is extremely nervous about it. We all realize that a Trump re-election will mean continued denial of the COVID catastrophe—which just might end up costing some of us our lives. Not to mention his utter failure to address global climate change and any number of other vital issues.

For some reason, I’m optimistic.

11/4 Wed.
As everyone expected, a few races have been decided, but most, including the one for president, are still alive. Meanwhile, though it’s been pushed to the background the past few days, the pandemic continues to ravage the entire country, with rates of hospitalizations for the infection breaking records in all but three states.

The COVID test positivity rate in Minnesota has reached 9%. That is, nearly one in ten people tested have been exposed and now harbor the virus. In some rural counties, the rate is as high as 15%. This seems a clear sign that the virus is now spreading mostly in small gatherings of folks either believing their president’s assertion that the virus doesn’t really exist, or assuming that familiarity somehow means immunity.

In several states, hospital bed capacities have reached their limit. It remains to be seen how standing in long lines for up to several hours might affect infection rates, but public health officials are keeping an eye on it.

Things are very bad in Europe, with new cases hitting new highs in Russia, Germany and England.

I’ve seen no reports of overt voter intimidation at the polls anywhere in the country, a great relief given a few highly-tattooed, MAGA-capped incursions in the weeks leading up to Election Day.

11/5 Thurs.
Still no call in the presidential race two days after Election Day, but Biden now has 264 electoral votes; Trump, 214. Trump’s already sicced his legal dogs on the process, demanding recounts in several states and suing to actually stop the counting in others. Totally predictable, but still unbelievable.

Meanwhile COVID-19, the “hoax” this ignorant, self-obsessed little man has been trying to get everyone to ignore, is, by all accounts, out of control, with daily new cases having broken the 100,000 mark.

And yesterday the US’s desertion from the Paris Climate Change Accord became final—another poorly considered Trump paroxysm that’s sure to exact a huge toll on human life in coming years.

And not quite half of my fellow Americans still support this halfwit. While I’m still optimistic about a Biden win, it likely will mean little, since the Senate looks like it will remain in the hands of the likes of McConnell and Graham, the two-faced, amoral cockroaches who are sure to tie the new president’s hands at every turn.

The Twin Cities are now on “red alert” for ICU beds capacity. Just NINE beds are available. Frightening, given that the state is seeing nearly 4,000 new cases every day.

In anticipation of the coming long, cold, dark winter—and the Seasonal Affect Disorder (SAD) shroud it throws over me, I’ve bought a treadmill. It’s a big expense, and will take up a lot of floor space in our little townhouse, but given that the gym’s off limits and skiing will likely be hit and miss, it seems justified.

I’ve also purchased a full-spectrum, anti-SAD light fixture which I intend to set up right next to the treadmill. I’m aware that probably 80% of all such exercise gear ends up at Goodwill or on the curb within a year, so we’ll see…

On another hopeful note, I continue my search for a cottage somewhere in Florida (Sanibel is nice), or maybe in Texas or Southern California. We need something to look forward to!

I’ve never been a wastrel, but the pandemic’s got me even more careful with my consumption. It started, I suppose, with the general sort of siege mentality of having to quarantine at home for long periods (which continues in a watered-down version). Some people hoarded supplies; I just bought what I needed week-by-week and tried to make it last as long as possible. I’m thinking I must have lost a little weight back in April and May.

Shortages of some food staples, like rice and eggs, just reminded me not to take such things for granted. And then, subject of much humor, there was the run on toilet paper and resulting shortage. That one has got me using about 30 percent less toilet paper than back when I’d taken it for granted.

11/6 Fri.
Epidemiologist Michael Osterholm today described the current outlook for the pandemic as a “perfect storm” of pandemic fatigue, anger at perceived restrictions on”personal freedoms,” and the coming winter confinement to indoor spaces.

Personal freedoms? Here’s the proof of the idiocy of that mantra: virtually every area strongly supporting Trump in the presidential election is also an area of exceptionally high rates of infection. It would be poetic justice if not for the collateral damage wrought on innocent people by thoughtless, self-obsessed Trumpie types.

11/7 Sat.
HOORAY!!!!!!!!  Joe Biden, four days after the polls closed, has been declared the winner. This is not to say Trump’s pitiful rants and lawsuits will soon end, but thankfully the courts seem to be rejecting his arguments…so far.

I can’t overstate the relief I, and tens of millions of other Americans are feeling to be rid of the pestilence that’s infected the country for the past four years. Trump’s most avid supporters will still insist that any concerted effort to stem the pandemic is an infringement on their rights. But Biden will, at last, acknowledge what’s really happening and at least try to mobilize citizens and resources to control the spread. It will not be easy, but having a national leader who’s not insane will be a huge advantage.

Sally’s long-felt resentment of my efforts to be safe at home have surfaced once again. Those feelings tend to surface right after she’s witnessed me trying to have any social interaction. As she sees it, I’m lax in my efforts to mast and distance from my friends, but am more rigid in trying to distance from her. It makes her feel “dirty.”

I have to be strong, let her know I hear and understand her feelings, but still stick to my guns—follow my instincts—when it comes to those safety measures I can take while near her. What she doesn’t recognize is that those efforts are already a significant compromise from what I know would be safest: both of us isolating at home indefinitely.

Sally summed it up by saying, “I’m determined to live with COVID; you’re determined not to die from it.” That’s a clear, concise and insightful summation. I feel there’s merit to each side, and I hope we can navigate the roiled waters between them.

Just watch Harris’s and Biden’s victory speeches from Wilmington Delaware. They both hit it out of the park, striking all the right notes of reconciliation, vision, hope, humility, patriotism…I could go on. I’m so profoundly relieved and so proud of our people—albeit barely more than half of us—for ridding our nation of this pretender president!

11/8 Sun.
Ten pages of obituaries in today’s paper, several of them mentioning COVID-19 as cause of death. Many others, I suspect, chose not to mention it.

New cases and deaths continue breaking records across the country, including in Minnesota.

President elect Biden is wasting no time in setting up a task force to take on the pandemic as if it were the hostile invasion on U.S. soil that it is. What a relief to have a real, thinking, feeling leader poised to take the reins after the total shit show of the past four years!

We’re still awaiting the results of run-offs in two Georgia senatorial races. How great it would be if we could control both houses of Congress!

CBS's 60 Minutes had a segment on the military team coordinating the distribution of a vaccine when it’s ready. Among the interviewees was the public health commissioner for the state of New Jersey. She said that it’s their “very ambitious” goal to vaccinate 70 percent of that state’s population within six months of receiving the vaccine and kits for injecting it.

This—knowing that a more realistic timeline, given government’s dismal record of timely success with anything, will probably mean at least a year after the vaccine’s out before Sally and I will be (somewhat) protected. I should say before I can be protected, since Sally doesn’t trust any vaccine produced under the Trump administration and won’t take it.

11/9 Mon.
Pfiser today announced that it’s vaccine is proving 90 percent effective against the novel corona virus. This is incredible news, since a couple months ago the best we were being led to expect was about 50 percent. The U.S. stock market, up over 1200 points at one time today, ended up with an 800-point gain.

This morning, Joe Biden introduced members of his COVID-control task force. It includes Minnesota’s own Michael Osterholm of the U of M.

11/10 Tues.
It looks like I was quite lucky to have had my colon surgery when I did—a month ago— because the new spikes in the pandemic are forcing hospitals to stick to emergency surgeries only. While I’m not sure my surgery was considered elective, I doubt it was considered an emergency.

Governor Walz has again used his emergency powers—still opposed by the extremely short-sighted Republicans in the state legislature—to issue stricter guidelines on masking, distancing, the number of people meeting close together, and activities allowed in bars.

Again, I applaud Walz’s calm, science-based leadership, though some people, including doctors and nurses, whose physical and emotional limits are being shattered—and me—believe the restrictions must be stricter to achieve the control we so desperately need.

It seems like the decision a child faces with his/her allowance: Spend the little bit you have now on candy or a small toy you really, really want, or save it up till you have enough to buy the bike. The choice for a COVID-era business, albeit considerably tougher, is deny your immediate profits—even at risk of going under—for your customers’ chance to survive and, hopefully, thrive next year and for years to come.

The crushing reality of that choice makes me glad I’m retired. I admire those small businesses, like several of those Sally and I patronize, who’ve been really smart and creative about the radical changes necessary to hobble their way through the worst of it.

11/11 Wed.
A shortage of critical care hospital beds looms over the whole eastern half of Minnesota. For example, of the 681 such beds there are in the Twin Cities Metro, all but 22 are now occupied by patients. Other regions have as few as 11 remaining critical care beds. Scary!

I’m trying to get back into near-total isolation mode once again. With the steep increase in infections (now around one in five of those tested!) I need to think about no social gatherings, not even having two friends in the well-ventilated garage for ping pong. I also should start being more careful with Sally— though that will be tough; I may have to try doing so below the radar.

Some cities are now ready to deploy mobile morgues to handle all the bodies. As if a million new U.S. cases in just the past week weren’t horrifying enough, this is a truly dystopian prospect. It makes the past few years’ flood of dystopian books and movies look like a spot-on preview.

Brazil’s Trump-role-model president justifies his COVID trivialization by saying “Hey, everyone’s got to die someday.” That’s what he actually said. At any other moment in my long life I’d have found that rather incredible. I’m afraid it’s exactly the sentiment that runs under the surface of even my own county’s staunchest supporters of the utterly clueless, amoral Donald Trump.

It’s quite simple. This is how a person can claim he’s never been a loser: when you lose, blame others for the loss, even while insisting you won; coerce those who depend on you (or on your political base) for their livelihoods to back you; fire those with enough integrity to tell the truth; sue the daylights out of anyone else you don’t like. If all else fails, throw a tantrum and hope the media will cover that and not your being a loser.

A friend’s son and his wife have both gotten COVID. He got it first and has mostly recovered; she’s a week into it and still feeling quite miserable, though not bad enough for hospitalization.

A couple of COVID-19 statistics strike me as particularly ominous. Even eight months into the pandemic in the U.S., and in the middle of a huge third spike in cases, fewer than ten percent of the population has caught the virus. In Minnesota, it looks like only about five percent.

If you see the virus as a fire, and at people as the fuel it feeds on, that’s a lot of fuel left to burn. Unless, that is, folks are smart enough to heed public health professionals’ and responsible government officials’ repeated, fervent appeals for distancing and masking—in effect, starving the fire.

11/12 Thurs.
It’s getting bad again. It feels like it did last spring, just after we had to head home early from Mexico. At that time, people were making runs on supermarkets, in many cases hoarding essentials like the infamous toilet paper, rice, beans, sugar and eggs. My attempts to shop for groceries online were met with some substitutions, and a few complete outages.

It looks like the same thing is happening. My food order, at first acknowledged and assigned a pick-up time today, has been delayed until tomorrow evening. And the shopping service warns “we’ll do our best to get everything you ordered.”

I think everyone can see the handwriting on the wall—that we’re soon going to have to hunker down again. Even the Trump folks who publicly deny the pandemic, can see the truth when it affects them personally. And a few of them—the “preppers”—take it to the extreme.

11/14 Sat.
I’ve developed my own little bag of tricks to improve my odds against the virus. First, instead of the recommended six feet of social distancing, I do my best to maintain ten or more. I factor in air movement, trying, if possible, to stay upwind of people outdoors—especially runners and bikers.

Indoors, I use small fans to blow laterally across the space between Sally and me. I’ve also used this trick when I’ve had friends over to play ping pong.

I know that any day Sally could pick up the C-bug from exposure at school, her grandkids’ house or at one of the stores where she shops. This despite her commendable efforts to mask up and keep her distance. (I just don’t trust the effectiveness of 99 percent of the masks people use.)

In all fairness, I suppose I could contract the virus and put Sally at risk. But I do have considerably less contact with other people than she does. I can't really criticise her for this; it's her life's work and her beloved grandkids. The truth is, though, that this kind of rationalization is exactly what the coronavirus feeds on.

This virus is crafty and it’s relentless. It’s like water, which will find the slightest gap in your boat’s hull and seep through.

Instacart, Cub Foods’s contracted on-line shopping service, is once again screwing me over. After a thoroughly frustrating experience with them last spring, I decided to give them another chance. I figured they must have lived and learned from their mistakes.

Wrong! The first two orders and pickups worked quite well, with reasonably prompt pickup windows and nearly all my items available. The third time, same old, same old. I placed the order Thursday mid-day, choosing a pick-up time that same afternoon around 5 PM.

It’s now Saturday, and my pickup’s been delayed three times—so far. The latest delay, due to “High demand,” puts my window tomorrow, Sunday, at 2 PM. That’s three days late, during which time, I’ll run out of some of my staples.

What’s more outrageous is that, during that three days, thousands of people have been walking into my Cub store and stocking up on several of my items which are likely to get sold out, given the dramatic upturn in infection rates in the past week or so. People who are paying for their groceries days after I’ve paid for mine.

Bottom line, I’ll have to cancel my order once again, bite the bullet, and actually walk into that store to shop. I’ll go at 7 AM when there should be few shoppers, but that’s still a risk, not to mention the inconvenience.

This time ‘round, I know better than to try questioning Instacart about the delays. Last time I did that, for another order that had been delayed several times over several days, the mother-f#(*er I contacted via their website’s chat interface simply canceled my whole order. End of story.

Next time, I’m changing grocery chains. Maybe Hyvee?

I don’t think I’ve mentioned the COVID-coping device called pods. A pod is a group of people—families, groups of friends, business staffs—who, ideally through initial COVID tests and subsequent quarantines, assure that every member is virus free and then promise not to risk infection by any contact with anyone outside the pod.

Many sports teams have adopted pod status in order to resurrect what had seemed like doomed seasons.

11/15 Sun.
Headlines and subheads on the front page of today’s Star Tribune:
Virus Crisis Explodes / Minnesota Descends Into Desperate Situation / Rising Wave of Death Seen as Stark Next Stage / Worse Ahead

I’ve just read an editorial piece by Jay Bhattacharya, a Professor of Medicine at Stanford University, and co-author of the Great Barrington Declaration, which I slammed here a couple of weeks ago as a thinly-veiled sacrifice of old folks’ lives so younger, irresponsible folks can live it up at their favorite bars.

On reading his defense of the declaration, I see that it calls for doing everything necessary to protect vulnerable older Americans from COVID-19, while opening up the economy so younger, less vulnerable people can gradually be exposed to the virus and develop “herd immunity.”

This, he argues, is the only way to ever get ahead of this plague. And he claims that the impact of shutting down the economy (and schools) will actually exact a higher toll of misery and death than opening things up.

This is exactly how Sally sees things, and I now see Bhattacharya’s point, but still struggle to understand how I, clearly among the vulnerable, older population, but still necessarily somewhat active outside our home—and married to someone who still teaches face to face and spends time with her grandchildren—fit into that picture.

When I have to go grocery shopping—only because the store’s shopping / curbside pickup service has utterly failed me—or enter even a well-thought-out, sanitized, masked, socially-distanced shop, my chances of contracting COVID would be greater if other people in those environments had been living their lives more or less normally.

Even harder to swallow is Sally’s fervently-held belief that older folks’ protection is solely their own responsibility. That no one else should have to change their lifestyle much at all to protect them. Again, it’s the subtle, yet profound, counterpoint between “Living with COVID” and “Not dying from COVID.”

Ten pages of obituaries today—the second most I’ve seen since the pandemic started back in March.

11/16 Mon.
Today’s headline: “Spike in cases could derail holidays.”

As COVID continues to rage out of control, I heard today, for the first time, the term “light at the end of the tunnel” referring to the pandemic. It refers to two vaccines whose manufacturers have reported initial effectiveness results of 90% (Pfizer) and 94.5% (Moderna).

This degree of effectiveness, not to mention the speed with which these vaccines have been developed, is unprecedented. Dr. Anthony Fauci, who’d been thinking a rate of 75% might be achievable, said something like 90% was considered “aspirational.” He called its attainment “quite impressive.”

11/17 Tues.
With the news about vaccines, it’s hard not to feel a tremendous sense of relief—and even start planning for the celebration of reclaimed freedom to socialize, dine out and travel. But I must caution myself to realize that, at best, the vaccines might be available to just those with the highest-priority needs—like health care workers and first responders—by late December.

That means, according to most experts, availability to the general public would likely not happen until mid-summer. Apparently, mass production and distribution is complicated by the fact that both the Pfizer and Moderna vaccines need to be kept extremely cold (-70 and -20 Celcius, respectively) until just before injection. Some places, especially rural areas, may not have the necessary refrigeration capacity.

If, within that broad “general public” demographic, seniors and others with the highest vulnerability are prioritized, maybe—just maybe—Sally and I could hope for our shots sometime in June. I wouldn’t put money on it, especially considering how badly botched the government’s response has been lately to natural disasters, but it is a very bright, very welcome ray of hope.

Meanwhile, I must remain vigilant. I fear many will get even more lax in their protective measures.

11/18 Wed.
Governor Walz today issued the state’s strictest guidelines since his stay-at-home order back in late March. As usual, people with a lot to lose—including Trumpublicans afraid any Democrat who leads when they don’t dare might score points with voters—are complaining.

Some, like business owners and sports coaches, have legitimate concerns for their own livelihoods and/or missions. But none of them seems able to face the simple fact that when you put lots of people together in a tight space (not to mention locked together in a sweaty, heavy-breathing scrum) folks are going to get sick.

Meanwhile, Sally’s off to Texas, driving with her daughter, son-in-law and grandkids to visit her son and his family pre-Thanksgiving. This comes as public health officials are strongly urging folks not to travel for the holidays, nor to spend the holidays with anyone outside of their immediate household.

While most of the new, stricter guidelines call for no indoors gatherings of more than ten people, they’re quite clear that gatherings of fewer people aren’t great either.

Should I insist on strict masking, even in our home, when Sally returns? Things are bad out there and I’d be smart to do so. But at what cost for our marriage? I think that, as she’s already suggested, she’d find such a demand to be a judgement on both her hygiene and her judgement.

11/19 Thur.
Day 244. Two-hundred-forty-four days that I’ve been waking up each day with a prayer of thanks that I’m not feeling COVID-19 symptoms. And that no one in my immediate family nor my circle of friends has shown signs either.

No indoor restaurant dining, no gym workouts, bowling or theater-going. Even Mardi Gras has been cancelled. Most states are reacting, albeit far too late, to the exponential climb of infections and deaths. It is definitely out of control, nationwide. Over 250,000 have now died of COVID in the US, many, many thousands of them as a result of the criminal negligence of Donald Trump and those too gutless to stand up to him.

Yes, I’m angry. I’ve started using the hashtag “#NoPardon” in anticipation of the near-certain criminal charges to come Trump’s way in the coming year. And in anticipation of the immense pressure from his base on President Biden to pardon him.

One striking portrayal of the number of people currently infected with the virus is this, from this morning’s Star Tribune: “If the University of Michigan’s football stadium were packed with a random selection of Americans, about a thousand of them would be contagious right now.” Sobering.

Tonight, key landmarks around the state are lit up in purple to recognize the combat-like service of health care workers. The Government Center and the Interstate 35-W bridge over the Mississippi in Minneapolis; the Mayo Clinic Event Center in Rochester; the Split Rock Lighthouse on the North Shore; and hundreds of other landmarks around the state—all purple tonight.

When this is all over, I think we should bestow some major recognition on these people. It’s hard to grasp what they’re going through: having patients die—lots of patients; watching families praying in the parking lot because they can’t be with their dying loved ones; still, after eight months of this, not having adequate personal protection equipment; knowing that when they get sick or burn out there is no one left to relieve them of their duties.

11/20 Fri.
Another weekend, though the distinction between weekdays and weekends has long since vanished. Alas, there’s no sense of a change of routine, a celebration—perhaps going out to dinner or a movie, getting together with friends…nothing. I know it would be good to somehow reclaim that sense of celebration.

I think I’ll set up a date “with” a couple Sally and both like, for virtual cocktails, conversation and maybe a game. (Back in the Spring, we successfully played charades with another couple, and, despite having to get used to the slight delay in the video, it was quite fun.

Another statistic caught my eye this morning: In Europe, someone is dying of COVID-related illness every 17 seconds!

Other than some time in my studio (I currently have two lampshade commissions to work on) I’m trying to stay home as much as possible. Despite two horrible experiences with Cub Foods’s shopping/curbside pickup service, I felt the process of setting up a similar service with another grocery chain wouldn’t be worth the effort.

So, with the encouragement of a $10 credit for my complaint, I’m trying again. Pickup’s scheduled for 5 PM today, but I’m checking every text message I get with trepidation, fearing yet another delay notice. Fingers crossed; I just want to avoid going into any kind of retail establishment if I can help it.

The most incompetent, destructive, divisive president in US history continues to act the role of the spoiled brat who, upon losing, destroys the game. His continuing denial of losing the presidency dangerously threatens the incoming Biden Administration’s ability to mount a massive, long-overdue federal effort to confront COVID-19.

He and his sell-out attorneys, led by the frothy-lipped, clearly unhinged Rudy Giuliani, have filed suit in something like 20 states, and have lost every single one of them. I suspect folks far smarter than Trump are playing on his ego, realizing there’s no hope of overturning the results, but conspiring to secure his mantle as the poor, persecuted victim of the liberal elites, and position him to serve as the de-facto leader of the still-aggrieved xenophobe underground whose vision of America’s potential starts and ends with him.

11/21 Sat.
Simply avoiding COVID doesn’t mean one doesn’t suffer from the pandemic. One still has to cope with the isolation, extreme financial stress, parents’ having to double as home-schooling teachers, the constant fetid cloud of intentional disinformation..not to mention the cruelty of having to care for an institutionalized loved one at a distance.

The result is an immense mental health crisis to accompany the physical health one. As with certain medical conditions, the problem lies not just in the condition, but in people’s reluctance to seek diagnosis and treatment.

It’s been almost nine months now since I last saw a hospice patient face to face. I feel terrible that I can no longer risk the interaction—for both my sake and the patients’. I still write cards to a couple of patients every week, but of course it’s nothing like getting to know someone in person, being able to shake hands or put a hand on a shoulder.

The tragedy of so many people—over 2,000 per day now across the country—having to spend the final days of their lives virtually alone is unthinkable. And yet I do think. How tragic.

11/22 Sun.
Now the multiple vaccines seem poised for roll-out as soon as by the end of this year, the vital questions become: 1. Who gets the vaccine first, and how to get it to them in the safest, most secure way; and 2. How do we get at least 70 percent of Americans—about 40 percent of whom are victims of a mass delusion that anything that didn’t come out of the mouth of their revered leader is part of a liberal conspiracy to steal something from them—to actually take the vaccine? That, health experts say, is what it will take to achieve “herd immunity,” and actually beat the virus.

I’ve seen reports that the percentage of folks who say they’ll take the vaccine has dropped, thanks in part to Trump’s continuing rants and raves, to only around fifty. I would not put it past the loser’s base to purposely sabotage the society-wide efficacy of the vaccine simply for spite, or in a desperate, perverse effort to remain relevant.

I suppose it’s possible the vaccine deniers could end up with a de facto ghetto of unvaccinated, unmasked, undistanced people who’d eventually form their own “herd,” of folks who survive COVID. But this would take time, and at this stage of the pandemic, more time means more deaths.

Here’s the deadly irony. These MAGA idiots are what they are because they love authority. This is one of the chief identifiers for who comprises T****’s base. And yet, judging by their now-famous refusal to be inconvenienced in the slightest by COVID safety guidelines, they come up woefully short on self-discipline.

I guess they’re all for authority, as long as it’s exerted only on others they don’t like. I’m ashamed to have to share my country with people who are this stupid, selfish and hypocritical.

11/23 Mon.
I thought that with Biden’s winning the election, my daily fight-or-flight response would ease. But with T****, now three weeks after election day, still insisting he won and refusing to let his administration cooperate with the Biden people for a smooth transition of power—and with most republican leaders afraid to say boo--the stress is still there.

So, I’ve once again turned to letter-writing with Vote Forward to channel my fear and anger into tangible, constructive action. With both Georgia senatorial elections coming down to runoffs in early January, the organization has mounted another massive effort to urge Democrat-leaning voters to get to the polls.

It’s an urgent, ASAP timeline, so I’m hoping to crank out at least 100 more letters in the next couple of weeks.

Today, a third drug manufacturer, AstraZeneca, announced roll-out of its vaccine. It is only slightly less effective than the Pfizer and Moderna versions, but it can be kept at a considerably higher temperature, making it usable in parts of the world without sophisticated infrastructure.

Parts of the T**** administration have finally acknowledged that Biden won the election and agreed to start cooperating with the incoming administration. The worst president in U.S. history must be beside his little self; I’m pretty sure he’ll be looking for lots of people to fire for their betrayal.

11/25 Wed.
Sally’s on her way home from Texas, arriving later this evening. I’m anxious to see her and hear about her week with both her kids and all four grandkids. And we’ve got a nice little Thanksgiving dinner planned for tomorrow. But I’m quite nervous about the fact that she’s defied what Minnesota health officials have been recommending: no travel; no contact with anyone outside your immediate household.

She may already be aware and planning to self-quarantine for two weeks as those officials recommend for folks who absolutely had to travel out of state. If not, I’m afraid she’ll take offense at my defensive measures. The only way I can see handling it is to employ all the measures we have control over: distancing, masking and ventilation/air movement.

It will be hard cooking in our small kitchen. I think we should do it in shifts—just one of us in there at a time.

I’ve been in touch with my daughter’s sister-in-law, Courtney, who lives in Maine and is what’s called a COVID “long-hauler.” That’s someone who’s had the virus, generally not a very serious case, but who’s beset for months with lingering symptoms—not necessarily ones generally associated with the initial respiratory effects of the virus.

It’s been a terrible, debilitating ordeal for Courtney. Extreme exhaustion, irregular heartbeat, gut pain, mental fog. She and I have been comparing notes on various coping techniques.

11/26 Thur. (Thanksgiving)
I’m aware of how much there is to be grateful for today. But there’s a pall over even those positive feelings, as Sally and I, less than a day after her return from Texas, are already feeling crushed by the stress of trying to stay safe—especially on a day when we’re supposed to be feeling close.

We addressed the elephant in the room this morning. She noticed, right away, my efforts. (I wore a mask when I came down from upstairs this morning, and went right for the fan I like to have moving the air around.) She acknowledged my fears and her responsibility for having taken a risk. But it seems clear she’s having to bite her tongue, perhaps resentful of what she takes as a personal rejection.

If it’s this hard after twelve hours, I can’t imaging how we’ll make it through two weeks. Even then, no real safety for me, as Sally will continue being with her grandkids and reporting for face-to-face duty in the classroom.

How do I take the dread out of this? I’d like to say I could muster some humor, but that’s not easy when I’m scared for my life. Of course, I’m also afraid for Sally, though I know better than to argue with her about her behavior or what she might know or not know about COVID safety.

I decided to take charge—and add a bit of levity. I proposed a plan for Thanksgiving dinner: I’d do all the cooking (while heavily medicating with margaritas); she’d set the table and do clean-up. Sally welcomed my leadership and liked the plan. It ended up one of the nicest Thanksgiving dinners I can remember.

Again, it’s a bit of a compromise, given the state’s recommendation that Sally quarantine. But I see no other reasonable solution. We’ll make the best of it…and I’ll pray.

11/27 Fri.
As I lay in bed last night, the last thing I remember is imagining myself a hospitalized COVID-19 patient, fighting for my life, terrified and utterly alone. It’s Thanksgiving, and my only comfort, my only ray of hope, a nurse.

Despite being overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of COVID patients on her floor and the amount of urgent care each one needs, she is kind and patient. She understands full well both that she’s risking her life, and that she means the world to me.

As I drift off to sleep, I am weeping.

Moved by that experience, I just donated to the Frontline Families Fund, set up by leading Minnesota infectious disease icon Michael Osterholm through the St. Paul and Minnesota Foundations “to provide direct financial support to families and scholarships for post-secondary education to the children of the nearly 1,400 frontline healthcare workers who have lost their lives to COVID-19, and shine a light on the pandemic’s disproportionate burden on Black, Indigenous and People of Color.”

A hundred and one COVID deaths in Minnesota Wednesday—a new record. We are doing a terrible job of controlling ourselves, despite the clear, urgent warnings of the CDC, the state health department and others. Don’t people get the whole idea of temporary self-denial to achieve a longer-term benefit? Looks like T****’s mass denial approach has come home to roost, infecting ever more thousands of what can only be called victims of his hubris!

And the effects of millions of people throwing caution to the winds to spend Thanksgiving with family and friends have yet to be seen. As if there could be a steeper spike, I’m afraid one is coming in the next two weeks. We could well start seeing the health care system failing under the pressure in some places.

Ever since I was a teenager, when I’ve had to stick to a discipline in order to achieve some goal or avoid a bad consequence, and the end of the challenge comes into view, I redouble my efforts, really buckle down. I’m afraid folks feel they can just coast to the finish line, and we’re seeing—the hard way—just how well that works.

11/28 Sat.
Between the prospects for a vaccine and the considerably brightened political horizon, millions and millions of Americans are feeling hope again.

The prospect of an end to the pandemic is delicious. I don’t know if I’ve ever experienced anything like it in my lifetime. I want to say finishing my service in the Army, or maybe recovering from a couple of back surgeries, but neither holds a candle to this. Neither posed what seemed like anything near the risk of death I’ve been facing these past nine months.

I know better than to count my chickens, but it’s awfully hard not to start planning some of the things we can do once the vaccine has brought infection rates way down. Chief among them is heading back to Zihuatanejo, where the last half of last March’s stay got hijacked by the early onslaught of the virus in the U.S.

I also dream fondly of being able to hold hands, hug and just be near Sally without fear. Of entertaining friends and family members. Of once again meeting in person with my men’s group.

I don’t miss in-person shopping very much—this may be one of the ways the pandemic permanently changes life for some of us—but I’ll welcome the chance to once again walk into some of our local favorites: the Workhorse Coffee Bar, Al’s breakfast, Zakia Deli…

And the whole mask thing. I’m so sick of wearing the same nine-month-old N95 mask—the last of the 20-pack I bought years ago to fend off sinus / bronchial infections while flying. It stinks, and I daresay is nowhere near as effective as it was when fresh.

11/29 Sun.
Twelve pages of obituaries in today’s paper, the most I’ve counted since the pandemic began. (I’m not sure how many of the deaths were COVID-related. While some obits mention cause of death, many don’t.)

11/30 Mon.
I must guard against the expectation that even a very effective vaccine will return my life to normal any time soon. Some infectious disease experts are cautioning not only that it could easily be six months before the general public gets the vaccine, but that some degree of masking and social distancing may be with us for some time after that.

It’s giving me some hope to plan a Florida driving vacation for March. I’m looking for a stand-alone cottage where we can avoid other guests and do much of our own cooking.  I’m seeing that vrbo and Airbnb have sanitizing protocols their member accommodations are expected to follow, so the iffiest part of the trip might be one (maybe two) nights of lodging en route to Florida and back.

Planning this kind of warm(er) weather getaway will help my spirits a lot, and tide us over till we can return to Zihuatanejo in March, 2022. (Sally couldn’t care less; she’d be just as happy staying around here and spending more time with her Minnesota grandkids.)

Of some 1,300 critical care beds available for COVID-19 patients in Minnesota, only 90 remain unoccupied. And the expected wave of new infections stemming from people’s carelessness over the Thanksgiving holiday is yet to come. Later this week and into next, it may be a nightmare.

12/1 Tues.
I can’t believe it’s December! By my rough calculation, it’s day 270 of the COVID-19 pandemic as it’s impacted my life.

I met (remotely) with my shrink this morning. She reminded me that, besides being a worldwide public health nightmare, the pandemic has created a massive flood of grief. Even for those of us who still don’t know anyone who’s died of the virus, I think part of the hard-to-describe pall that hangs over nearly everyone’s life is that we realize we’re all part of a community—local, national…worldwide. Our

Our fellow human beings—individuals, families, communities—are going through an unimaginable hell.

12/2 Wed.
After spending hours and hours the past few days fixated on a driving trip to Florida in March, it dawned on me that, realistically, we’d have to plan on three days of driving—about eight hours a day—to reach our destination. So…down and back that would be six days of driving for seven days of warm relaxation.

Sally suggested maybe we should then plan on a longer stay once we get there. My immediate reaction: I’m not sure I want to spend more than a week on the Florida Panhandle in someone else’s house.

So what am I going to do with the confluence of my wanderlust with a bad case of cabin fever during these coming few months? Maybe head north instead?

I have, indeed, turned my daydreaming northward, and booked five days at what looks like a very nice townhome at Superior Shores, near Two Harbors. This should meet my need for a change of scene to look forward to all winter—requiring about one day of back-and-forth driving instead of the three days it would have taken for Florida.

I feel good about this rental for several reasons: Direct access to the place from the outside, without having to enter a hallway or lobby; no-contact payment; the owner’s policy is to leave the unit unoccupied for at least 24 hours between rentals; and there’s a very generous cancellation policy, allowing 100% refund for cancelling up to two weeks prior to our arrival date.

Today, Great Britain became the first country to fully authorize rollout of a COVID-19 vaccine (the one developed by Pfizer). Some doses are expected to be available for priority recipients as early as next week.

That said, experts there and in the U.S. are warning that there won’t be enough doses available and able to be administered in time to ward off the super-spike in infections expected this coming winter.

12/3 Thur.
Yesterday, over 3,000 human beings died of COVID in the U.S.  In one day. And it will happen again today…and tomorrow…  Many of these deaths are happening because of one man’s ignorance, egomania and cowardice.

12/4 Fri.
We’ve been having an unusually nice stretch of warm(ish), sunny weather for early December. Nearly all the snow we’d gotten on a couple of occasions is gone. Though, taken in the context of global climate change, it shouldn’t be celebrated too much, I’m still finding it a great blessing as we slide toward the dark pit of winter. It’s meant our daily walks with Sylvia can continue, and that I have little incentive to use my new treadmill.

12/5 Sat.
It’s laughable how some of the sports teams that have so desperately fought to continue playing during a pandemic are scratching their heads as more and more games are being postponed and cancelled. “How could this have happened?” they’re asking, after players and staff start testing positive for coronavirus.

The Minnesota Gophers football team, for example, is pondering how 49 of its players and coaching staff have so far been marked with the virtual “C” in the past week or so.

As much as I feel for athletes who’ve devoted their lives to their sports, I have to wonder if the underlying motivation here isn’t exactly the same as it’s been for so many other infamous historical fiascos: money.

Just last night, for example, Sally and I watched “Spotlight,” about the Boston Globe’s breaking the story, in 2001, of the Catholic Church’s—and a whole major city’s—decades-long denial of widespread child-molesting by priests.

I suppose you could argue that in sports teams’ denial of COVID no one’s getting hurt. But an officially-sanctioned super-spreader event does hurt people; it kills people. And the very thing you were hoping to keep under wraps inevitably comes about anyway: players end up having their careers, and their lives, put on hold.

If you’re going to put a bunch of socially-active, headstrong, heavily-breathing athletes together in sweaty, face-to-face contact for several hours at a time during a pandemic, assured by those who pull the strings—read: purse strings—that everyone will be safe because they’re  in a “bubble,” what do you think is going to happen?

When you get right down to it, isn’t it the same kind of denial that Girls-Gone-Wild wannabe Airhead Annie or MAGA-maniac Joe Sixpack engage in to justify attending  crowded, largely unmasked, bars or campaign rallies?

Of course everyone wants the powerhouse U.S. economy to keep on cranking, but at what cost. Keeping things open that involve inevitable close contact between people is a calculated risk, in most cases taken by those who stand to gain—or not lose—the most. And those are very seldom the people who end up paying the price. Just sayin’…

I watched two movies tonight. I cried during both. I guess I’m always kind of a soft touch, but this pandemic has intensified my emotions. Between the infectious virus and the one fouling the White House, this past nine months have brought the tensions between fear and hope, anger and acceptance, stoicism and gratitude to the boiling point.

12/6 Sun.
Thirteen pages of obituaries in today’s paper, up from what seemed a record of twelve last week.

I noticed a Facebook post today about a new mask invented and being marketed by a Minnesota company. They claim the Breathe99—actually a three-part system including a flexible fabric harness with head straps, a rigid plastic frame and replaceable HEPA filter inserts that supposedly capture particles as small as .1 micron. Though not as fine as an N-95, I think this is sufficient to catch the finest aerosol droplets known to spread the coronavirus.

The company also claims their mask seals well enough to the face that one’s glasses won’t steam up while wearing it. This factor is tragically under-appreciated in most people’s assessment of their masks’ effectiveness.

The mask system costs $60, but may be well worth it to me, given the poor perimeter seal offered by all my masks (except for my one remaining “single-use” N-95, which I’ve now used hundreds of times and which stinks. Trouble is, the model which would fit the size of my face has not yet been released.

Turns out the Breathe99 was developed in part by my cousin, Evelyn’s, daughter, Julia. So I get a friends-and-family discount—15%, I think. This

12/7 Mon.
Well, Facebook’s selling algorithms obviously have my number. Every day for the past four months I’ve been seeing more and more ads for COVID-19 protective masks. Today, scrolling way down my news feed, I see no fewer than a dozen of them. I must say, though, my quest goes on for the ideal substitute for the totally-unavailable touchstone of defensive respirators, the N-95.

New term to add to the COVID-19 lexicon: titer, which is a laboratory test of the  concentration of antibodies found in a person’s blood. It was mentioned in a newspaper article, though I doubt it’ll become a household word like “bubble” or “PPE.”

12/8 Tues.
In just 20 days Minnesota’s COVID-19 death toll has ballooned from 3,000 to 4,000. The virus has now surpassed heart disease and cancer as the leading cause of death in the state.

Once again, we’re facing a dilemma rooted in Sally’s and my differing takes on COVID-19 safety. No sooner have we weathered the two tenuous weeks since her inadvisable pre-Thanksgiving trip to Texas to be with both her kids and all four grandkids than another tough decision looms.

The Catholic school attended by Sally’s two local grandkids, having stuck with classroom teaching long after most schools, has finally had to convert to distance learning. So, I guess to compensate for that format’s obvious drawbacks, she’s agreed to daughter Jenny’s request that she become the kids’ everyday, face-to-face teacher at their home, at least through their long Christmas “vacation.”

As usual, Sally’s being thoughtful as to how this decision might affect me and my sense of security. If it’s a great concern to me, she says, she’s willing to move to Jenny’s—as she did for over a month last spring.

I don’t want to force that inconvenience on Sally. And I really enjoy having her around. She and Sylvie are all I’ve got.

I’m so tempted to engage in the kind of rationalization I believe she’s using to justify her decision. Hey, it’s just family. The kids stay home and never interact with other kids. Everyone’s being careful. You know, the same things families of COVID patients were saying before their loved one got sick.

What’s not being considered is that, no, the kids very likely have not been very well isolated from other kids—their cousins, for example. And that both mom and dad are out and about all the time, Jenny going to work in an office building every day, and Joe, though primarily working from home, frequently running errands and doing quite a bit of in-store shopping.

These are exactly the chinks in the armor that I must avoid in order to stay well. And it’s exactly the one I anticipated, even early-on in the pandemic, would provide the greatest challenge.

What I should do is take that notion of my “forcing” the decision off of my shoulders and place it where it belongs: on Sally’s shoulders. She takes a risk that impacts me; she lives with the consequences. Easier said than done. I’m afraid that, even though she’s volunteered to take that responsibility, she’ll ultimately resent me for what she might see as my excessive caution.

Once again, I don’t think my caution is excessive. Though Sally puts great stock in my ENT’s opinion, last spring, that, despite my moderate COPD lung deficit, I’d “probably survive” a bout with the virus, I’m not so sure.

And what exactly does “survive” even mean with this highly contagious, unpredictably tenacious virus? Too many people are coming out of even relatively mild cases of COVID with long-lasting damage to organs, sensory function and immune systems.

I suppose, to be honest, I should think about more than Sally’s possible resentment of me. Truth be told, I think I harbor some resentment for her decision to risk exposure—for its potential impact not just on me, but on her. Her somewhat fatalistic attitude aside, I don’t want to see her take her chances on this plague somehow going easy on her.

I did tell Sally tonight that I’m uncomfortable with her spending so much time with her grandkids in their home, and that she should, indeed, move in with them for the few weeks in question. She seemed to take it pretty well, and I sensed disappointment but not resentment.

12/9 Wed.
Day 278. Once again I awoke this morning grateful for not having any symptoms.

A huge part of my ability to weather the COVID-19 storm has been my effort to recognize and nurture hope. That means, especially since news of the successful vaccines, looking forward to things I’ll do after this is all over. It’s been like starving on a desert island; I keep picturing that first meal.

So I keep calculating in my mind how long it might be till Sally and I get vaccinated, and how long after that it will be before we’re well protected. Yesterday, one of Minnesota’s public health docs tried to manage folks’ expectations. She said it will likely be several months before residents not in the top-priority groups get their shots.

The first shot will offer some protection, but a second one is needed—about a month later. Then a week or so for the body to produce the antibodies to render one (mostly) immune. In all, she said, we’re looking at about six weeks from the date of the first dose until full protection is gained.

Let’s say I get my first shot sometime in mid-March. In that case, I should be good to go by about May first. Pretty sure that, even then, I’ll still be pretty cautious for a while (out of habit, and perhaps lingering doubts about real safety until “herd immunity” is declared). But a fantasy that boosts my spirits is to get right on a plane and head down to Zihuatanejo. (That will be rooster fish season!)

I was wrong about how Sally took my decision that she must go and live at Jenny’s house while she’s teaching her grandchildren. Tonight she came home, barely said a word to me and spent the whole evening downstairs in the workroom. When I asked her what’s wrong, she said my actions to keep my distance from her are, once again, making her feel like I think she’s “dirty.”

If I didn’t mention this very early one in the pandemic—like back in April or May—I should have, as I’ve feared for a long time that this confrontation was inevitable. It has me in a place of dread. I know such tensions are widespread all around the world, and I remain truly grateful that our troubles aren’t much worse. I believe my caution right now will go a long ways towards ensuring they won’t be.

My worries about the condition of my colon—and the rest of my gut—have not entirely gone away since my surgery. I continue feeling various pains, including what feels exactly like the pain that started last summer and that led to my surgery. Did the surgeon miss something? Has the abscess he removed somehow returned?

I also feel occasional sharp stabbing pain in other parts of my gut. If I had to guess, I’d say stomach, intestines and bladder.

Right now, with new record levels of infection and hospitalization being set every day, I’m again worried about even the most remote chance I’d have to go to the hospital again—for any reason.

The expected surge in the numbers post Thanksgiving, when too many folks defied the safety guidelines to be with their friends and families, is indeed showing up. Anecdotal evidence is popping up in, among other states, California, where single-day records for both infections and hospitalizations are being shattered. The worst effects of the lapse in caution are expected to come in the next week or so.

12/10 Thur.
106,000 new hospitalizations in the U.S. just today. It’s really bad! We’re definitely paying the price for so many Americans’ lack of discipline. It’s at least partly the price of too many people’s need, one that’s been growing and spreading for decades, for instant gratification. It’s certainly related to the age of technology. Whether it’s information, consumption or dealing with the coronavirus, “If I can’t have it right now, I’ve lost interest!”

One official said today that we can expect the number of COVID-19 deaths—over 3,000 today in the U.S., to stay at that level or higher for at least the next three months! This prospect, along with the approach of emotion-laden Christmas, makes me incredibly sad. And all the more anxious for that distant day when we realize we’re more or less out of the woods.

12/11 Fri.
Yesterday, in Los Angeles County, the number of new cases of coronavirus infection reached nearly 13,000! In one county…in one day.

Sally and I had a good, albeit inconclusive, talk about our differing attitudes on weathering the pandemic and how hurtful she finds my overt avoidance of her. I don’t think there’s a solution that provides both the closeness we both want and the safety I feel I need. God damn virus!!!!!!!!

12/12 Sat.
The days of the week keep getting more the same. I’m trying to think of weekends as somehow special, but, alas, without any social events in which to celebrate, it’s hard.

12/13 Sun.
I wonder how my parents would have dealt with the pandemic. Both of them were 12 years old when the Spanish flu ravaged the world in 1918, but I don’t remember either of them mentioning how it affected their lives.

I also wonder how Dad, as a restaurateur, would have handled the impact on the hospitality industry of COVID-19. Would he have been imaginative enough—clever enough—to have adapted quickly? How far would he have gone to preserve the income of his most loyal employees?

I’m feeling anxious. Tomorrow, Sally moves out again, as she did for a couple of months last spring, to go live at daughter Jenny’s house. She’s agreed to Jenny’s request that she teach the kids (and, I assume, care for them so Jenny and Joe can focus on work every day) for three to four weeks. This, to augment the questionable effectiveness of the remote learning now the COVID-forced format of the kids’ Catholic school.

It makes me sad that the pandemic has forced us apart. This is not good for our marriage. And I’m having a hard time understanding how much of the decision has to do with Sally’s devotion to her daughter and grandkids, and how much to her bending to my worries about possible infection.

At least this will involve a fraction of the time we were apart last spring. I must come up with creative ways that we can still see each other now that it’s winter. Maybe she can come in the house if we make sure to keep our distance and keep the air moving. Besides our needing to stay connected, we’ve got to make sure she can see Sylvia, whom I’m sure she’ll miss very much.

On today’s evening news programs, footage of trucks and cargo planes departing vaccine manufacturing plants and heading to every corner of the country. I know it will be months until I might see that golden needle, but it sure helps to actually see the vaccine on the move!

12/14 Mon.
What a difference a couple of hours can make! Shortly after Sally arrived at Jenny’s house this morning, Jenny called to say that one of her law office partners has tested positive for COVID-19. So Sally’s now come home, and, in what’s a mixed blessing for her, will no longer be taking care of the kids for the next few weeks.

Since Sally arrived at their house after Jenny had already left for work, there was no direct contact there. But there’s a chance she could have contracted something from Joe or one of the kids, so she and I will exercise great care in the house for a while.

As the partly unnecessary U.S. COVID-19 death toll reaches 300,000, the Electoral College at last has affirmed Joe Biden’s win in the presidential election five weeks ago. Donald T**** continues to deny his decisive loss in the election—as well as his campaign’s loss in some 50 lawsuits they’ve filed in a desperate attempt to overturn the results.

12/15 Tues.
One of the countless little changes the pandemic has brought about in my life: freezing meat. I seldom froze meat before COVID; I cooked and ate it fresh, unless I had a piece approaching its use-by date.

Now, with the need to shop online and pick-up curbside, I have to put more thought into planning my grocery buys, and cannot always specify exactly the amount of hamburger or pork chops I can eat within a week. (I’m surprised at how easy it is to package meat for freezing, and how good it is after thawing.)

12/16 Wed.
I thought I’d put one of my biggest concerns behind me with my colectomy in mid-October. It’s been a full two-month recovery period, and I still have twinges of pain throughout my intestines.

In the past few week, though, I’ve been feeling exactly the same pain—in exactly the same place—as that which got me to act in the first place. Today, I saw the surgeon who did the operation, and left with a very uneasy feeling.

I got some mixed messages from him about what happened to the large, dangerous abscess shown in the year-and-a-half-old CT scan on which he based his diagnosis and surgery plan. And I think there’s a chance he might have not removed the abscess at all.

I hate to get ahead of the information, but I’m quite nervous about what a new CT scan—scheduled for next Monday—might show. It’s a real exercise in patience and mind control, made all the more intense by this terrible plague. One day at a time…

12/17 Thur.
What an emotional roller coaster! Now that Sally’s daughter Jenny has tested negative (five days after her possible exposure at work), the whole plan of Sally’s moving in over there is back in the works. Starting tomorrow.

I anticipate a very sad, lonely Christmas, and I might just go into a little emotional cocoon with Sylvie. Easier just to pretend it’s not Christmas than try to reconcile all the tradition of warm, family gatherings with the reality of my situation.

It is very, very good seeing the incremental progress in the vaccination process, and I feel confident that next Christmas will be nearly “normal.”

Much of my mood will hinge on the results of my CT scan Monday. I’ll be more inclined to feel celebratory if it turns out I have something benign and not requiring a re-do of my surgery. Trying not to let my emotions get ahead of the information.

Still struggling with conflicting feelings about surviving the pandemic. On the one hand, I feel life’s too short to waste even one day in retreat from life. I should seize every moment to enjoy life and those I love.

On the other hand, some very deep instinct tells me to hunker down, retreat from the normal expectations of joy and sort of disappear until the nightmare’s over. There must be a smart, creative compromise.

12/18 Fri.
The sadness is already welling up. Over missing Christmas with my kids and grandkids, with Sally…with anyone. Over just having learned that one of our favorite neighbors in our little townhouse community are moving out due to failing health. Over the loneliness of facing my own uncertain health situation. Over the past nine months of uncertainty, dread and, for many, unfathomable tragedy affecting so many around the world.

Are those enough reasons to be sad?

It’s probably just a logistical blip, but Minnesota—and, I think, other states—just learned that their second shipments of the Pfizer vaccine will be short by thousands of doses. Let’s hope the spigot soon opens…and stays open.

Today, the FDA approved a second vaccine, the one developed by Moderna. So that should soon increase the rate of coverage.

12/20 Sun.
Well, Christmas Eve’s just four days away. How I feel about it will depend, in large part, on what my CT scan tomorrow afternoon shows. If it’s bad, I might be in tough shape, my sadness and loneliness amplified a lot. If it’s something fairly easily manageable, I’ll be in a much better place. I may not know for a few days, depending on how fast the scan gets to my surgeon and he can evaluate it.

I’ve decided not to totally tune out of Christmas just because I’m scared and alone. Instead, I’m researching virtual Christmas Eve church services and pageants. I want to turn my attention away from my misery and toward the true meaning of the day—and that doesn’t depend on my having company. I can do this.

I did get out today, dropping off little Christmas gifts for my buddies, Silverio and Larry. We stood out in Silverio’s yard, exchanged our gifts and chatted for a while. That really felt good.

I’m sure it’s just the looming uncertainty about what’s going on in my gut—on top of the COVID-19 dread, but I find myself appreciating every little thing more than ever. Life really is about the precious love and friendship we share with friends and family. Very little else really matters without them.

A bit of math has informed me about the chances of catching the virus. Of Minnesota’s 5,400,000 residents, 400,000 of us have caught COVID. That’s about one in 13. Unless I’m missing something, that suggests that if I walk past 13 people on the street or in a store, one of them either is or has been infected.

I suppose, for some folks, that means they can act recklessly with little risk. For me, though, the risk seems quite high.

Tomorrow is the winter solstice. The days stop getting shorter, and then, in a week or so, start getting longer. Tomorrow night will also be the “Great Conjunction,” a near alignment of Jupiter and Saturn in the southwest sky just after sunset. It will be the closest conjunction in nearly 800 years, believed by some to explain the “Christmas star,” that guided the Wise Men toward Bethlehem to praise the baby Jesus.

The conjunction event has been quite prominent in the news. I think interest’s been boosted by the pandemic, with people hungry for any diversion whatsoever. If there happens to be a break in the forecast cloud cover here, I’ll head over to the Franklin Ave. Bridge to see if I can see it.

12/21 Mon.
The second vaccine, from Moderna, is now being administered in the U.S. It requires a less extreme freezing temperature than the Pfizer version, so it’s expected to be more usable in smaller town and outlying areas with less super-freezing capacity.

Minnesota’s spike is receding, with fewer than 2,000 new cases diagnosed yesterday for the first time since October. And the death toll was 22.

Meanwhile, a new, more aggressive strain of coronavirus has broken out in parts of Great Britain. Other European countries have closed their borders to Brits and everyone’s keeping an anxious eye on things.

Early comments from some health officials suggest the existing vaccines should work on new strain. Dear God, I hope they’re right!

12/22 Tues.
Apparently, black Christmas trees have been surging in popularity. The article attributes the trend to “design aesthetic,” but c’mon, really? Add to the growing apocalyptic  mentality among some on the far political right an unthinkably cruel, deadly pandemic, and it can’t be a surprise that Christmas decor would follow clothing, cars and any number of other expressions of people’s dark mood and eschew color. Sign of the times.

My men’s group last night involved a good discussion of Sally’s and my respective attitudes about COVID-19 (determined not to die vs. determined to live). Turns out I am, indeed, the most paranoid of our seven members. A helpful distinction did emerge: I don’t see my outlook as negative or grim; it’s determined. Not as much a burden as a challenge.

12/23 Wed.
Tomorrow morning I get my CD scan to see why I’m again feeling the same gut pain that led to my colon surgery in early October. I’m anxious about it, hoping it will show everything going on in there and that whatever it is it is easily treatable. I guess if it shows I need to have the same surgery again, that would be much preferable to finding cancer. Again, even going in for the scan worries me in terms of COVID exposure.

12/24 Thur. (Christmas Eve)
I get a LOT of targeted Facebook ads for face masks. No surprise, as I’ve been searching constantly for one that’s as close to an N-95 respirator as I can find.

One thing that stands out in these ads. In just the past couple of weeks, I’ve noticed many are now mentioning that their design prevents one’s glasses from fogging. This is a great advantage, but not for that reason.

A mask that seals to the face all the way around its perimeter is, I feel, much more effective than one that doesn’t, regardless of the material it’s made of. It’s just surprising that it’s taken this long for that feature to be appreciated, even though they’re touting it for a different reason.

My emotions are very close to the surface as I think of Sally and my New England kids and grandkids and missing them on Christmas Eve. I can only imagine how many millions of people are feeling the same sense of sadness and loss at the distancing this plague’s inflicted on us. Yes, I’ll feel sad, but won’t indulge it too much; I choose to let gratitude prevail—gratitude for so many other blessings the pandemic has not diminished.

I hope I can continue to do so regardless of what my CT scan this morning might show. It’s hard to imagine it could be anything good; just a matter of how bad and for how long. Don’t expect to hear what it shows till early next week.

As of tonight, 328,000 Americans have succumbed to COVID-19. And yet, despite urgent pleas not to do so, millions of people have flooded into airports and depots around the country. I know there are any number of rationales for this, but it leaves me, once again so disappointed in my countrymen’s lack of intelligence and self-discipline.

I’ve heard no definitive judgement on the price people paid for the Thanksgiving travel surge, but once again those medical professionals on the front lines wait anxiously for what could be the straw that broke the camel’s back.

California has surpassed 2,000,000 cases—more than some not-so-small countries.

12/25 Fri. (Christmas)
Hooray, I made it through Christmas. Sylvie and I enjoyed the bright, clear, snowy day, went for a long walk, had a good meal and watched a couple of movies. Talked with Sally, both my kids and several friends. I feel blessed.

Still, I had moments of dread about next week and hearing what my CT scan shows is causing the discomfort in my gut.

Day 294 of my pandemic journey. I still don’t know a soul who’s actually gotten the virus, though today I learned my daughter, Amanda, and son-in-law, Dana, are self-quarantining because a man they’ve hung around with (because they were sure he was in their safe “pod” has tested positive. Still no signs any of Amanda’s family has caught it.

12/26 Sat.
I’m excited—and anxious—about my get-together with friends, Todd and Caren this afternoon. We’ll be sitting on their screen porch—nearly open-air—with a radiant heater. Sally and I did the same with them in late summer, and I felt pretty comfortable then with the spacing and air flow.

I think this is the kind of concern that’s just been building and building since day one, freedom’s death by a thousand cuts.

I guess I’m also worried Todd might have told Caren about my renewed gut problems—or that I might relent and tell her. My emotions are so close to the surface right now that I need to be careful. I’m not ready to spill my guts right now.

12/28 Mon.
This journal was supposed to document my journey through the COVID-19 pandemic of 2020—and now, obviously, 2021. But at times it’s looked more like a political rant. Or a
chronicle of the Black Lives Matter movement.

Now, once again, my writings, while still rooted in the pandemic, are inescapably drawn into the realm of my own health.

Today, I wait by the phone for a call from my surgeon, Dr. Carlson, with news of what he sees in my CT scan from Christmas Eve. It’s so odd knowing that he might very easily tell me something that would quite suddenly make the pandemic and all my efforts to avoid its reach seem insignificant.

I must tap into my best versions of hope, patience and serenity. It’s funny; I so often am told I have this aura of competence and calm. Now I’m calling on those resources to keep a nagging dread at bay and get me through the day.

Late this afternoon I got a call from Dr. Carlson’s nurse. He found nothing of great alarm on my scan, and said there were no longer any visible signs of diverticulitis, suggesting that my surgery was indeed a success.

He did recommend that I change my lifestyle to include way more dietary fiber, water and exercise. That I will gladly do. I’m just so relieved that it wasn’t something far worse.

12/29 Tues.
This week in Minnesota the vaccination schedule rolls on to the next segment in the pecking order: nursing home residents. A wonderful, hopeful step for these older folks who’ve been so vulnerable, so isolated since March. There will be lots of tears when they can finally re-connect with their loved ones.

On page five (surprisingly) of todays Star Tribune is the story of the desperate situation in California. Many factors have converged to sweep Los Angeles, especially, with an explosion of infections. L.A. County is averaging 14,000 new coronavirus cases a day, up from 4,000 just before Thanksgiving.

A doctor is quoted as saying that “Ambulances are circling hospitals for hours trying to find one that has a bed open (for their) critically ill COVID patient gasping for air.”

If another, post-holidays spike occurs, many fear it will result in care having to be rationed, with precious resources devoted to those with the best chances of survival. Others would essential have to be left to die.

12/30 Wed.
A new strain of the novel coronavirus started appearing in England last week. Yesterday, the first case of it showed up here in the US—in Colorado. Public health experts are guessing it might have been here for some time, just not recognized.

The new strain, for now anyway, is not known to be any more deadly than the old one, but it is thought to be more contagious. Thank God, they say the existing vaccines should work on it.

Tomorrow is New Years Eve, and at least those of us not yet seriously affected by the virus will be celebrating the end of what might be called, without exaggeration, the year from hell. Though the plague is far from over, at least there’s been some good news.

Beyond just good riddance to a bad year, I will certainly have much good fortune to celebrate.

The theme of our get-together with brother Dan, Ruth Ann and two other couples we’ve been spending NYE with for many years is hope. So I’ve been scouting good poems about hope to share with the group. I’m also writing my own treatise, but it needs work. Maybe best to stick with the words of better poets than I?

Sally will be here at our house for the evening and overnight, and it will be so nice to be together for New Years.

2021
1/1 Fri.
Good riddance to 2020, the year from hell!
It was wonderful to connect on New Years Eve with our accustomed partners in crime. With the help of a couple participants well-versed in technology, we managed to pull off not just a really nice, fun conversation, but the sharing of our hilariously decorated surgical masks, reflections on the evening’s theme: hope, and a thought-provoking game.

And, I finally got my hope piece, “Hope in a Snowflake” into a presentable form, which was well received by all.

The evening almost didn’t happen for Sally and me, as we got into an argument about—what else—our differing takes on safety and how offended she feels when I make obvious moves to keep my distance from her. She very nearly left and went back to Jenny and Joe’s. We managed to work it out, though, and I think we’re both happy we did.

1/2 Sat.
The arrival of the vaccines is just wonderful news. But it raises many questions: when and how will folks be notified they’re eligible to get their first shot? How many injustices will there be in the national and worldwide distribution of the life-saving medicines?

Will people—once the general public is getting vaccinated—rush their return to normal behavior, perhaps dropping their guard and endangering others before the vaccines have fully kicked in in their bodies? I might just be one of them; that’s how anxious I am to get back to normal, especially when it comes to flying again.

I went cross-country skiing today. Perfect day for it: upper 20s, good snow, very little wind, sunny and bright. I went to the U of M golf course, where there were lots of others with the same idea. But it was quite easy keeping one’s distance. A really nice, refreshing way to get some exercise. I’ve just left my skis and poles in my car, and will hope for small, frequent snowfalls for the rest of the winter.

1/5 Tues.
I’ve taken a few days off, I guess. No special reason, except maybe a kind of New Years “refresh.”

The COVID numbers are going down dramatically here in Minnesota. So Governor Walz will be easing his restrictions on restaurant dining, and, I think, a number of other business categories like fitness clubs.

Meanwhile, some other parts of the country are still in the midst of spikes. LA and LA County are in true crisis mode, with ambulance drivers instructed not to even waste hospitals’ time (or precious oxygen) by bringing in patients deemed least likely to survive their illness.

The country’s response to COVID-19 going forward—as well as to other matters of urgency like racial healing and climate change—hinge on the results of today’s Georgia senatorial runoffs. Only if both democratic candidates prevail will their party control the Senate, where Speaker McConnell and other T***p apologists have been relentlessly undermining democratic institutions and norms for the past four years.

I’m praying…

1/6 Wed.
Today has been a major test of my resolve not to worry about things I can’t do anything about right away. Today, an armed gang of pro-T**** extremists stormed the United States Capitol, overwhelmed unprepared Capitol Police and took over parts of the building. At least one person was shot to death. (By the time it was over, four more lost their lives.)

I am angry, afraid and disgusted by the entire T****publican party and every single person—T***publican Congress people, Cabinet, White House staffers, voters, and even many in the media, who has not long ago renounced this traitor.

The coronavirus, global warming, the transition to a new administration and all the other urgent matters facing our nation have been pushed to page two in order to clean up the filth this small-but-ruthless brat has smeared on the walls of the presidency, and of our democracy.

It is a sad day for our nation, one that will be remembered with great shame for centuries.

1/8 Fri.
One of my friends keeps assuring me that, rather than focus on the destruction, we should be reassured that, despite all the efforts to undermine it, our democracy has indeed functioned as it was so brilliantly designed and has weathered the storm. I’m not so sure. I guess time will tell.

Meanwhile, many republicans are abandoning what they now—as nearly every hold has filled with water—realize is a sinking ship. (Too little, too late, you gutless cowards!) Some large business and industry organizations are speaking out. A few republican Congress people too. Even Fox News is doing the same.

There’s heated talk of invoking the 25th Amendment to remove a president who’s deemed unfit for office. And, if T**** loyalists manage to stifle that, once again impeach the son of a bitch for the second time.

COVID-19 cases and deaths are spiking drastically in most parts of the country. Here in Minnesota, both have been falling steadily for a couple of weeks, but now look like they may again be on the rise.

Over 4,000 deaths in the US from the virus today! In Los Angeles, ambulances with critically ill patients are forced to wait, now up to 16 hours, for a bed—or any other other space—to become available. Any rows of refrigerated trucks are now parked outside some of these hospitals to accommodate the number of bodies coming out.

The national vaccination program is lagging seriously. I read that only about 30% of the doses that have been distributed so far have actually found their way into people’s arms. Once again, the shamefully poor judgement and lack of engagement of the T**** administration IS KILLING PEOPLE!

Most public health people agree that, once again, the increases stem mostly from the unconscionable lack of discipline—and, in some cases, the outright refusal—of people and businesses in following state mandates.

If only there were a way to ensure that these self-centered morons—and no-one else—face the consequences of their actions!

1/9 Sat.
Sally’s home for the evening and overnight. She spent most of her time downstairs in her work room. Then she came up and we sat in our LazyBoys and chatted—both masked. I was nervous and feared she’d react as she did New Years Eve. But she seems okay with the situation. I hope I’m right.

Governor Walz, yielding a bit to heavy political pressure, has allowed dine-in restaurants to re-open at 50% capacity. We’ll see how that goes—indoors, possibly pushing the six-foot distancing rule, and, necessarily, people talking and laughing maskless.

1/10 Sun.
Day 311 of my personal journey during the pandemic. I’m sad to say that the one-year mark is approaching with no certainty that the situation will be any better. The vaccine offered a huge shot of hope, but, typical of the T**** administration’s incompetence, the rollout is getting way behind schedule.

Eleven pages of obituaries in today’s Star Tribune, the second most I’ve seen since the pandemic began. I didn’t bother to look for how many of them mentioned COVID or “complications of COVID” as cause of death.

1/12 Tues.
With my abdominal pain still there even after a colectomy, and even after ten days of laxative and dietary intervention to make sure my stools are moving properly, and with no other evident cause, I’m beginning to wonder if my pain might be simply a result of stress.

After all, it (at least this latest bout with abdominal pain) came on just about when the pandemic reached US shores back in March. I wonder if it could simply be a spot of inflammation somewhere other than on/in my colon. I continue to explore all possibilities, and have made an appointment with my regular doctor to discuss possible next steps.

Speaking of stress, Washington DC police and National Guard are preparing for a possible repeat of last Wednesday’ armed insurrection at the Capitol on the 20th, inauguration day. Similar preparations are taking place around every state capitol building. What a sad, infuriating commentary on where the worst president in our history has brought this once-great country. Yeah, let’s “make America HATE again!

1/15 Wed.
T**** has been impeached for the second time. Today, with the notable inclusion of ten Republican representatives, the House voted on the single article: Inciting to Insurrection. Now, it goes to the Senate, where Speaker McConnell has signaled that he might actually consider backing it, though not before Jan. 19, the day before Biden’s inauguration.

How infuriating to listen to the many T***publicans who oppose the impeachment because “Now is the time for unity,” or some such duplicitous admonishment. The time for that call would have been sometime before you voted to overturn the results of a free and fair election. Go straight to hell, you gutless brown-nosers!

1/14 Thur.
I just got word from Health Partners, for whose hospice program I volunteer, that I should expect an email “soon,” offering me the COVID-19 vaccine. I won’t count my chickens, but needless to say I’m excited!

Hard to predict how my spirits—or my behavior—might change after getting vaccinated, but at the very least, I’d continue doing pretty much what I’m doing now in the way of distancing and masking, but without the underlying terror that’s accompanied them the past ten months.

And, I’ll have to consider whether returning to my weekly in-person visits with hospice patients—walking right into the much-maligned lion’s den of COVID transmissibility. It would be a real test of my faith in the vaccine.

Less than a week now till Donald T**** is finally out of office. And…wait, NEWS FLASH: The email from Health Partners Hospice regarding making an appointment to be vaccinated just came in…and I’m scheduled for my first shot today at noon! At Methodist Hospital.

I’m sitting here crying, with an overwhelming sense of relief and gratitude! Sally says it’s payback for all my years of volunteering.

Only problem, we’re in the midst of a winter storm, expecting 6-12” of snow. Driving’s already tricky, but I don’t think snow will get heavy till tonight, so I should be able to make my appointment on time.

I did manage to get my first shot. The team at Health Partners’ Methodist Hospital was impressively well-organized. Barely felt the injection. Had to sit in a waiting room for 15 minutes afterward to make sure I had no severe reaction.

It’s now over ten hours since that shot, and I’m still feeling no adverse effects at all. I expect to wake up tomorrow morning with some injection-site pain, maybe even pain throughout the arm. I hope that’s all there will be.

I feel as if a great weight’s been lifted from my spirit. Not sure if I’ll run out and buy airline tickets for Mexico, but I’m thinking about it. Probably still too soon.

1/16 Sat.
So far, so good for after-effects of the vaccine. Just a little injection-site pain, and even that’s on the wane. The CDC texts me every day to keep tabs on my condition.

Meanwhile, the overall outlook for rollout of the vaccines is pretty poor. Turns out the federal government’s claim that they might release an emergency reserve of the vaccine they’ve been setting aside was false. Governors like our own Walz had been crafting their respective states’ distribution plans accordingly, so this throws a massive monkey wrench into the works. Walz is, understandably, furious.

It’s just more fallout, which I’m afraid will keep coming for years, if not decades, of the T**** administration’s criminal negligence.

1/18 Mon.
I was thinking I might feel a release of my T****/pandemic stress after getting vaccinated. But so far, it’s not gone away. Maybe this Wednesday, inauguration day, will mark the turning point.

The Capitol in Washington, as well as state capitols across the country have been turned into armed high-security stockades in case more insurrections are planned. Yet another way this disastrous administration has sucked the air out of the room.

Apparently the trauma of these two joy-crushing realities has penetrated deep. I’d thought, as soon as I knew I was protected—at least 90-95 percent so—I’d be on the first plane back to Zihuatanejo.

But, after checking on air and lodging availability and the availability of COVID testing (necessary to board the return flight to the USA), discussing Sally’s and my daughter Amanda’s possibly joining me, and confirming the fact that air travel is relatively safe, I’m still leaning toward waiting till next year. At least Sally and I have our North Shore getaway to look forward to.

1/19 Tues.
Concern is growing that the glacial rate of vaccination around the world won’t keep up with the virus’s ability to adapt, mutating into new variants, some of which will inevitably have evolved to be immune from the current vaccines. One can only hope that the infectious disease experts aren’t so overwhelmed with the original virus that they can’t be thinking ahead to anticipate the variants and be ready.

If a second, full-blown pandemic should manage to sweep the world before the first one is done, I’m afraid I can see an image of what Armageddon might be like. We should all be praying.

The death toll of COVID-19 in the U.S. has surpassed 400,000. I can’t help thinking how much lower that number would likely have been with any kind of leadership at the federal level. At least tens of thousands.

I’m wondering who’s responsible for the shamefully slow rollout of the vaccine. Again, once the two first vaccines were approved, the T**** administration decided its job was over. And it’s now come to light that the huge reserve store of vaccines the government promised it had set aside to assure second doses to all those who’d gotten the first…never existed! Unbelievable.

I, and I’m sure millions of other Americans, am so grateful for those in the news and entertainment media who have endured, adapted and stayed on the air. For me, it’s been mostly the brilliant satirist, Stephen Colbert, who’s been keeping me sane. He not been afraid to call T**** and his apologists exactly what they are and dish out the ridicule they deserve. And also Judy Woodruff on PBS, who’s helped us calmly process each weekday’s events.

1/20 Wed.
Inauguration Day! And the worst president in U.S. history is gone. No more power, other than his astounding appeal to his sick, deluded base. We now have a real human being leading us into the future. Hooray!!!

Minnesota’s plan to speed up its vaccination rate looks like it’s been a flop. Not sure why they promoted a plan to speed a very small percentage of available doses into the arms of  a wider range of Minnesotans. The call center and website were inundated with hundreds of thousands of calls—peaking at 10,000 per second…and crashed.

Even Governor Walz had described the chances of actually getting through as “harder than going on Ticketmaster to get Bruce Springsteen tickets.” So why do it when, to all but the few thousand folks lucky enough to score a shot, it’s got to be more discouraging than having no hope at all.

1/21 Thur.
The country’s huge collective sigh of relief continues today. Fitting, I think, that today is bright and sunny here in Minneapolis. And my emotions are even closer to the surface for the relief and gratitude than they’ve been for the fear and anger of the past four years.

It will be interesting to see what, if anything, the Biden administration can do to reorganize and refocus the vaccine distribution plan his predecessor so irresponsibly relegated to the states. I still don’t know for sure what the source of the bottleneck is—manufacturing, distribution to the states, or distribution and administration within the respective states.

Today marks the one-year anniversary of the first diagnosed case of the novel coronavirus in the U.S. Sally and I first became aware of it in early March while in Mexico. By mid-March it would drastically affect our lives, and it has not stopped since then. For us, by my rough reckoning, it is day 322.

Some good news: it appears the dreaded post-holidays surge in cases and deaths has not occurred to any great degree. Though cases and deaths are still tragically high, it seems things are headed in the right direction (though there could very well be more surges before mass vaccinations catch up to it).

President Biden (God, I love saying that!) is taking charge as his predecessor should have done starting a year ago, describing this as the equivalent of a major “war effort,” and is promising to ramp up vaccinations with a goal of 100 million of them done in his first 100 days. Go Joe!

1/23 Sat.
The U.S. has now tallied 25 million cases of COVID-19, with over 400,000 deaths so far. In Minnesota, the numbers of cases and deaths have been on a steady decline since Thanksgiving. It’s cause for optimism, but the trend can change quite quickly in areas where folks don’t adhere to distancing and masking guidelines.

My brother, Dan and his wife, Ruth Ann, are scheduled to have their first shots next week. So now there’s a realistic expectation on the horizon that, in another month or so, or whenever Sally get’s vaccinated, the four of us might be able to get together for a meal and some face-to-face conversation. That’s a pretty big deal.

1/26 Tues.
As the states, left by the previous U.S. administration to fend for themselves, struggle with what seem to be hit-and-miss efforts to get their people vaccinated, there’s deeply troubling news of yet more variants of the coronavirus emerging. The latest, joining those originating in Great Britain and South Africa, comes from Brazil.

While experts are clearly trying not to alarm everyone, they’re now starting to allow that some of them might be able, at least partially, to outwit the existing vaccinations. So Astrazeneca is working on a booster that might be able to broaden their original vaccine’s effectiveness against the new strains.

Minnesota’s launching a new vaccination blitz aimed primarily at teachers. So it shouldn’t be long before Sally gets her first shot. Great news! And I’m counting down the days till my scheduled (Feb. 4) second dose.

Sally’s just heard from her school district that she falls into level three of a ten-tiered vaccination priority list. She spend about two hours on line trying to register for an appointment, but because she wasn’t able to do this right away when the site opened, she had to settle for getting on a waiting list; she says she’s something like number 14,000 on the list.

Meanwhile, the Biden administration is promising to ramp up the national vaccination roll-out, with Minnesota and other states getting about 16 percent more doses weekly, starting next week.

Minnesota’s daily COVID-19 death toll has fallen into the single digits, with just eight people dying from the disease today. Many of the stats are at their lowest point since September.

1/27 Wed.
Total cases worldwide have reached 100 million. Of these, ONE QUARTER of them have happened in the good ol’ USA. A—what’s the opposite of testament?—to Donald T**** and his boot-licking, pandemic-denying lackeys.

I’m beginning to note my loved ones’ appointments for their vaccinations in my calendar as if they were birthdays. My brother and sister-in-law this Friday; my friend, Dick, tomorrow; Sally, soon I hope.

1/29 Fri.
The COVID-19 positivity rate here in Minnesota has dropped to 5 percent, compared with a high of 15.5 percent in mid-November.

The first case of a new virus strain thought to have originated in Brazil has shown up in the U.S.—in Minnesota, in fact. The patient had recently travelled to Brazil.

I’m still quite concerned—and the experts seem to be cautiously suggesting it—that the glacial pace of mass vaccination could allow these new strains to gain the upper hand, and that this might cause another surge that would look like the pandemic was starting all over again. It’s hard not to contemplate what that would mean to—I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say it—humanity. If it goes that way, God help us.

Another vaccine is close to approval in the U.S. From Novavax, it is slightly less effective than either the other to vaccines being administered here so far.

1/31 Sun.
Dr. Michael Osterholm was (yet again) interviewed on network news this morning and issued a dire prediction that the South African variant of the COVID virus will be dominant in the U.S. within the next month or so. He also suggested we make the tough choice of speeding first shots to more folks, even if it means delaying second shots for others.

I have mixed feelings about this. Part of me is afraid of not getting my second shot when Pfizer originally recommended it; another part says “Shame on you!” for not being more of a team player. If my second shot, due this coming Thursday, does get delayed, I’ll be okay with that reality. But I’m still very disappointed in the horrible start the T**** fiasco provided for the whole vaccination rollout.

2/1 Mon.
Yesterday’s test positivity rate in the state was 3.77 percent, making Minnesota’s one of the lowest rates in the country. On the national front, though, the news is far less promising, with January going down as the worst month to date in the pandemic with 95,500 deaths. Worldwide, there have now been over 2.2 million deaths.

Nearly 100 million doses of vaccine have been administered worldwide. While that sounds like a big number, it’s just 1.3 percent of the population. Only a few countries, notably Israel with 53 percent of it citizens vaccinated, have given vaccination the national manufacturing and distribution priority it deserves.

I’m still thinking that it’s just a matter of time before health experts start to bemoan the fact that we’re not coming down nearly as hard as we should be on the new variants. Folks will be saying “What were we thinking?” Still more proof that our biggest enemy is not the viral pandemic, but the concurrent plague of political discord and lethal disinformation unleashed by poisonous authoritarian politics in the U.S. and around the world.

2/3 Wed.
Just two COVID deaths in Minnesota yesterday. Love it! We seem to be headed in the right direction, and as vaccination rates pick up, I have to hope that, as I’ve been predicting to Sally, that we’ll be able to feel relatively “normal” once again by November.

Tomorrow’s my second vaccination. I’m cautiously excited, but still feel a bit guilty for my turn coming up before that of countless folks who are more vulnerable than I. There are reports of great inequities in how the shots are being distributed—both among nations (with Israel, for example, already surpassing 60 percent of all its citizens vaccinated already) and among social strata (with well-off communities outpacing poorer ones in many areas.)

A week after the second Pfizer vaccination is when it’s been shown to hit its much-touted 95% effectiveness. So, that’s when (for me, it will be Feb. 11) I can really let it soak in that I’m well enough protected to start letting my guard down just a bit.

Among the first changes I’m looking forward to are: hugging Sally again for the first time in nearly a year; asking my hospice program if I can start seeing some patients in the flesh once again; getting a haircut (it’ll be just my second one since the pandemic began last March); getting together with those of my friends who’ve also been vaccinated—perhaps for drinks, a meal or playing tennis; flying somewhere (probably stateside only, since I’m still not confident in Mexico’s ability to deal with any injury or illness that might come up while they’re struggling with the coronavirus still running rampant down there); in-store shopping in places where curbside service doesn’t meet my needs.

2/4 Thur.
WOO-HOO! Just got my second vaccine dose! Another week, and I should be about as protected as I’m ever going to be from the virus. I should plan on celebrating, but I’m reluctant, since Sally’s still in limbo, awaiting a chance to make an appointment for her first “jab.” Meanwhile, a couple more of my friends have gotten their first shots.

At least I can go ahead and make some plans for my new, post-vax life, starting with a hair appointment.

I know I’ve bitched here about the push by coaches, athletes and their parents, and others for sports to continue during the pandemic. Now, though, despite what seems such an obvious invitation for spreading the virus, most teams, from high school level to the pros, seem to have devised fairly effective protocols for limiting the damage.

Besides, I’ve been enjoying a kind of guilty pleasure from watching some of the games, especially the Minnesota Wild and some NFL playoff games. And I’m looking forward to the Super Bowl this Sunday.

Still, just about every day one team or another is hit by at least one player loss due to either a positive test or an exposure discovered through contact tracing. Yesterday, it was the Wild, learning that five or six players are out, and having to postpone their next four games. Teams are having to put together a patchwork of “clean” games in order to even simulate a real season. I still don’ t know how they’ll decide rankings when teams have played differing numbers of games.

Wisconsin’s majority republican legislature has overturned Governor Tony Evers’s executive-order masking mandate. My God, if there were only a way to make the consequences of such defiance of masks’ proven effectiveness fall just on the heads of these cowards. (There but for the grace of Democrat voters goes Minnesota!)

2/5 Fri.
I wonder how many permanent changes to our lives the pandemic will bring about. One example might be that we’ll continue moving toward a cashless economy. No one wants to touch those old bills or coins any more. I’ll bet my usage of currency has dropped by 80 to 90 percent.

Other changes might be continuing shrinkage in the number of live, in-person movie screenings, plays and concerts; more restaurants with little or no indoor seating; and a whole new vocabulary of pandemic-reminiscent words and terms like PPE, pod, jab, unmute! and asymptomatic.

And I suspect mask-wearing will continue, even long after COVID is considered under “control.” Pretty sure we’ll be just like the Asians, for whom, after the SARS pandemic and other scares, wearing masks in public became ubiquitous.

For me, the fact that, while protecting myself from COVID-19, I’ve also managed to avoid a single cold or sinusitis/bronchitis episode, suggests I may want to adopt masking as a continuing healthcare practice, along with avoiding touching anything and frequent hand sanitizing.

No more side effects from the second dose of the vaccine than from the first. Days till total efficacy of my vaccination: one down, six to go.

Joe Biden continues to do a fine job of instituting his plan to beef up the vaccination effort. And leveling with the American people about the continuing challenge of the pandemic and what it will take from all of us to get ahead of the virus and its variants.

His massive $1.9 trillion stimulus package seems to be on its way to clearing Congress, despite republican efforts to pretend they have any good ideas at all.

2/7 Sun.
Only seven pages of obituaries in today’s Star Tribune. Back during the big spike in COVID, I think that number was as high as twelve.

Donald T****’s second impeachment trial starts this coming Tuesday. I know I’ve veered off into rants here about this evil little man before, but his utter incompetence and all-out assault against democracy and decency have—and continue to—have a huge impact on our nation’s preparedness for the pandemic, and on our response to it. Even though he’s no longer a daily presence in front of cameras and microphones, the cost of his presidency continues to mount up—in dollars and deaths.

Present-day reporters and analysts have been far too kind to this tyrant; history will not be so kind. Of this I’m sure.

2/8 Mon.
I read an interesting article from NPR this morning, citing research from Columbia University (not yet peer reviewed nor published elsewhere) suggesting that the rate of infectiousness nationwide is actually about ten times higher than the”official” number. The main reason cited: that the rate of testing for the virus is woefully inadequate.

Yesterday marked the one-year anniversary of the death of Dr. Li Wenliang, the Chinese doctor who issued the first warning that the novel coronavirus was out of the bag. He was punished for speaking out, then eventually became infected with the virus and died. Oh, if only we human beings, and the institutions we devise, weren’t so tragically flawed. Talk about a momentous turning point in history.

I suppose, for this blunder alone, we could be forgiven for blaming the Chinese for the whole thing. On the other hand, the Chinese, who, at the time, had little or no data on the virus to work with, can be forgiven much more than Donald T****, who did have the data but chose not to lift a finger.

As I anticipate being “fully protected” by the Pfizer vaccine later this week, I realize that concerns that have shaped my behavior during the past year are pretty deep-seated and will be hard to change.

2/9 Tues.
Sobering news: the British variant of the coronavirus is spreading fast in the U.S.—doubling in cases every ten days. We need some very good news on the vaccination rate!

It feels good to be planning some activities involving in-person interaction with other people. I have a haircut—just my second since last February—this Friday, and some in-store shopping for cross-country skis this weekend.

Poor Sally. She was just notified that all the time and hope she invested in the original vaccination program for teachers—and which has seen several of her younger colleagues get their jabs—is for nought. They just ended the program! It still concerns me the possibility that one who’s supposed to be a priority case could just fall through the cracks and end up in the mix with the general public for attention “sometime within the next year.”

2/10 Wed.
Today’s headline was about a mass shooting that happened yesterday at a health clinic in Buffalo MN: “Shot fulfill clinic’s fears.” Surely a sign of the times, I read it that vaccinations were falling woefully short of expectations, or that somehow the clinic’s scant doses were going bad before they could be administered.

Hooray!!! Sally got an appointment for her first jab tomorrow at the Mpls. Convention Center!! It’ll be a day to celebrate: my “full-protection” day, a week after my second shot, and Sally’s start to the long-awaited process. Thank God for those in the T**** administration who initially promoted “Operation Warp Speed” to make vaccine development urgent, the researchers and doctors who met the challenge in record time, and all those responsible for distributing and administering the vaccine!

From a purely practical perspective, Sally’s vaxx will mean we can safely start doing things together that we’ve avoided for so long—like hugging, going to family events and riding in the car together. The latter is especially welcome, since we’re driving to the North Shore for a week’s getaway in a bit over a month, just about the time she’ll be fully vaccinated.

2/11 Thurs.
Sally got her first vaccination at the Convention Center yesterday. She says it went very smoothly, only taking about 25 minutes, including the 15-minute observation period after the shot. We’re both feeling much, much better.

The percentage of Minnesotans testing positive is down to nearly 3 percent—that from a high of around 15% back in the fall.

President Biden announced that the U.S. has bought 200 million more doses of vaccine from Pfizer and Moderna. Dr. Fauci is now predicting the rate of vaccination will now pick up, and that by summer, nearly everyone who wants a vaccination will be able to get one. He sees some degree of “normalcy” to Americans’ lives by mid-summer.

The more optimistic things look here, the more starkly the inequities of vaccination around the world stand out. It still appears that poorer, more remote countries may not get vaccine in any quantity for many, many months.

2/13 Sat.
Now that I’m close to “fully vaccinated,” I celebrated today by going out and doing some in-person, in-store shopping. First, to our favorite coffee shop for a nice, large, extra-shot latte. Then to three cross-country ski shops to replace my recently broken old waxless skis. And finally to Target for a few grocery essentials and a bunch of Valentines roses for Sally.

I’ll still be very careful with this kind of activity, still masking and keeping my distance as much as possible. But without the underlying dread I’ve been feeling the past year.

By the way, it’s indicative of people’s appetite for outdoor activities during COVID that nearly all sporting goods stores have been picked over in their skiing departments. I was lucky to find a pair of demo skis that fit me perfectly—and at a greatly reduced price.

2/14 Sun.
I got a haircut the other day—just my second shearing since the pandemic began. Just being indoors, very close to another person for half an hour, without too much anxiety was a huge breakthrough. But it was also notable for how good it felt to converse with someone—besides Sally.

I don’t think of myself as very talkative, but that day I was a regular Chatty Kathy, and it felt really good!

2/16 Tues.
Another breakthrough enabled by my vaccination: this morning I went into the Health Partners Hospice offices to stuff envelopes for a mailing. I really enjoyed the work, but even more important was the very pleasant socializing with two fellow volunteers. After nearly a year of paranoia and semi-isolation, I appreciate chatting with people face-to-face as never before.

2/17 Wed.
The debate continues about whether it’s safe, especially for teachers, to go back to in-person, classroom teaching. Teachers unions seem to be against it, while school administrators and many parents insist the extensive measures the schools have taken—informed by CDC guidelines—will ensure safety.

If I were a teacher, I’d be having a hard time with this. I believe the CDC’s recommendations are based on broad societal trends and averages. While they might find, for example, a three- or four-percent infection rate a slam-dunk success, that only means it’s a whole lot better than a 20 percent rate. But for those three or four percent, it’s still a losing proposition.

When I’ve considered my behavior during the pandemic, I wasn’t thinking how I could help keep the infection rate low for the state or country; I was thinking how I could keep it quite close to zero for me.

Thousands of farmed mink in Wisconsin have died of COVID-19, raising concerns about the virus’s ability to, in effect, pull off on a siding for a while and wait till humans’ vigilance passes, and then hop back from the minks—or other animals—to humans. Officials here seem to be taking a wait-and-see attitude, while in Denmark, officials immediately ordered all mink at over 1,100 farms killed, whether or not they were infected.

A vaccine for mink is in the works. Won’t it be tragic when mink get vaccinated before millions of poor people around the world? I can guarantee that will happen.

2/18 Thur.
The COVID death toll in Minnesota is at ten or fewer per day. This is still a lot—if we were losing ten people a day to auto accidents or crime every day, we’d be alarmed—but it’s a fraction of those falling to the virus at its peak.

Americans’ average life expectancy has dropped due to the pandemic. For whites, it’s a year lower; for Blacks and Native Americans, over two years.

2/19 Fri.
Day 339 of my experience with the pandemic. Incredible that, during those first unforgettable days (as Sally and I, in Mexico, considered how we’d weather the crisis), we were thinking in terms of weeks, possibly a couple of months!

Over a million doses of the vaccines have been administered in Minnesota. Sounds like a lot, but it’s still means only 13 percent of Minnesotans have been vaccinated. The state has launched a vaccine “connector” website where folks can, supposedly, find out roughly where they are in the pecking order, and where they can get their shots the soonest.

Shipments of the vaccines to states, including Minnesota, have been slowed by the crippling effects of a cold wave that’s nearly shut down much of the central U.S., reaching as far south as Houston, knocking out power generation and the supply of municipal drinking water, among other effects.

2/21 Sun.
The U.S. death toll is approaching 500,000—the most of any country. To put it in perspective, that’s more than died in World War II, and is approaching the number—675,000—who died in the 1918 Spanish flu pandemic. The number of diagnosed cases in the US: 28 million.

It is an indelible stain on the United States of America, supposedly the greatest, most advanced nation of all, that we’ve so shamefully mishandled the crisis. A testament to the confluence of ignorance and selfishness of all those responsible for electing and, even worse, enabling our former president.

He—and they—might as well have toured hospitals and nursing homes across the country shooting folks in the head. Except that shooting them would have been kinder than subjecting them and their families to deaths agonizingly drawn out, sometimes for weeks, with most patients dying without as much as a parting hug or loving word from a loved one.

The physical ravages of the plague the T**** regime denied will abate long before the injury to our country’s soul.

2/22 Mon.
It’s evident the world is slowly getting back to normal. Governments, including that of Minnesota, are allowing schools, restaurants and many group activities to open up, at least partially. Sporting events now have in-person fans in the stands, albeit still in reduced numbers.

But still, Dr. Fauci and other experts are saying wide-spread vaccination and thus folks’ being able to dispense with their masks, won’t come till fall—and possibly late fall at that. I’m still feeling quite sure Sally and I will be able to head back to Zihuatanejo next March with a minimum of concern.

By that time, I’m quite sure there’ll be a new round of vaccinations, with a formula adjusted to target most of the variants that will have emerged by then. Of course, as with the seasonal flu vaccines, it will likely become a guessing game, with efficacies varying considerably from year to year.

I must remember that the goal of public health officials is to minimize the percentage of folks who get sick, and that for one individual that will mean simply improved odds with vaccination, not total protection.

2/23 Tues.
Just one COVID death in Minnesota yesterday! And 48 people hospitalized in intensive care—the lowest number since early April last year.

Great news indeed, but it seems offset by today’s Star Tribune headline: “Group events aiding spread of virus.” I know newspapers have to report the news, but it just seems ludicrous that such an obvious fact still rates headline status. Of course people getting together in close proximity spreads the virus! Yet still the pressure is on politicians and other leaders to speed up the state’s sanctioning of just such groups.

As I’ve mentioned here before, the moral battle continues between assuaging people’s “COVID fatigue” and keeping the economy running, and a calculated acceptance of a certain number of deaths. I guess it’ easy for me to judge, since I have little if any skin in the game, with my life only minimally affected by the pandemic compared with folks who’ve lost their jobs, can’t pay the rent and don’t have the luxury of staying home.

2/24 Wed.
It seems some prosperous countries have bought up enough vaccine to inoculate their population five times over. This just highlights one of the entirely predictable challenges of the vaccines: how to assure fairness in their distribution.

But I hear that France's President Emmanuel Macron has called for richer countries like his to send up to five percent of their current vaccine supplies to poorer nations. A good idea. I think I’d have been okay with delaying my vaccination for a few weeks if that had been the price of our being generous.

2/25 Thur.
The term “variant” has already leapt to the forefront in the lexicon of the COVID age. It’s still a race between the virus’s ability to adapt and reinvent itself, and the public health systems ability to roll out the vaccines.

Today, in fact, another variant, thought to have originated in California, has been identified. Supposedly, the drug companies who’ve brought us the two or three best vaccines so far are already working on third doses, or boosters, to handle the variants.

2/27 Sat.
I played tennis this morning with my friends, Dick and Todd, after several months off due partly to the tennis center’s being closed, and partly due to my own COVID concerns. It was good to get back to a cherished, years-old tradition, but the center’s rules now call for masking, even while playing, which is hard.

Not only does the mask restrict breathing, which gets heavier while playing, even a well-fitted mask fogs my glasses, which is very distracting. We, all having had our second vax, would have been okay with unmasking during play, but rules are rules.

A third vaccine, this one developed by Johnson & Johnson, is on the verge of emergency approval by the CDC. It differs from the first two, from Pfizer and Moderna, in that it requires only one dose and needs only refrigeration, not super-cold freezing to keep it fresh.

2/28 Sun.
Only seven pages of obituaries in the paper this morning—compared with 12 pages back in June.

Now that folks are getting vaccinated, the question becomes how long does that protection last. I’ve heard and read many answers to that question, ranging from a few months to a few years. But the CDC, as of their Q & A page updated just three days ago, says no one yet knows how long vaccines last.

I guess my hope would be that, at worst, one would have to be vaccinated no more than annually, with what we might assume will be a vaccine formula tweaked to combat that year’s latest variants.

3/2 Tues.
COVID numbers have plateaued and are starting to rise again after steep declines over the past two and a half months. There is great concern among infectious disease experts that people and governments will start letting down their guards prematurely in their zeal to open up more businesses and get kids back to school.

The Johnson & Johnson vaccine, a bit less effective than the first two vaccines released in the U.S., was approved by the CDC yesterday and begins distribution throughout the country today. Various spokespersons are busy promoting the new vaccine, touting its one-dose-only administration and less-stringent refrigeration requirement, and trying hard to counter folks’ aversion to a vaccine claiming an efficacy some 30 percent lower than the Pfizer and Moderna products.

3/3 Wed.
Psychologists and sociologists are recognizing and studying a new phenomenon: vaccine envy. The complex, encompassing anxiety, jealousy and sheer impatience, is taking a toll on many people, especially those who feel they’ve been wrongly assigned their spot in the vaccination pecking order.

In its mildest form, vaccine envy might manifest simply as impatience or frustration. At its worst, it’s butting into line, aggression toward folks who’ve gotten their jabs, or even violence against medical staffers prescribing or administering the vaccines.

Given “human nature,” it may be entirely understandable, but I fear many of those afflicted are just T**** worshippers who just feel entitled and don’t think any rules should apply to them.

Apparently the confluence of a divisive, rabble-rousing former president and an Armageddon-conjuring pandemic has engendered a near doubling of handgun permits issued by Minnesota in 2020—up to 96,500, a frightening indicator of the deeply aggrieved, paranoid mindset of many Americans. The FBI reports having conducted a record 39 million firearms background checks in 2020.

Over 900,000 Minnesotans have now gotten at least their first vaccination, which includes 53 percent of senior citizens.

3/4 Thur.
The republican governors of Texas and Mississippi are lifting all COVID guidelines for their citizens. No state-issued mandates for distancing, masking or even the percentage of capacity allowed for restaurants or entertainment venues.

This while Texas, for example, has vaccinated less than 7 percent of its population. Even adding those presumed to have immunity after recovering from COVID brings the percentage to less than 25 percent, far less than the 70 percent experts say is needed for “herd immunity.”

3/5 Fri.
I’m thinking back a year, to those innocent times just before we learned about the plague that would stalk us for well over a year. Sally and I had just arrived in lovely Zihuatanejo, Guerrero, Mexico for our annual March vacation there.

Obviously, that innocence is now ancient history, but I’m turning my hopes and dreams toward a time when we can reclaim at least some of it. It’s hard to believe that I’m looking forward to next March for that possibility.

I’m not ready just yet to get on a plane, but I am looking into a possible trip to Oaxaca next fall, to spend a couple of weeks there at a Spanish language school. It does my soul good to have such an adventure to look forward to.

3/7 Sun.
Over a million Minnesotans have now gotten at least their first vaccine doses. But that’s still just a bit over 18 percent of the population. Slowly, but surely we’re getting there.

Yesterday, the Dalai Lama made a public show of getting his vaccination. Last unvaccinated member of my men’s group has his first jab scheduled, so that makes just about all the older folks I care about who are close to vaccinated. I’m so looking forward to getting together with them!

3/9 Tues.
A number of public health officials are now saying words to the effect that we may finally have turned the corner on COVID-19. With a caveat that we continue whatever diligence we might still have over common-sense masking and distancing in public.

Meanwhile, the CDC has issued new guidelines, saying it is now considered safe for people who’ve been vaccinated to gather indoors, even without masking or distancing. And that vaccinated people can mingle with small groups of loved ones as long as no one present is at risk for serious disease.

Minnesota is reporting that 66 percent of our senior citizens have now been vaccinated, closing in on the “herd-immunity” goal for that segment of 70 percent.

3/10 Wed.
My gut pain saga continues. Now that a partial colectomy and a fairly radical change in diet have failed to fix me, I’m starting to assume I’ll just have to live with it. Since I have no symptoms besides the intermittent pain of the usual suspects—Crohn’s, irritable bowel syndrome, or a return of diverticulitis—I wonder if the only real culprit is stress.

Though I don’t feel very stressed, I’m sure it’s been taking a toll in some way. I’m working on it with a near-daily meditation, which is becoming an enjoyable and much-anticipated part of my daily routine. No significant effect yet on the gut pain, though.

The gastroenterology folks are suggesting an early, unscheduled colonoscopy. But it feels like they’re just doing trial and error medicine, and I still feel something’s very fishy about the indication for my colectomy. Rather than another dreaded colonoscopy for something that feels like it’s outside of my colon, I’d much rather revisit the original diagnostic process and see if a new set of eyes (and a different system) might not be able to find the problem.

So I’ve asked for a referral to Mayo. I would trust their famously-thorough process, touted for solving medical mysteries that have stymied other doctors. We’ll see if I get through their formidable gatekeeping. And if my HMO will pay for it…

3/11 Thur.
I went into a gift boutique yesterday to get a few birthday cards. At the check-out counter was a big table full of artsy, handmade fabric face masks. The sign said, “Clearance.” This struck me as hugely significant. Even though we’re still encouraged to wear masks, this store, at least, felt the time right to start winding down its inventory of perhaps the most iconic symbol of the COVID-19 pandemic.

3/12 Fri.
The sense of returning normalcy is becoming more and more tangible. Governor Walz is expected to announce further loosening of the rules for indoor gatherings. President Biden vows to have vaccination available to everyone, not just priority groups like the frail and elderly, by May first. And suggests that the Fourth of July will be a national celebration not just of American Independence

Last night, I joined Sally for dinner at her daughter, Jenny’s, house, where seven of us sat around a table with our masks off for nearly an hour. I was a little nervous, but realized that my concern is shifting from getting COVID to simply catching a cold or the regular flu.

3/14 Sun.
The news—at least that to be read in the Star Tribune—is now less about the actual virus and more about the continuing fallout of the pandemic, even as deaths and new infections wane.

Page-one articles today focus on dealing with the huge surge in evictions as folks default on their rent and mortgage payments, and on the expected impact of the latest stimulus package enacted by Congress last week.

3/15 Mon.
In lieu of our much-missed March in Mexico, we’re at our rental on the North Shore, right on Lake Superior. It feels good being able to get away without flying. Though everyone is masked in restaurants and shops, we feel quite safe in our place. VRBO says they do a comprehensive job of sanitizing after each guest leaves, allowing a full day of vacancy for an extra-thorough cleaning.

Not sure what the national and world news is about COVID today. I hope to avoid the news for the whole week we’re here.

3/16 Tues.
We drove down to Duluth today, and were pleasantly surprised at how thoughtful the vast majority of the people we saw were with their masking and respect of safe distance.

Though we no longer have to be as defensive as we were a month ago, we realize it will take continued vigilance to keep this plague from spiking once again before we achieve “herd immunity.”

3/18 Thur.
Another great day here on Minnesota’s beautiful North Shore, blissfully out of touch with the news. We assume—and hope—the the pace of vaccinations continues to pick up in Minnesota and elsewhere.  

More and more, as I get out of the car to walk into a grocery store, shop, or whatever, I’m forgetting to bring my mask. I have to turn around and go get it. I guess this means I’m confident in the effectiveness of my vaccinations. I’m so grateful to all those who’ve committed themselves to the “moonshot” effort to speed up the vaccine development process. I guess I have to include former president T****, who, if nothing else, paid lip-service to the challenge.

As Sally and I emerge from the dark tunnel that’s been the past year, we must remember that hundreds of thousands of people did not emerge, and are either dead, or mourning someone who died from this pandemic.

It’s also important to remember those whose lives have been thrown out of whack by lingering damage done by the virus. The one person I know who’s a “long-hauler” is still wracked by the effects of what she’s sure was an undiagnosed case of COVID-19. I pray she will find her way back to normal soon—perhaps with the help of the ever-emerging understanding of the virus and its after-effects.

3/19 Fri.
Twenty-three percent of Minnesotans have now had at least their first vaccinations. That includes 77 percent of senior citizens. The positivity rate has ticked up a bit from its low point in early March. It now stands at 4.1 percent. Meanwhile, U.S. deaths from COVID-19 are still well over 1,000 per day, approaching a total toll of 540,000.

AMC, the country’s biggest movie theater chain, is opening most of its 500-plus theaters.

I may be getting on an airplane earlier than the fall, 2021 return to flying I’d been planning. My daughter, Amanda, asked if I could fly out to Boston for a visit in April, and I’m pretty sure I’m ready. I trust that the vaccination rate will continue to improve between now and then.

I guess I’m still not there yet. Decided, based partly on the CDC’s advice that even vaccinated people shouldn’t travel until more are vaccinated, I’m not yet comfortable flying. Probably not till fall.

3/20 Sat.
Our little North Shore getaway (we’re headed home today) feels like a major, at least symbolic, turnaround in my getting out from under the pall of the pandemic. It felt like we were reclaiming our freedom.

On our way home, we stopped in Duluth, where I had lunch with an old friend from high school. He, too, has had his vaccinations, so it was great sitting across the same table, maskless, and enjoying a cocktail and a meal without fear.

3/22 Mon.
If I haven’t mentioned it, a news report the other day said that one in every five Americans has lost a relative or close friend to COVID-19.

President Biden is reassuring folks that the vaccination program should be open to everyone by May 1. So far he and his administration have been very careful not to overpromise.

3/23 Tues.
A recent NPR/PBS/Marist poll shows that 6% of men identifying as Democrats have declined vaccination. I guess that’s encouraging, seeing as achieving herd immunity requires only 70% of people to be inoculated. The shocking stat from that poll, though, is that 49% of Republican men refuse to get their shots.

Is this how deeply the T***-inspired nosedive of his party into amorality has plunged? That these lock-step louts, because their esteemed leader got fired by the majority of voters, will do absolutely anything to get back at us for it? Including sabotaging the full-on miracle that the vaccines represent to mankind?

They do not deserve citizenship in a great, caring, democratic country.

3/24 Wed.
Woohoo!! I just booked my first airline ticket since Fall of 2019. I’m going to Oaxaca City, Mexico in late October / early November for two weeks of advanced Spanish instruction. Hoping daughter Amanda will join me for one week to experience Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead).

As I feel the stress well up at getting on a crowded plane, I remind myself that this is still seven months away, during which time I hope things will only have improved in terms of numbers vaccinated.

3/25 Thur.
I’m not very confident my efforts to deal with my continuing mystery gut pain are going anywhere. I’ve succeeded in getting a referral by my Health Partners doctor to Mayo. And my records, imaging, etc. have been transferred there. But now I hear that Mayo is now out-of-network and, if covered at all by my insurance, may at least require $40 co-payments and that I pay 20 percent of all Mayo charges. If Mayo’s ruled out by this, I’ll see if the U of M Medical Center might be in the Health Partners network.

If the gut problem were due to pandemic stress, it should have shown signs of improvement by now, given my vaccination and return to some fairly normal activities. I’m now wondering if it might not be a long-term after-effect of my lumbar spinal fusion surgery about five years ago.

It’s agonizingly slow, but I guess it’s worth marking each small victory. Today, it’s reported that 20 percent of all Americans have gotten at least their first shot of vaccine. Better news is that some 75 percent of those over 75 have gotten theirs.

I’ve booked Spanish school, lodging and flights for my Oaxaca trip with my daughter in late October. It’s hard to express just how excited I am. I’m sure I’d be happy about it in any case, but as a sort of declaration of “normalcy” after having survived the pandemic, it feels especially good.

3/26 Fri.
Minnesota’s unemployment rate, for the first time in months, has fallen, not just because folks have given up looking for work, but because they’ve actually found work. Still a long way to go, though, as we’ve still only clawed halfway back from the pit of unemployment reached during the first few months of the pandemic.

3/27 Sat.
The infection rate, nationally, has risen seven percent during the past two weeks. Public health officials are having a hard time keeping everyone focused on defensive measures like masking and distancing. They are fighting one of the forces I feel has been responsible for the US’s dismal performance in limiting the virus’s spread: Americans’ apparent lack of discipline.

3/28 Sun.
As Sally and I walk around our neighborhood, we notice that most people are still being very cautious and/or considerate, most wearing masks and allowing leeway when passing others. I’ve gotten in the habit of not wearing my mask while walking, especially when I’m alone, figuring I can make up for it by going much further than six feet when passing.

Still, though, I must remember that, especially outdoors, masks are not as much about actual safety as symbolism. A sign of respect for others—and, I must say, a repudiation of all these Neanderthals who, after well over half a million of their countrymen have died of COVID, still insist on the right to spread the virus.

3/29 Mon.
I met with my therapist this morning, and reported my sense of relief growing day by day. The pandemic, as always, has been the focus of my worst fears and depression. My vaccination and that of more and more of my loved ones has certainly lifted my spirits.

Seeing intelligence, experience and compassion return to the federal government has helped a great deal too. I am no longer ashamed of my own country, though the damage will take many years to repair.

And the prospect of soon being able to travel again is giving me a tremendous boost. Of special significance are two trips with my daughter, Amanda. First, we’ve booked villas for next March in Zihuatanejo, where she’ll come and make up for last year’s COVID-scuttled celebration of my 75th birthday.

And then, come fall, Am    anda and I well attend Spanish school and experience Dia de los Muertos together in Oaxaca City, Mexico. Of all the bright spots on the horizon, this shines the brightest.

Governor Walz, in yesterday’s state-of-the-state address, said a sense of “normalcy” is on the horizon, provided that we Minnesotans continue to observe common-sense precautions against the virus and its increasingly worrisome variants. He and other state officials who’ve proven responsible enough to actually lead during the pandemic crisis—rather than follow the GOP’s “every-man-for-himself” non-plan—deserve medals for their skillful, courageous guidance.

3/30 Tues.
I’ve turned my occasional meditations into a daily practice. It’s come from a remedial response to crisis to more of a sustenance, more about growth than relief.

3/31 Wed.
Concerned that we seem to be at a tipping point in the vaccine-vs-variant struggle, I’m going to make up a bumper sticker to encourage folks to get their vaccinations—especially now that the process is open to anyone of any age or condition.
“MAX the VAX!”

News today that over 100 million Americans have now gotten at least their first vaccinations. That’s about 20 percent of the population. So, if herd immunity requires about a 70 percent vaccination rate, I guess we’re nearly a third of the way there. Woo-Hoo!

But there are those who are dead set against us all getting better. Fifty percent—one-half—of Republican men surveyed say they will not get vaccinated. Dear God, please let there be poetic justice!
 
4/4 2021 Easter Sunday
If “COVID-19” is one of the defining words of 2020, one of 2021’s may well turn out to be “variant.”

Even though nearly a third of all Americans have now gotten at least one jab, the insidious little germs are doing what insidious little germs do; they’re surviving by mutating into smarter, quicker, more deadly forms, upping the ante in the fight to finally hobble the virus.

Meanwhile, places like Texas and Florida, with outspoken T***publican leadership, have abandoned all COVID precautions, telling the virus, in effect, “If you need a safe haven to regroup for another couple of waves, y’all c’mon down!” Someday, I hope soon, there will be a credible accounting of the number of lives this kind of ignorance has cost.

4/7 Wed.
The vaccination rate in Minnesota has us up to 42 percent of residents at least partially vaccinated. Meanwhile, the infection rate, very likely due to the more serious variants, has climbed back up to six percent. (I read recently that anything over five percent is of concern to public health officials.)

I keep thinking about other parts of the world and wondering how they’re faring with vaccination. Haiti, for example, has yet to vaccinate a single person. Yes, there are programs intended to help bring the shots to poorer countries, but it’s a drop in the bucket.

I suppose those poor folks will do what poor, powerless people have always done. They steel themselves for the deadly results, the inevitability that numerous members of their families will die of a plague other counties know how to stop, but don’t.

4/8 Thurs.
The graph of new COVID-19 cases in Minnesota now looks about the same as it did early last fall, just before the massive spike that threatened to overwhelm health care—and mortuary—facilities. It’s rising, even a bit more steeply than the start of that tragic surge. I’m hoping that the numbers of vaccinated citizens will help to blunt this coming spike.

4/9 Fri.
Sally and I went to a long-delayed memorial service this morning. (For the mother of one of Sally’s teaching colleagues.) There were about 60 people in attendance, plus more attending via live stream. Nearly everyone was masked, except when speaking or while making a champagne toast to the deceased.

It was a spacious room with what felt like good ventilation. But seating for the actual program did not allow for social distancing. That made me a little nervous, as did the many little rationalizations folks were making for letting down their guard. Like hugging (since, folks were saying, it’s a special occasion that we’ve been putting off for so long).

Nonetheless, it felt good to dress up a bit, get out and go somewhere in the morning.

Several states, including Minnesota, are seeing new surges of COVID-19 over the past couple of weeks. In Michigan, Illinois, and some other states the spikes are spurring federal officials to consider boosting vaccine shipments to those states.

4/12 Mon.
Both Twin Cities are under curfew once again tonight, after yet another young Black man was shot and killed by police—this time in Brooklyn Center. I don’t know if things will blow up like they did back in late May on the death of George Floyd, but tensions are high.

The restaurant where my men’s group was going to meet this evening closed their doors as did most businesses, including tonight’s scheduled Minnesota Twins baseball game.

Apparently, the man was pulled over for some kind of “illegal” paraphernalia hanging from his rear-view mirror, and the police discovered that there was a warrant out for his arrest. I think he was getting into his car to flee when one officer pulled what she thought was her taser, yelled “taser, taser, taser!” and then pulled the trigger. It was her service pistol. Hm-m-m…

4/13 Tues.
I’m struggling a bit with the return of my “dark cloud,” a pall of sadness and dread that haunted me for much of my life, but which I thought I’d managed to get out from under. I’m not sure what’s brought it back. Probably a confluence of several causes, among them, I can be pretty sure, the ongoing weight of the pandemic.

Even though I and most of my friends and relatives have been vaccinated, it’s hard to start feeling “normal” again. I must keep in mind that we’ve all been through a trauma—and it will still have many people, families, businesses—and our national psyche—in its grip for a long, long time.

I’m sure, too, that the newly rekindled racial tensions around the death of another young Black man have me once again struggling with conflicting feelings about the underlying causes of the crisis.

4/14 Wed.
I’m afraid the pandemic, and our different ways of getting through it, has, as I feared, damaged Sally’s and my marriage. She brought it up when we were visiting with some friends the other night. Turns out her feelings of being judged and rejected when I was social-distancing from her left a permanent scar.

I’d hoped she might understand why I was scared—since her comings and goings, and my lack of them, were so different. I don’t think she really does or ever did, and I’m concerned about it.

The U.S. has set a new record of 4.6 million doses of COVID-19 vaccines administered in a day. Still, it seems we’re losing the battle against the virus, especially a couple of the variants, which have, as predicted, become the main culprits in the pandemic.

Leading the nation in new infections is Michigan, where most of the top ten sickest cities in the country are located. Why is Michigan in such tough shape?

4/15 Thur.
The deep sense of dread I was feeling yesterday—due, I’m sure, to the recurring tension with Sally, as well as the continuing crisis over the death of Daunte Wright, the 20-year-old Black men shot and killed “accidentally” by Brooklyn Center police last weekend.

The rioting and destruction of property, much of it in the vicinity of the Brooklyn Center police station, has not been as extensive as that last May and June over the Floyd killing, but still, the siege mentality has a grip on everyone.

And, with the Chauvin verdict expected in the next week or so, we’re all on edge. I can’t imagine the scene if Chauvin is set free—or even let off with some lesser charge.

I’m trying to imagine what it must be like to be a juror in that case, where it seems, no matter the evidence, no matter how poorly the prosecution might botch their case, they are being held—by the world, no less—to only one possible verdict.

4/18 Sun.
Fifty percent of Minnesotans have at least begun the vaccination process. I guess that’s good news, but I wonder if the next 20 percent—bringing us to 70 percent and so-called herd immunity—might not be as long and hard as the first 50.

My daily walk this afternoon took me down to the lovely trail that runs along the banks of the Mississippi. It’s a route I’ve avoided since last the summer before last because I didn’t dare pass people on the rather narrow stairs. Today—a lovely, sunny day in the 60s—there were quite a few people out, but I didn’t worry too much.

I did keep at least ten feet away from people when I could. I did not wear a mask. About a third of the walkers, runners and bikers I saw were masked.

I’m coping pretty well with the anxiety and dread I’ve been feeling. I’m anxious to talk with my shrink about it, but my next appointment isn’t for another week. By that time I will have had my first physical therapy / massage session, prescribed by the Health Partners G.I. nurse who’s been advising my recently. Not sure it will help, but it might at least give me the perspective of another person, one who’s not invested in either surgery or the Health Partners G.I. department, both of which seem to have blinders on when it comes to my diagnosis.

4/19 Mon.
For those few people who still insist the pandemic is fake news, three million reasons why you’re a psychopath: the number of human beings whose lives have been snuffed out so far by this “hoax.” That’s 3,000,000 souls, each one a precious being, with hopes and dreams, loves and longings. Each one cherished by friends and loved ones. Each a contributing member of a community. Gone.

This places the COVID-19 pandemic ninth—and counting—on the list of historic plagues dating back all the way to the Black Death in the 14th century. It has exceeded by three times the number killed during the Vietnam war, five times the number in the American Civil War, and twice the number in the Korean War.

And it is far from over.

On a more positive note, more than half of all U.S. adults have now received at least their first vaccination.

We must keep in mind, though, that no one’s out of danger until everyone on earth is out of danger.

As final arguments begin in the trial of former police officer Derek Chauvin for wantonly killing George Floyd, Minneapolis is looking like a war zone. Fleets of armored National Guard vehicles are cruising the streets and thousands of armed guardsmen and police are in place, protecting potential targets of violent protest.

I pray the verdict, possibly reached sometime this week, will be guilty of one of the two murder charges, and not simply the third charge of manslaughter. I watched the prosecution’s closing statement this morning, and was impressed with neither the style, delivery or organization of the attorney. The state of Minnesota (and George Floyd) needed a superstar and he is not it.

The defense’s lead attorney, though not a superstar either, has appeared much more relatable and believable, and is maintaining that demeanor during his closing. According to news commentators, he is also taking an “unprecedented” amount of time for his statement, reaching some two-and-a-half hours before the judge had to interrupt him to declare a recess for lunch.

I am not confident of a guilty verdict, except perhaps for the manslaughter charge. And I’m very, very worried about what will happen if Chauvin gets off with a comparative slap on the wrist. There will likely be widespread destruction of property, and even—given authorities’ determination to be tougher on violent protesters than they were back in May and June—loss of life.

4/20 Tues.
A couple of big developments that might not, at first, seem related to COVID-19, but both have played considerable roles in my life during the pandemic, and have certainly been affected by it:

This afternoon, the Derek Chauvin verdict was read. Guilty on all counts for the murder of George Floyd. I’d been a bit ashamed of my city this past year for having become ground zero in the worldwide fight for racial justice.

Now, I’m feeling some pride that we—a jury representing our community—got it right. One cannot overstate the significance of this outcome in finally impacting the course of the massive ship that is deep-seated prejudice in policing, certainly in this country, but also around the world.

I had my first physical therapy session today for the chronic, as-yet-undiagnosed gut pain that’s been my constant companion during the whole pandemic. My therapist was extremely thorough, and is giving me some hope that my problem might be a muscular one, possibly related to the effects of my colon surgery last October on my abdominal muscles.

She also feels it might, at least in part, stem from the after-effects of my lumbar spinal fusion five years ago. I’ve got some exercises to do, and we’ve scheduled three more treatment sessions.

It was a good day. I have hope.

4/21 Wed.
Today’s banner headline: “CONVICTED.” Showing how important this case has been to out community, just one COVID-related article appears in the 16-page first section of the Minneapolis paper (about how the embattled Johnson & Johnson vaccine has been cleared for resumption in Europe).

The Minnesota Department of Health is transforming six public transit buses into mobile COVID-19 vaccination centers, targeting communities identified as prone to low vaccination rates due to homelessness, vaccine reluctance, and lack of transportation for many residents. I wonder why it’s taken so long for such an obvious tool to be utilized.

4/22 Thur.
After increases over the past month and a half, COVID-19 positive test rates and hospitalizations seem to be headed back down, suggesting that the fourth spike in rates might have turned the corner.

To date, there have been 560,000 documented infections in the state, resulting in 7,000 deaths. While rates may be peaking, there were still 1,600 infections pegged yesterday, and 13 deaths.

4/23 Fri.
India is getting crushed under a new wave of COVID. Some 300,000 new cases identified PER DAY. The death rate? An Indian is dying every five minutes! Makeshift crematoria are popping up in parking lots around New Delhi.

Here in the U.S., the greatest increases in the infection rate have been occurring among teens and young adults.

A silver lining in the COVID-19 cloud: I’ve not come down with as much as a cold since winter of 2019. The prednisone and doxycycline I keep on hand to nip possible bronchitis in the bud have run out—not because I’ve had to take them, but because they’re past their freshness dates.

4/25 Sun.
Sally and I went to her grandson’s lacrosse practice game this morning. The Eagan Community Center hockey arena (converted to lacrosse pitch) had the now-ubiquitous  COVID-19 social distancing stickers in place on the bleachers.

But for what amounted to be maybe 40 to 50 “safe” spots, about 100 people showed up. So, after trying to stay away from the bleachers and just stand by the boards, we ended up sitting within a few feet of lots of people, most of who, though wearing masks, were wearing masks that didn’t fit.

4/26 Mon.
India, recording nearly 350,000 new cases and some 2,700 deaths yesterday, will receive desperately needed help from the U.S. The Biden administration has offered vaccine-making materials, test kits, ventilators and oxygen generators.

Closer to home, Minnesota cases and deaths (just seven yesterday) look like they’ve spiked and are on the downswing. But officials are still concerned we’re far from out of the woods, as far too many people are either refusing or otherwise not getting their vaccinations.

A few counties are proving especially recalcitrant—rural areas infected, I’m sure, with a combination of ignorance, religious fatalism and political defiance. These people have absolutely no sense of community, and seem determined to bring down their own country.

As the possibility looms of various “normal” institutions, like the Minnesota cultural icon, the State Fair, being called off for a second summer, we need a shaming campaign to put the blame where it belongs.

It belongs not on the governor or public health officials, or State Fair officials, where some like to place it. It belongs on the deplorables who’ve insisted on their “personal freedom” to gather, to not mask, not get vaccinated and infect whomever they damn well please. If I were mounting that campaign, I’d not just call them out as a group, I’d name names. Maybe even list addresses and contact information.

4/28 Wed.
The federal government—and Governor Walz—have announced the easing of outdoor masking guidelines for those of us who’ve been fully vaccinated. Just another small but oh-so-welcome step back to normalcy.

As widespread vaccination continues doing its amazing job, our greatest threat is now the sizable cult of “anti-vaxxers.” A school serving mostly children of wealthy white people in Florida has actually banned students and teachers who’ve been vaccinated from their campus. WHAT?

I sure hope there’s never a fire at that school. Because, to be consistent with their take on the coronavirus, they’ll have to refuse firefighters’ help and douse the blaze by themselves…with gasoline.

At long last I’ve been assigned a new hospice patient. Though many senior care facilities still ban outsiders’ visits, this 84-year-old man with congestive heart failure lives in one that no longer does. Time for me to don my PPE and get out there once again. It will certainly lend purpose to my life once again.

4/29 Thur.
I’m concerned that most people—and I include myself—are so relieved to be emerging into the light from the long, dark tunnel we’ve been stuck in for so long that we’re forgetting how many of our fellow human beings are still in there.

Some are just coping, as are so many of us lucky enough to not have gotten COVID, with the daily stress of waiting for a chance to get vaccinated. (At least on paper the shots are supposed to be available to everyone over 16 now, but many still struggle to find a way and a time that’s accessible to them.

And then there are those still actually getting sick—and their families. While the infection and death rates are still trending down, still, there were 22 COVID-19 deaths in Minnesota yesterday. And some on the front lines describe a scene that looks far from hopeful. Like a nurse at North Memorial Medical Center who says that not only are the patients she’s seeing getting sicker, they’re getting sicker faster.

And the average age of those infected is trending younger, with the average age of those hospitalized in Minnesota dropping dramatically from 69 to 57. This is a clear testament to the effectiveness of vaccination and the early prioritization of vaccinating seniors. Let’s hope the recent broadening of vaccine availability starts showing up in those numbers soon.

4/30 Fri.
Quite improbably, despite the pandemic’s hobbling travel, entertainment and many other industries, the overall economy has shown astounding resilience. Much of the credit goes to President Biden and the federal government for their decisive stimulus measures.

Consumers look like they’re anxious to spend again, especially in those marketplaces shut down or restricted under anti-COVID shutdowns.

The pandemic thrust upon us what realistically will have to happen in some arenas if we hope to contain global warming. We got a taste of what it’s like not to get on an airplane at will. I admit to being very anxious to fly once again. I’ve already bought plane tickets for a fall trip to Oaxaca, Mexico and Sally’s and my resumption of our annual trip to Zihuatanejo.

For each of the past two weeks, the number of COVID-19 infections of children ages pre-K through 12th grade in Minnesota has topped 1,000. A far cry from the first few months of the plague when it was felt young people might not be very susceptible.

5/1 Sat.
It was a fine day! First of all, temps hit the low 80s. And I had two more or less normal social events: playing tennis and having breakfast with the usual suspects, outdoors, and having lunch, again outdoors, at Lake Como, with two other buddies. Other than having a mask handy for any necessary indoor venture, there was barely any awareness that we’re still in a pandemic.

Pretty discouraged about the chronic pain and pressure in my lower-left abdomen. The physical therapy I got the other day doesn’t seem to have helped at all, and playing tennis exacerbated the pain. It now hurts a bit just walking. (That’s a new level of discomfort.)

I’m not as worried about the threat of having to be hospitalized for something like this as I was when ICUs were overwhelmed with COVID patients. But, just when I should be thoroughly enjoying the security of having been vaccinated, I still have the long-term dread of not knowing what’s going on in my gut.

5/2 Sun.
Over 400,000 new COVID cases in India each of the past two days. News reports are now calling the health care system there “collapsed.” And the U.S. has now closed our borders to anyone but American citizens entering the country from India.

Some municipalities are now offering incentives to get people to seek vaccination. Among those incentives: U.S. Savings Bonds and vouchers for free cocktails.

5/4 Tues.
India has now tallied over 300,000 new COVID-19 cases every day for two weeks.

In the U.S. it seems there’s mounting concern about declining demand for the vaccines, and the prospect that it may still be a long time before we reach herd immunity. I wonder if it wouldn’t pay off in the long run simply to pay people—an amount that’s hard to refuse, like, say $100-200, to get their jabs.

5/8 Sat.
Nationwide, new COVID-19 cases are down 30% over the past two weeks.

Here in Minnesota, the totally-vaccinated rate is approaching 50%. Governor Walz yesterday further pulled back restrictions on indoor percent-capacity and total group numbers for outdoors gatherings. He also laid out a timeline for removal of more restrictions, with even mandatory masking looking like it might be gone by July first.

Despite the easing of restrictions, I’m still on a dogged quest to find the best possible masking solution for myself—in anticipation of my first airplane flights come fall.

In hopes of improving the KN-95 Accumed masks I bought a few months ago, I just purchased some sticky-back aluminum nose-fit strips to augment the flimsy ones that come on those masks.

I also got some sticky-back, light closed-cell foam strips for the inside of the nose bridge, where gaps tend to form on either side of my rather prominent schnoz.

India continues to count over 400,000 new COVID cases every day. No end in sight. I know it’s warped, but at least it saves the U.S. from having had, under the previous administration, the worst, most deadly government response to the pandemic.

5/11 Tues.
The downward trends in both new cases and deaths continues here in Minnesota. In Washington and Oregon, though, they’ve had to close things up for a fourth spike in new cases.

The vaccination campaign continues, with mobile vax units being set up at venues where folks are already headed for other reasons. Like sports events, shopping centers etc. A local brewery is offering a free beer to anyone who gets vaccinated there.

Among the efforts to boost tax rates among African Americans, one, featuring the singer, Usher, looks like it should be very effective. The slogan: “This is our shot!”

Just heard a stat that points out just how disgracefully the U.S. has handled the COVID pandemic. The current seven-day daily average of new cases in the country is over 39,000. In Australia, that number is 13.

That’s Australia, whose government took the pandemic seriously, followed the science, and, early-on, made the hard decisions favoring saving lives and longer-term economic benefit over the wishful thinking, reckless disregard of science and short-term economic benefit that’s guided the U.S.’s handling of the crisis.

Not just shameful, but more lethal than any previous epidemic or natural disaster. More deaths than Americans killed in World Wars I and II combined.

5/13 Thur.
The CDC today lifted the masking mandate for all of us who are fully vaccinated. I think this applies to both outdoor and indoor activities. This is a huge boost to people’s spirits, even though masking is still recommended for flying, public transportation and some other specific activities.

Both infection rates and deaths are still trending downward in the U.S. But public health officials remind us that more spikes are possible unless we can close in on the 70-plus percent vaccination rate. The governor of Ohio announced yesterday that state’s plan for five $1,000,000 drawings, open only to those fully vaccinated.

5/16 Sun.
I hosted a small party last night, and it was great! Three friends, a tequila tasting, brats on the grill and a little ping pong. All without masks! A real feeling of liberation.

I’m still concerned about the virus’s ability to adapt and spawn variants faster than we can manage to reach herd immunity. The latest variant I’m reading about is one that’s developed in India, that Petri dish of nearly-unchallenged, widespread infection.

I hope, as we gradually get back to our near-normal lives here in the developed world, we don’t forget the staggering toll this virus—and the ignorance and hubris of some leaders and their followers—has taken. It looks now as if the number of deaths worldwide will have no trouble at all surpassing 4,000,000 before it’s over.

5/20 Thur.
A Duke grad student came up with a test that would detect not just COVID-19 but any coronavirus. The result was better than expected. The test has uncovered a strain of coronavirus in Malaysia that can infect mostly children. And its suspected source: dogs.

As one who’s insanely in love with my little mini schnauzer, I hate to think of a time when folks like me might have to decide between their beloved pets and…well, living.

Even with infection and death rates supposedly continuing to fall in Minnesota, it baffles me how the latter rate seems so hard to get down to fewer than ten people daily. (Yesterday’s COVID death toll in Minnesota: 15.)

Among the many signs we think we’ve turned the corner on the pandemic: not one mention of COVID-19 or the pandemic until page nine in today’s Star Tribune.

5/24 Mon.
As I’ve anticipated, it’s hard to know where and how this chronicle should end. The COVID-19 outlook in the U.S. is good, with some 61 percent of eligible Americans now having received at least their first jabs.

The vaccination rate has slowed considerably, but still grows at about two percent a week. New cases have fallen to under 30,000 per day, which sounds like a lot, but is the lowest rate since last June. And the infections/tests rate is now under three percent, the lowest since widespread testing began.

But, even though life is indeed getting back to normal here, it remains a challenge in a few pockets around the country, especially rural areas and parts of the South, where vaccination rates are still less than 40 percent. And it’s still a total nightmare in other places around the world, like India and parts of Africa, where widespread vaccination has barely begun.

5/27 Thur.
Governor Walz is going to offer a few very modest incentives to nudge another 10 percent of Minnesotans to get their jabs and reach the 70-percent goal by July 1: state park and amusement park passes, free fishing licenses and gift cards. (Ohio’s million-dollar prize drawing for new jab-ees has produced a 53 percent increase in vaccinations there.)

5/31 Mon. (Memorial Day)
Though the pall of the pandemic still hangs over much of the world, we were able to celebrate a mostly normal holiday weekend. What a wonderful feeling! Sally and I reflected on last Memorial Day, when she and I were living apart and my fears were pretty heavy and raw. At that time, we had no glimmer of how quickly the vaccines would be developed.

6/2/2021 Wed.
Both Minneapolis and St. Paul have now dropped their mask mandates for nearly all indoor spaces. Remaining exceptions include: public transportation, schools, hospitals and long-term care facilities. Masks are also still “encouraged” indoors for those not yet vaccinated.

Yesterday’s COVID-19 death toll in Minnesota: one. Such good news!

6/7 Mon.
Saturday afternoon I went to my friend, Silverio’s, house for an outdoor gathering with him and members of his family, including his mom and sister visiting from Mexico City. It was the first time I’ve been with them all since the summer before the pandemic started.

Everyone was vaccinated (I think) and hugs and kisses were shared. So I’m hoping our new-found confidence was well placed. I guess my concern now should be more about avoiding my nemesis for the past seven or eight years, the common cold, which for me had nearly always managed to morph into bronchitis. I need to remain vigilant.

I don’t spend much time reading about the pandemic any more, but I heard that the crisis in India seems to be easing, with some social restrictions being lifted.

6/9 Wed.
Yesterday’s COVID stats: In Minnesota, 125 new cases; two deaths. In the U.S.: 13,758 new cases; 305 deaths. Still can’t get my arms around the fact that, even though it was considered a banner day with those numbers so low, yet, if those deaths had occurred from a weather event, a mass shooting or a plane crash, it would surely have been headline news.

News this morning that last June things were looking so bad that the state of Minnesota
purchased a 71,000-square-foot cold storage facility so they’d be ready to store up to 5,000 bodies of COVID victims overwhelming existing morgues.

6/14 Mon.
Milestone: Tonight’s Late Night With Stephen Colbert is airing with his band live and a live studio audience for the first time in 460 days. As I’ve noted in these pages, Colbert, along with a few other notable on-air voices of sanity, has truly helped me keep it together during this awful last year and a half.

It really feels like a celebration. The joy of everyone on the show, including the all-fully-vaccinated audience, is contagious. And I’m hoping for more and more of that feeling as the worst of the plague—at least in the developed world—continues receding into history.

6/20 Sun. (Father’s Day)
The outlook continues to improve—at least here in the US—though I’m hearing more and more about the foothold being established by the Delta Variant, which originated in the UK. It is now shown to be responsible for 90 percent of the positive tests in that country.

Here in Minnesota, the numbers continue to be relatively low, with five people dying of the virus yesterday. But, the vaccination challenge continues to be a tough nut. Nationally, we’re failing to reach the magical 70% vaccination rate targeted by the Biden administration. (I think we’ve surpassed 60% though.)

I’m excited about the upcoming visit from my daughter and grandchildren later this week. Seems just a few months ago this would have been unthinkable, what with a vaccine still not available and the thought of flying still quite iffy.

6/22 Tues.
COVID deaths in Minnesota yesterday: 4. Minnesota’s something like 15th among states in the vaccination-rate race—still less than 70 percent.

7/8 2021 Thur.
The time spans between my entries here suggest how much things have changed in the past few months. Infection rates and deaths continue to be quite low, though in some parts of the U.S.—and definitely in many poorer countries around the world, with vaccination rates still unconscionably low (For many in Africa, for example, the rate is still in the low single digits.)

Here in the U.S., though, many activities are back to normal. My daughter and her family were just here for a week-long visit. Though we always had masks available, we only wore them a few times, when establishments’ policies still “encouraged”, but didn’t require masking.

Today I went for a long walk down the bluff along the Mississippi. That was notable because all of last spring, summer and fall I hadn’t dared navigate the long, narrow stairway leading down there for fear of having to pass within six feet of someone.

New York City held a ticker-tape parade yesterday for the city’s health-care workers and first responders. Similar tributes are taking place around the country.

7/9 Fri.
One of the places where vaccinations have not been a priority is Japan. That country is now being squeezed by its third wave of COVID-19.  Thanks to shamefully poor leadership and a bit of sheer hubris for putting economic interests ahead of lives, Japan is now paying a steep price indeed.

As if the prospect of losing hundreds of thousands more lives weren’t enough, the country’s hosting of the upcoming summer Olympics—whose officials have long insisted would come off with few COVID compromises—may prove a huge economic loser, since officials announced yesterday that in light of the new virus surge, no live spectators will be allowed at any of the games’ events.

7/10 Sat.
As much as folks crave lives like those they enjoyed before the pandemic, those pesky facts keep wagging the finger of judgement.

The delta variant of the virus, thought to have originated in India, has become the dominant strain around the world. And, though infectious disease experts are careful not to sound alarmed, I keep hearing things suggesting concern about its power to trigger a new, worldwide resurgence of the pandemic.

One of those indications is Pfizer’s recent announcement that they’re working on a booster for their original two-jab vaccination. There’s also some talk about developing an entirely new vaccine for the delta variant.

7/13 Tues.
We keep getting reminders that the pandemic is far from over. The delta variant keeps spreading, mostly among non-vaccinated populations. U.S. infection rates, while a fraction of those at the height of the disaster, are still around five percent, while in some places, like the pandemic-denying Dakotas, they remain much higher.

While at my studio today, where I’ve now stopped wearing a mask, I realized as I was leaving the building that I really should keep masking. My studio shares a narrow hallway with a very busy community food shelf. Many of the folks coming in and out of that space are African American, a demographic that’s famously lagging in its vaccination rate. I don’t know if I trust those folks, nearly all of whom are maskless, to wear masks if they’re unvaccinated.

7/18 Sun.
In California, Los Angeles County has reinstated mandatory masking in light of recent dramatic surges in COVID-19 case numbers (mostly among the unvaccinated).

There’s a sense, from the growing number of news items like the one above, that the pandemic could regain the upper hand. Everyone, including Sally and me, is so relieved at being able to return to near-normal lives that we’re blinded to the same kinds of signs that warned of the initial COVID-19 surge.

I still believe the majority of those choosing not to get vaccinated are motivated by their extreme, tunnel-vision political views. And, once again, I catch myself fantasizing  that somehow they could all be sequestered in their own communities and left to the consequences of the public health catastrophe they’ve both promulgated and denied.

7/25 Sun.
I’m beginning to worry about my late-October trip to Oaxaca, Mexico. The delta variant is coming on strong, and I’m afraid we as a nation have already failed to take the original virus seriously enough.

Some glimmers of hope: reports that some conservative politicians and media personalities are finally starting to recommend vaccination. I think I’m hearing that the vax rate is responding with at least some increase.

The rate of full vaccination for the U.S. stands at slightly less than 50 percent. Absolutely unforgivable! I believe most of the laggards are motivated by either a confluence of their political and religious beliefs.

And I’m sure that even some who claim their refusal is based on purely religious views or even some medical consideration are only claiming that because they know the heat they’ll take for admitting they’re doing it solely to demonstrate their allegiance to former president T***p.

The 2020 Tokyo Olympics are going strong. Even without in-person fans, the TV coverage has been so good that I’m already getting into it. I suspect that, despite all the snags—including a typhoon brewing off the coast of Japan—the games will prove a welcome diversion for millions around the world. God knows we need it as this pandemic refuses to quit.

7/26 Mon.
I’m so FUCKING ANGRY at all these people (currently about 51% of American adults) who haven’t gotten vaccinated. Why? Because their ignorance, religious delusions and/or misplaced demands for their “personal freedom” are killing people. A lot of people.

I’m also angry because nearly a year and a half after this whole thing started—and many months after vaccination became widely available—I’m really wondering if my much anticipated Oaxaca trip this fall will be possible.

I’m hearing more and more stories of fully vaccinated people getting the delta variant, including Willy Dominguez, a well-known community radio personality here in the Twin Cities, who’s hospitalized in critical condition.

Even though the CDC is not officially saying masks are necessary for vaccinated people in most situations, it sounds like a predominance of other public health officials are once again urging mask use for all indoor activities and even outdoor ones that require proximity to other people.

7/27 Tues.
It seems things will be changing quite rapidly over the coming days and weeks. Just today, the CDC reversed it non-recommendation of masking. It now says everyone, vaccinated or not, should mask up when indoors anywhere, and outdoors when in a crowd.

It’s becoming ever clearer that vaccinated folks can still spread the delta variant quite effectively

I can’t see the situation improving any time soon.

7/31 Sat.
As if COVID weren’t enough of a blow, another sign of how badly we human beings are fouling our nests is that, even if one felt the need for masking was over, we’re now pulling them out of the drawer again, this time to combat the heavy haze of smoke wafting our way from Canadian wild fires.

Folks with any respiratory deficit are urged to limit time spent outdoors, especially for work or exercise. Governor Walz has called it the worst air quality in history for Minnesotans.

While COVID-19 infections are rising in every state (Florida’s rates are already higher than they were at the heights of previous spikes), so are vaccinations, which are reportedly up some 30 percent just in the past two weeks.

8/3 Tues.
I recall, last year, seeing the CDC’s graph of the predicted course of the pandemic. It showed a series of three or four distinct spikes. That’s exactly what’s happening. We’re now on a steep upswing into the third major surge.

What’s maddening about it is that, as that graph showed, it was all predictable. I suppose it comes down to the whims of human nature, but what if, instead of many folks’ rush to throw their masks away and get out there in big crowds again, we’d shown a bit of discipline?

What if, like adults, we’d been able to delay our gratification just a little longer just to make sure the vaccines, masking and other safety measures had really cut this monster off from its oxygen supply?

Florida is again tragically demonstrating what happens when political leaders put their own political ambitions ahead of common sense, ahead of the lives of thousands of their constituents. The state is now responsible for one of every five new cases in the country. Governor Desantis, a T***p disciple, has been an outspoken opponent of mask mandates.

8/4 Wed.
The amount of time and space the resurgent pandemic is taking up in the newspaper and on broadcast news has greatly increased.

A new sub-variant, delta-plus, has been spotted in the U.S. and in several other countries. Not enough information yet on how it differs from delta. Just another reminder that this virus—no surprise to anyone with half a brain—is smart and it is relentless.

Once again, I’m wondering why the Biden administration hasn’t staged an urgent, Roosevelt-like, declaration-of-war-type address to the nation on the reality of the threat and what’s expected of every American to beat it.

Seems like, since the whole thing started, we’ve been taking a kind of surgical approach—trying to balance public health interests with economic ones—when we should have brought out the heavy guns. We could have beaten the plague after the first wave if we’d only had the courage and discipline.

Not sure, but it look like Delta Airlines is allowing even last-minute cancellations on all flights originating in the U.S with no penalty. But refunds, just credits toward future flights. This, if true, may take a bit out of the sting of having to abandon Amanda’s and my Day of the Dead trip to Oaxaca in late October through early November.

8/11 Wed.
I’m losing steam in my reporting here. I think it’s just that I’m worn down by the radical ups and downs of this now-18-month-old ordeal. It’s partly the sadness and fear of seeing yet another spike in infections and deaths, and knowing what that is already doing to our heroic, long-suffering frontline medical workers.

And it’s partly gut-wrenching outrage at the large numbers of so-called Americans who still refuse to get vaccinated and/or wear masks in public places. I cannot call someone who’s refusing to pitch in solely for ignorolitical reasons a friend, no less a compatriot.

We’re already back up to a daily average of over 100,000 new cases a day. Some 600 Americans are dying every day. And the numbers are going up steeply. Meanwhile, the vaccination rate is going up very, very slowly, with limited success for the latest $100 incentive offered by the government.

Encouraged by family members and some of my friends, I’m leaning toward going ahead with my Oaxaca travel plans for late October. I’m checking with my trusted ENT doc. to see if he might add his encouragement, or at least recommend a plan of attack to minimize my chances of getting infected while in Mexico and while traveling.

8/19 Thur.
The delta variant now accounts for well over 90 percent of all new COVID-19 cases in the U.S. While it’s still called a “disease of the unvaccinated,” more and more evidence points to the fact that this variant—said to produce something like 1000 times the number of virus particles in each patient’s nasal membranes—is wearing down the once excellent protection afforded by the vaccines.

I don’t have the exact numbers, but I think I’ve heard that, by six months out, the Moderna and Pfizer vaccines may have dwindled to only about 60 percent effectiveness. And they’ve long since abandoned the promise that the vaccine would prevent one’s catching the virus; now the experts are careful to say that they only prevent one’s getting sick enough to land in the hospital.

I’m not comfortable with that watered-down assurance, since now, as before the vaccines came out, I’m determined not to catch the plague at all. I’m still not confident my compromised respiratory system would get me through even a modest case.

President Biden announced yesterday that, beginning mid-September, Americans will start receiving booster shots of whatever vaccine they first got last spring and during the summer. Ideally, the CDC says, the booster should be administered about eight months after a patient’s last shot of the original vaccination.

Again, thinking ahead to my much-anticipated trip to Oaxaca with Amanda in late October, if things follow that rough timetable—AND if I manage to be among the very first recipients (perhaps through my hospice program), I MIGHT be able to make that trip.

Today I arrived for my weekly visit with the hospice patient I’ve been seeing for the past five weeks only to learn that her nursing facility has been put on lockdown again. Ominous.

8/20 Fri.
I’m recalling how different from the current wave featuring the delta variant of COVID-19 the original surge last fall and winter felt. Then, of course, we hadn’t yet had the vaccines. But it was also much scarier because of how little we actually knew about the virus then.

Some of the stuff we’ve learned involves things I’d anticipated or figured out simply by logic. For example, the relative meaninglessness of social distancing when air flow is involved; maintaining much more than six feet; the minimal danger of catching the virus from touching infected surfaces versus breathing airborne particles; the air quality inside the average commercial airliner.

8/26 Thur.
The delta variant continues to surge across the globe. Here in the U.S. it’s overwhelmingly a matter of the unvaccinated and unmasked living—or should I say dying—with the results of their ignorance. Some of the worst-offending areas are already dealing with worse numbers than they did at the peaks of the original COVID-19 strain.

The Minnesota State Fair started today. Unbelievable! Not so much because the powers that be are allowing tens of thousands of people to mill around outdoors, often packed into narrow streets shoulder to shoulder. But because the Fair is requiring neither masking nor vaccination to enter the grounds.

It’s another of those “gee, what could go wrong” moments in the course of the pandemic that’s prolonging the pain…and killing people. Like the great Sturgis motorcycle rally, proven, now two years in a row, to be a “super-spreader” event.

If it’s a crime that folks aren’t willing to get vaccinated, it’s an even greater crime to allow those idiots to mingle freely with—and infect—the good citizens who’ve done the right thing.

My Oaxaca plans for the fall are tottering even closer to the brink of collapse. First, my hospice volunteer supervisor says any third shots for us wouldn’t be offered till October. Secondly, Amanda tells me her return flight’s been cancelled. Oh, and she knows two people who’ve come down with the delta variant despite having been vaccinated.

Looking forward to that adventure with my daughter has helped me get through these past, interminable 18 months of doom and gloom. Do I dare roll those plans over into Sallys and my plans for returning to Zihuatanejo come March?

9/1 Wed.
Today in Minnesota saw over 600 new COVID cases. And deaths are averaging around five to six per day. Despite the current surge in delta-variant cases, my personal feeling about the threat is vastly different from that during the initial spike.

I’m sure it’s because I and nearly all the people I come in contact have also been vaccinated. Yet with the more virulent delta variant, the risks are still there. Still, I feel relatively safe. I guess some of the mystery of how the viruses work has been dispelled by the now-better-informed information coming out of the CDC and the Minnesota department of health.

On the vaccination front, today over a million jabs were recorded in the U.S.

9/2 Thur.
The more big events that are being pulled off with few or “voluntary” masking and vaccination conditions—like the Minnesota State Fair and tonight’s sold-out Minnesota vs. Ohio State football game—the more obvious it seems that we’re now living in a world of two parallel realities.

One reality for those of us who’ve taken the pandemic seriously; a different—and ghastly—reality for those who have not. As ever, they’re going to whatever events they want, but now they’re getting sick and dying in greater numbers than ever.

This, added to the absolutely bizarre “alternative facts” mentalities we’ve observed over the past five years or so, makes it clear just how divided this great country is. I don’t think COVID will be sufficient to wipe out the pro-T***p types. So we, the thinking, caring, still-decent majority had better get busy making sure these crazies don’t prevail in coming elections.

9/8 Wed.
Labor Day weekend has come and gone. Now we wait to see if the State Fair—seeing about half of its normal 2,000,000 attendance—proves to have been a wise gamble…or another Sturges-like super-spreader event. I’m guessing it was reasonably safe, except for the days when rain forced everyone indoors into whatever cramped shelter was available.

The U.S. death toll from COVID-19 has reached 650,000. Over 20,000 in just the last two weeks—up 67% from the prior two-week period.

Still, there’s still this kind of surreal sense that we now live in two worlds: the vaccinated and masked, and the unvaccinated and unmasked. Most of us in the former reality feel reasonably safe, especially when we’re in the company of others like us. But ask me to join you for a NASCAR race or a gun show, and you can count me out.

I realize that this duality—this polarization—existed long before COVID and will endure long after it. But the difference now is that the division has become a matter of life and death.

Sadly, Amanda and I have both cancelled our trip to Oaxaca at the end of next month, choosing to shift our hopes forward to her joining me for my 77th birthday in mid-March. Given the continuing sabotage of the T***p minority, I’m afraid even that five-month extension might be wishful thinking. How very sad.

9/11 Sat.
Infection rates in Minnesota have now reached the highs recorded at the pandemic’s peak last spring. Ninety-five percent of all critical care beds in the state’s hospitals are now occupied.

Federal health officials report that unvaccinated Americans are eleven times more likely to die of COVID-19 than those vaccinated. Dare I say they’re also about eleven times more ignorant.

By my rough reckoning, we’re at about day 550 since Sally and I were first affected by the pandemic. That’s 550 days not only successfully avoiding the virus, but with not so much as a bout with the common cold. Glory be! I hope we don’t get overconfident and forget what we’re still up against.

I’m not sure how many, but there are still “breakthrough” cases—those hitting people who were fully vaccinated. Some of them have found folks in hospitals and even on respirators fighting for their lives.  

9/16 Thurs.
Among the many events I’ve been missing during the pandemic is the Minnesota Jazz Festival. It attracts noteworthy musicians—and lots of listeners—to downtown St. Paul’s lovely Mears Park. I love going there with a Thermos full of margaritas and a picnic dinner, staking out a spot on the grass and enjoying the music and the ambiance.

Obviously, last year’s event got cancelled. But I just learned they’re putting it on again this weekend. At first, I was pretty excited.

Sadly, though, I see that their COVID safety guidelines call for “voluntary” vaccinations and masking. I suppose they’re banking on their particular audience being thoughtful enough to have gotten their jabs and wear masks, but being that close to others, even though outdoors, still feels too risky. Very sad. This could have—should have—been over my now.

Today’s numbers (US): around 170,000 new cases; 2,600 deaths. World wide: approaching 4.7 million deaths…and it seems it’s far from over.

Meanwhile, after leveling off last spring, U.S. vaccinations continue to grow very slowly. Sadly, even with all the pro-vax advertising, P.R. and incentives, we’ve still achieved only around 55% of our population fully vaccinated.

9/20 Mon.
On this, the last day of summer, I’m starting to dread the coming long, cold, dark winter. I’ll bet I used nearly the same words sometime last September, but the fact that this will be the SECOND such winter living with the pandemic deepens the dread.

There’s more talk about booster shots, with national health experts torn between administering them ASAP to those over 65 and with compromised respiratory or immune systems, and holding off on boosters until more folks here and around the world have gotten their primary vaccinations.

I met with my trusted ENT doc, Dr. Seth Janus, the other day. He again reassured me that I probably wouldn’t die if I caught COVID—especially having been vaccinated. But he supported my decision to cancel my Oaxaca trip next month. He said he’s planning travel next spring and shared my hope that infection rates won’t have eased and spiked once again by then.

Dr. J. said that, as soon as the Pfizer booster becomes available through the Health Partners system, he’d gladly prescribe the jab for me—that is, if one doesn’t become available sooner through my status as a volunteer for the H.P. hospice program.

9/21 Tues.
The U.S is now back up to a rate of more than 2,000 COVID-19 death every day. In an even more shocking milestone, we’ve now surpassed the number of deaths caused in this country by the 1918 Spanish flu pandemic. (Though, with the population having tripled since then, the percentage of us killed by COVID is still much lower.)

News reports today make it sound like at least the Pfizer vaccine will be available in booster doses as early as next week. It’s still a bit unclear how the CDC will prioritize its administration to various demographic groups. I still have hopes, being among those with at least two of the qualifying factors, of getting my re-jab fairly soon.

9/22 Wed.
One of the sweeping consequences of the pandemic is that nurses, teachers and other frontline workers are quitting in alarming numbers. These are people who never signed up for extended combat duty, but who have served courageously under conditions that would crush anyone else. What’s more, they’ve done so while metaphorically having shit thrown in their faces by the anti-vaxxer, anti-masker, pandemic-extender cretins they’re forced to serve.

And police, they’ve had to endure all that as well as the fallout from the police murder of George Floyd, for which very few of them bear any actual personal responsibility.

This crisis of confidence, this burnout of what just a few years ago were considered the among the noblest of professions, is just another blow of what feels like the perfect storm bearing down on a human race bent on its own destruction.

A surge of authoritarian power grabs around the world (including here in the good ol’ USA); a climate crisis shaping up as the greatest threat to a habitable world in human history; a humanitarian crisis—brought on largely by those climatological and political failings—involving millions upon millions of desperate, displaced people doing what they can to survive. The list goes on.

No wonder the average Jane or Joe is struggling. Tempers are wearing thin with episodes of road rage and airline passenger misbehavior on the rise. Obesity is on the rise. Domestic violence is up. Psychologists are booking months out. And, perhaps most chilling, lots of folks have simply decided they can make up their own rules, laws…and facts.

Even if one is successful, as I’ve been, in avoiding a COVID infection, this looming Hydra is hard to ignore. Maybe it’s Creation’s way of getting our attention, slapping us upside the head to remind us what’s really important. I wish it were that simple.

9/23 Thur.
News today that, after having been touted as 90-something percent effective, the Pfizer vaccine—the one I got—drops in its potency to around 75 percent after four months. Meanwhile, protection from the Moderna vaccine has been shown not to have diminished at all over the same time. Makes me even more anxious to get my booster!

It appears the U.S. is responding generously to the gross inequality of how the vaccines have been distributed around the world, especially in poor countries. Yesterday, reportedly only after considerable political pressure, President Biden promised half a billion doses to those countries. Of course, it remains to be seen if and when those poor people really do get their first jabs.

9/26 Sun.
COVID-19 infections to date in Minnesota are approaching 700,000 with about 8,100 deaths so far. The age range of people being stricken has fallen from 50-77 last winter to 30-76. The average age of those dying has dropped from 80 to 71. I am 76.

9/29 Wed.
I’m watching my email anxiously for notice from Health Partners that they’re offering the Pfizer vaccine booster. I should qualify on three counts: I’m over 65; I have a chronic bronchial condition; and I work (volunteer) with folks living in nursing homes.

9/30 Thurs.
Just like day-to-day weather might not reveal what’s happening with climate, the daily ups and downs of the pandemic don’t necessarily show its long-term effects. It’s easy, for a privileged person like me to feel largely unaffected by COVID-19, but seen over the span of the past year and a half, the signs are everywhere that life is being profoundly changed for all of us. The “normal” we’ve all pined for for so long is long gone.

Some of the signs I’ve been seeing:
• Gun violence - all over the country, homicide rates are up, and not just by a little. In many places they’re up 30 to 50 percent.

• Other aggression - I haven’t seen any statistics, but road rage and what might be called “air rage” seem ever more common since the pandemic began. Also, we’re seeing more accounts of violence over people’s disdain of masking and vaccination rules.

• Depleting ranks of police, healthcare workers and public officials. The challenges posed by the pandemic and its effects on people’s behavior are causing many to retire early or just plain quit. If I were a cop whose (mostly warranted) authority is being defied, or a nurse whose energies are wasted on these scumbag anti-vaxer COVID patients, I’d quit too.

• Liquor consumption: Anecdotal, perhaps, but it’s quite obvious, based on the many large (half-page to multi-page) liquor store ads in the daily newspaper, that folks are drinking more than ever.

• Drug abuse: For 2020, the state’s number of non-lethal drug overdoses rose 18 percent over 2019. Overdose deaths rose 27 percent.

• Other health trends: People have been putting off routine—and, too often, not so routine—medical care for fear of getting COVID in health care settings, resulting in more health crises that could have been prevented. Again, no proof, but you can bet the results of Americans’ confinement at home and the resulting overeating and lack of exercise will prove disastrous.

• Polarization / tribalism: The country’s political and cultural divide began forming well before the pandemic, but COVID has both sharpened and deepened the chasm. Those differences did not produce Donald T***p, but they provided fuel for the fire of divisiveness and hatred he has so blatantly exploited.

• The global supply chain: The shelves at Target last time I shopped there had lots of empty spaces. Plant closures early in the pandemic and continuing manpower shortages have snowballed. Shipping logjams at ports persist as large numbers of ships await dockage and unloading, affecting nearly every type of manufacturing, as well as food processing and distribution.

10/2 2021 Sat.
It seems like such a disconnect. Infection rates in many parts of the country are higher than they were late last fall. Yet I see in today’s televised football games, that stadiums are filled to capacity with fans. What am I missing? Surely whatever advantage that might be gained by the fact that all these people packed shoulder to shoulder are doing so outdoors is outweighed by the delta variant’s tenfold virulence. Right?

So who are these people who are still getting COVID-19? What happened to the level of concern that once had folks crossing the street to avoid getting too close to others? To staying home most of the time? Have we decided that doing things “normally” is now more important than finally squashing this monstrous bug that’s been chasing us for 19 months now?

10/4 Mon.
In the main section of today’s Minneapolis Star Tribune, there was one mention of COVID-19, at the bottom of page five. (It’s about the distribution of grant money to schools for COVID testing.) Yet about 2,000 people are still dying every single day in the U.S.

Have we gotten to the point where a daily toll like that is no longer news? Would it be news if 2,000 people were to die in some kind of accident or natural disaster? The regular flu claims, on average, 3,000-3,500 Americans per month, and yet it has long since become accepted as non-news—except when numbers far exceed the “normal” range in any given flu season.

We seem to have turned the corner on this, the fourth wave of the pandemic. I noticed this morning that the terrific graphs the New York Times has been publishing during the crisis shows a distinct peak in cases now in the past. In fact, the national rate of infection has dropped 35% since September first.

The question, instead of how many more people we can cram back into theaters, stadiums and church basements, should probably be: did we manage to get past this latest wave without the virus having once again mutated to keep its grip on human race for another year?

10/6 Wed.
Just after I reported on the New York Times graphs showing us past the crest of new COVID cases, I see the headline in today’s Star Tribune: “Hospitalizations at highest point this year.” I’m confused. Does this mean Minnesota’s lagging behind the country as a whole in its handling of the crisis?

Yes, according to one expert cited in the article, which reports that Minnesota has been tenth highest of all states in new cases over the past two weeks. The article also says that while the current spike may not be as high as previous state numbers, it will likely last longer—a good thing for hospitals and medical providers near the breaking point. (Remember “Flatten the curve!”?)

In Mexico, average daily cases have dropped 32% during the past two weeks, and the graph clearly shows a steep  decline. Makes me wonder if my decision to scrap Amanda’s and my Oaxaca Day of the Dead adventure was smart. Based on the information I had at the time, I guess it was, but I wonder if, as wave after wave keeps coming for another year or more, I’ll just have to face the reality that some activities will just require taking a significant risk.

I’ve made an appointment for my Pfizer vaccine booster. November fourth is the earliest I could schedule it. I suppose I could just walk into almost any pharmacy and get it, but I’m a bit more comfortable doing it through my own HMO. I really thought I’d have heard from my Health Partners Hospice program—where I’m a volunteer—about the booster by now.

10/7 Thur.
There were 40 COVID-19 deaths in Minnesota yesterday, far more than the ten or so I’ve used as my informal benchmark of severity. Single digits seemed somehow not so bad, not that much more people than die in state car accidents on a bad day. Forty is a lot. And I know we’ve gradually gotten desensitized to the horror of it.

10/11 Mon.
Just heard from Health Partners’s hospice program, where I volunteer, about an immediate booster shot. So, much better than the November 4 appointment I made the other day through my HMO, I’ll be getting my third jab this Wednesday.  Great news!

10/12 Tues.
Night before last there was another deadly shooting, this time in downtown St. Paul. An innocent bystander was killed and 12 others injured in a spray of gunfire between two men over a woman or some such petty dispute.

These reckless, life-cheapening episodes, in addition to those triggered by outrageous disregard of both the law and police trying to enforce it, are playing out all over the country. Many, if not most, of them involve young Black men in their 20s and 30s. To this observer, it seems quite clear that this surge in violence has stemmed from the May, 2020 murder of George Floyd here in Minneapolis. But it’s impossible to ignore the role the COVID-19 pandemic has also played in shortening folks’ fuses in just about every aspect of life.

Just one example: the incidence of “air rage” continues to alarm both flyers and airline officials. Most incidents stem from passengers’ refusal to obey the rules about masking, and crew’s and fellow passengers’ attempts to force the issue.

With a couple of flights in my future (Christmas, to Boston, and February, to Montpelier VT) I can’t help wonder how I’d react if anyone seated near me refuses to mask up. I must think of a strategy that would utterly humiliate the maskophobe while minimizing my risk of getting sucker-punched. Maybe I’ll just stand in the aisle next to the idiot and repeatedly fart in his face. Or maybe “accidentally” spill my hot coffee in his lap.

10/13 Wed.
Yipee! Today I get my vaccine booster. And none too soon, since Minnesota is now one of the new hotspots on the U.S. COVID-19 map.

State public health officials are concerned that, despite having reached a 75% vaccination rate, COVID cases are near their pre-vaccine highs. The test positivity rate is at 8.3%, also a vaccine-era high. Monday, 960 people were hospitalized, 254 of them needing intensive care. Yesterday 24 Minnesotans died of the virus and its complications.

Moderna is seeking FDA approval for a half-dose booster of their version of the vaccine.

Twelve states, all led by Republican governors, have now banned, to one degree or another, mandatory vaccine requirements by any organization in their states. In several cases this includes private businesses. Fortunately, some businesses are defying the bans, notably American and Southwest airlines, standing up to Texas “Governor” Greg Abbott.

I’ve got a bad feeling about the state of the world economy. Experts say the pandemic is to blame for most of the ills: delays in personal transportation; shipping bottlenecks, leading to raw materials shortages (the so-called “supply chain” breaks); rapidly climbing prices, now most notably in the energy sector…the list goes on.

The pandemic has shown as never before how, when one country or region’s economy takes a hit, there’s a ripple effect that impacts other economies around the world.

I really can’t imagine where or when the bad news will end.

10/14 Thurs.
The World Health Organization has formed a 26-member international panel of scientists to explore the origins and spread of the pandemic.

Meanwhile, 4,800,000 souls have been taken by the virus. Still very hard to wrap one’s mind around the magnitude of the calamity.

The average age of Minnesota COVID-19 victims continues to fall. Before July 1, 88 percent of those dying were senior citizens; now that number has dropped to just 73 percent. This is a testament to the relatively large percentage of older Minnesotans getting vaccinated, and to the relatively unhindered access the virus—especially the delta variant—has had to that segment of the population too young to qualify for the vaccines.

10/16 Sat.
As of yesterday, all three of the U.S. vaccines have been approved for booster doses.

10/17 Sun.
About a week ago I noted that we’d clearly turned the corner on this, the fourth wave of the virus in the U.S. That still seems to have been correct—for the country. But here in Minnesota, the surge continues to grow, and while not yet nearly as high as the surge last fall and winter, it looks to be more sustained—the area under the curve at least as large as that previous wave.

In Chicago, the police union is encouraging the rank and file to defy the mayor’s vaccine mandate, which calls for all city workers to report their vaccine status by the end of the week. Yet another so-called leader willing to put kowtowing to the perceived ill-informed beliefs of his constituency ahead of integrity. Disgusting!

This kind of cowardice and ignorance has extended the pandemic in the U.S. and around the world far longer than if more leaders had actually led. It has killed millions and millions of human beings. The behavior is unjustified by any religious belief or moral code, and it is criminal.

10/18 Mon.
Just one item about COVID-19 in today’s Star Tribune: on page two, an article about the FDA weighing the safety and efficacy of mixing boosters of different types and brands from those of one’s original vaccination.

10/20 Wed.
The current surge here in Minnesota continues unabated. Monday there were still 950 COVID-19 hospitalizations in the state. Along with non-COVID patients that translated to 96% of all ICU beds in the state occupied and 93% of all non-ICU beds.

This crunch will continue, I suppose, until the COVID testing positivity rate falls again to under 5%—it’s now still around 8.5%.

In Brazil, a congressional panel is recommending “mass homicide” charges against President Bolsonaro for allowing the coronavirus to sweep the country and kill some 300,000—half of the nation’s total death toll—in his misguided bid to achieve herd immunity and revive the country’s shaky economy.

10/22 Fri.
Yesterday, one of my best friends, Dick, me that someone he’d spent much of last weekend with—at a high school reunion—has tested positive for COVID. The man had been fully vaccinated (but not yet boosted). Dick went to get tested and began notifying guys he interacted with since the weekend, just in case they wanted to get tested too.

This is sobering. First of all, Dick, for being 76, a multiple heart attack survivor and quite overweight, meets just about every measure of vulnerability. And he’s a real people person—lives for gabbing with other people, especially old friends. On the plus side, he’s had his vaccinations and has been pretty good about masking and distancing. He expects to hear his test results today or tomorrow.

This is among the closest-to-home brushes with the virus that I’ve had. While I’m not concerned about myself—having not seen Dick since he was exposed—I’m quite worried about him. Like him, I’m on pins and needles waiting for those test results.

The CDC has given the green light to booster doses of both the Moderna and Johnson & Johnson vaccines. I think the jury’s still out on whether boosters of a vaccine different from the brand of one’s original shots can be safely and effectively administered.

In Minnesota, new infections among students in grades K-12 are down 70% in the past month.

10/24 Sun.
In an article in today’s Star Tribune Lauren Leatherby of the New York Times reports a number of interesting findings about how the pandemic has spread across the U.S. in what she says has been five waves.  First, she says infections in the country are down 50% since their most recent peak in September.

According to Leatherby, the virus has spread in sequence through different parts of the country, fueled by a number of factors, such as density of population, proximity to transportation hubs, weather conditions, availability and utilization of testing and vaccination, and, most notably, the degree of wisdom and leadership exercised by state and local government officials.

The piece, more clearly than any I’ve read, shows the murderous results of leaders’ ignorance and political gamesmanship.

10/25 Mon.
Prediction update: In Feb., 2021, pressed by Sally for an end-date prediction for the pandemic, I did my very best to push aside any wishful thinking and threw out “November, 2021” as my best, most realistic guess. Well, it’s now late October and it appears, thanks in large part to the anti-vaxer movement and the politicians who fear them, my prediction will be wrong.

While there are, indeed, some aspects of life that feel pretty “normal,” but I think that’s because we’ve come to accept a couple thousand deaths every day as normal, as long as it means folks can get back to in-person parties, concerts and football games. Sad, but true.

My friend Dick, exposed to someone who tested positive last weekend, has now been tested three times—all coming back negative. That’s a huge relief for all.

I just saw the latest graph of COVID case levels in Minnesota, and the curve, though obviously longer and flatter than previous spikes, doesn’t appear to have crested yet.

Yesterday there were 2,577 new, confirmed cases in the state, and 22 deaths.

10/26 Tues.
Wouldn’t you know it? Just as I’ve reported above that the fourth (or fifth?) wave has yet to peak in Minnesota, this morning’s news says it has. The Star Tribune article says hospitalizations have declined from over 1,000 to 907 in the past week, and the test positivity rate from 8.3 percent to 7.8 percent. I suppose it might take a few more days before those declines show clearly on the graphs with their 20-plus-month time spans.

10/27 Wed.
Just one mention in today’s Star Tribune of the pandemic. It’s on page three, an article about the FDA’s approval of half-dose vaccinations for kids ages five through eleven.

11/1 Mon.
The worldwide pandemic death toll has reached 5,000,000. Hard to get one’s mind around that number. (Compare w/other pandemics/plagues)
There have been, to date, a quarter billion infections. And this thing’s far from over.

11/2 Tues.
The MN Department of Health has quantified the COVID-19 re-infection rate in the state. One percent of all those who’ve tested positive for the virus have contracted the disease a second time. That seems like pretty low odds, but it still comes out to over 8,000 Minnesotans whose contracting the virus has not bought them protection—an argument many in the anti-vaxxer crowd have touted as a reason for not getting jabbed.

11/3 Wed.
For Sally and me it’s roughly day 570 of the pandemic’s direct impact on us. Every single one of those days the first thing I’ve done in the morning is to make a quick assessment of how I feel. Any cold symptoms? Anything off about my breathing? Brain fog? Loss of taste or smell?

And then a brief prayer of thanksgiving for having made it another day without catching COVID-19. And of determination to keep being smart and careful in my interactions with other people. No matter how careful one is, there are so many little chinks in the armor of masking and distancing that staying safe this long seems like a kind of miracle.

Yesterday was election day. Various cities chose mayors and city council members. A couple of states elected governors, including Virginia, where a republican took over from a democrat. I fear that, unless we see a sweeping rejection of the current disfigured republican politics, the pandemic, along with other crises like climate change, will be shoved under the rug.

11/5 Fri.
It’s interesting seeing what happens when famous people refuse the vaccine. I know there are quite likely many, but the two that come to mind for me are both NFL quarterbacks. Curt Cousins of the Minnesota Vikings made no bones about his non-vax attitude. I suspect, in his case, that his stance is faith-based. To his credit, he has agreed to frequent testing.

The Packers’ Aaron Rogers, on the other hand, has hit the non-sports news with his attempt to evade judgement for his vaccination decision. He reportedly eschewed the regular vaccine for what sounds like it was a homeopathic treatment. When asked if he’s vaccinated, he said something like “Yes, I’m inoculated.”

Now the media, especially sports columnists, are condemning him and his “arrogance” for putting his teammates at risk for his sketchy beliefs and motives.

In both players’ cases, I can’t help wondering if their behavior isn’t more political than medical or philosphical.

A couple of the sports writers’ takes boil it all down to wins and loses. Understandable, I guess, but this us-versus-them, each-to-his-own attitude just feeds the extreme dysfunction that’s come to possess U.S. politics for the past decade or so—and that I’m afraid augers the collapse of democracy.

Looking at the graph of U.S. COVID cases, I see that, despite a vaccination rate that’s finally reached about 70%, and after a promising downturn a couple of weeks ago, there’s been a steep uptake in infections during the past week. Disappointing and scary.

As I’ve reported here, daily COVID deaths in Minnesota have fallen below ten several times during the troughs between spikes. Yesterday, though, 32 people perished in the state. Nearly 3,500 new cases were reported.

11/6 Sat.
Twenty seven GOP-led states have sued the federal government, challenging President Biden’s OSHA-enforced vaccination mandate for all privately-owned companies with more than 100 employees. These folks are shamelessly ignorant, aggressively irresponsible.

Pfizer and Merck Pharmaceutical announced that they’ve developed anti-COVID pills, promising to dramatically reduce the chances of hospitalization and death when taken at the outset of symptoms. The therapy is expected to be widely available as soon as the FDA gives the nod, it is hoped in a matter of weeks. Public health officials are emphasizing that the anti-viral pills are not an alternative to vaccination.

11/7 Sun.
The U.S., after having closed our borders to foreigners for a year and a half, will reopen them to fully vaccinated visitors arriving from anywhere. As far as I know anyone, including citizens, still must submit proof of a negative test administered within three days before boarding a plane bound for the U.S.

A friend asked me to go with him to a jazz concert at Crooners, a local music/dinner club. I jumped at the chance, but grew concerned when he mentioned the the venue would be an “intimate” room, and that there is no proof of vaccination required for admission.

How sad that we’re still living under such cautions many months after this thing could—should—have been brought to heel! Again, if only those responsible—for the disinformation, for basing their actions on their political or religious beliefs, rather than on real, live science—could be the only ones suffering the consequences.

11/8 Mon.
Today’s the deadline, imposed by the Biden administration, for all federal workers to get vaccinated. Yet tens of thousands of those workers are requesting exemptions on “religious” grounds—far more than on medical grounds. What utter bullshit! Yet more proof that T***p republicans can no longer tell the difference between reality and their warped, self-centered belief systems.

During the craziness of the past twenty months, I’ve come to cherish certain new activities that offer a lifeline to reality, to “normalcy.” Judy Woodruff and the PBS News Hour. Steven Colbert on the Late Show. And reading the comics every day.

There’s been little acknowledgement in the comics of the pandemic. Occasionally I see a reference to COVID or depictions of folks wearing masks. But for the most part, the strips—Pickles is my favorite—provide a respite from the horror that haunts real life these days.

11/9 Tues.
Already, some 4,000 lawsuits have been filed nationally challenging recent vaccine mandates—40 of them in Minnesota—according to an Atlanta law firm that tracks the suits.

After vacillating on whether to attend a jazz concert, my friend and I have both decided it’s not yet worth the slight risk. “Intimate” indoor setting; no mandatory vax requirement; huge masking loophole for eating/drinking; and uncertainty about air flow. All factors in our decision.

Another consideration: Sunday, Minnesota hit a daily infection rate not seen since last December: 4,253. Deaths: 34. The current rate of breakthrough cases is roughly two percent of all infections. From the New York Times and MN Dept. of Health graphs, it’s still not clear if we’ve crested on the fourth wave of infections. And, chillingly, we’ve still not achieved a 60 percent rate of full vaccination.

This is not going away anytime soon folks. And we’ve entered prime spreading season, the time of year when folks head indoors once again for the long, cold Minnesota winter. The time when, last year, the biggest, steepest spike in infections occurred.

It’s getting pretty hard to fight off occasional waves of dread over the prospect of a dystopian future. People have been embracing such imagery for some years now, in movies, music…even the way they dress, in nothing but black and shades of gray. But I have to wonder if eating this stuff up as entertainment might not deaden our souls to any prospect of restoring ourselves—and the earth—to health and good cheer.

11/11 Thur.
Today’s Star Tribune headline: “Fading immunity fuels COVID wave.” Minnesota now has the sixth-highest rate of new infections in the nation. The surge is happening not just in Minnesota, but throughout the northwestern two-thirds of the country, as well as in the extreme northeast.

One can’t help but wonder how many thousands of lives a strict, heavy-handed federal reaction to the pandemic in its early stages would have saved. Will history prove—if it hasn’t already—that the notion of balancing COVID control with economic and emotional relief for Americans was foolhardy.

I’ve noted it here before: something didn’t feel right about what appeared to be our acceptance of a certain number of deaths as the price of “normalcy.” It seems pretty clear now that COVID-19 isn’t an enemy you negotiate with. You kill it before it kills you. We haven’t done that, and continue to pay the dreadful price.

Hard to hope that anything will change…except for the nature of a disease that knows how to take advantage of our weaknesses, morphing into new variants as we keep trying to appease it.

It’s tempting to blame just the clueless, gutless T***publican politicians who’ve lead the mass denial of the pandemic and refusal to follow public health measures to slow and stop it. But it’s looking more and more like public health officials and even the media have been complicit in mollycoddling the virus.

It’s the same story, I’m afraid, with at least two other cataclysmic prospects: global climate change and the startlingly sudden disintegration of democracy.

With the former, world leaders seem to be long on speeches and even promises, but woefully short on action. As for the latter, the apparatus built into the design of U.S. democracy to deal with insurrection seems inadequate to deal with the onslaught.

The founding fathers showed remarkable prescience in anticipating what could go wrong with the system, but they could never have predicted the mass delusion—in fact, the assault on fundamental truth and decency—that’s possessed such a large segment of the populace over the past decade.

The decisive responses needed to confront such existential threats are precluded by the very rules of the game. And in all these threats, our enemies know that and are exploiting the weakness those rules manifest. Oh, the suffering, the death we could have avoided if only we’d realized that playing nice will not save us.

I guess it’s obvious how close to despair I’m coming. How hard it is to see anything or anyone saving us from ourselves.

11/14 Sun.
The inevitable economic impact of the pandemic has been forestalled by government measures to ease it—for example, a moratorium on rental evictions. Now those protections keeping people in their homes are ending. and eviction filings in Minnesota are nearing their pre-pandemic levels.

The effects of the federal “American Rescue Plan” and state and local governments’ allocation of those funds remind me of the early-pandemic please for distancing and masking to help “flatten the curve.”

They haven’t prevented financial ruin for vulnerable people; they’ve just spread it out over a longer period of time. But that ruin, though the extra time may have helped some folks to prepare for it, is coming nonetheless.

It seems so tragically ironic that while so many people—individuals, families, businesses—are getting crushed by the manifold impacts of COVID-19, the stock market and the fortunes of the richest Americans continue to soar at record high levels.

It’s become quite obvious that COVID-19 wreaks havoc on not just the lungs and muscles, but also the brain. Some degree of cognitive dysfunction —the so-called “brain fog”—affects as many as 25 percent of COVID patients. And it can last a long time after other symptoms have diminished.

Brain researchers are just scratching the surface, but I expect they’ll come up with some fascinating—and possibly terrifying—conclusions.

11/15 Mon.
Minnesota is now leading the nation in new COVID-19 cases—up 68 percent in the past two weeks. A sad distinction…and a puzzling one, since we’ve been by no means the worst state in vaccination rates. In addition, the state has a long reputation for a well-educated, progressive populace, and we’ve been led by a smart, well-informed governor.

On the other hand, Minnesota is the only state that has a split legislature—Democrat House, Republican Senate. And, as T***py politicians are doing throughout the country, these cretins have been fighting the science, the selflessness, hell, the sheer common sense of nearly every COVID fighting strategy the Democrat governor and his people have tried to employ.

Just praying that come March, this current, fourth wave will have passed. I think two years is a long enough delay to complete our curtailed trip to Zihuatanejo Mexico in March, 2020.

11/19 Fri.
Once again, the virus is getting too close for comfort. Sally’s grandkids’ school has closed due to a positive test result among the kids. It’s a private, Catholic school where masking is not mandatory.

So, just as during our first horrible stretch of separation, Sally’s spending regular time with grandkids who might have been exposed to the virus. And my guard is up once again. It has to be.

When she comes home tonight, I fear she could be offended, as she was that last time, by my instinct to stay away from her. I want to mask up when we’re sitting together in our den. I want to bring out the small fan I used in spring of 2020 to keep air moving laterally between us. And I’m afraid the hugs will once again have to go.

Minnesota’s new, nation-leading number of new cases yesterday: 4,827. Deaths: 32. The test positivity rate: 10.7, more than twice the rate public health officials consider manageable.

And still the overall full-vaccination rate lags at 64 percent. How shameful!

I think of the sacrifices patriotic Americans made so readily to get us through World War II: rationing food and many other household staples; saving rags, rubber, scrap metal…even firewood; buying war bonds and stamps.

And, for a battle now deadlier than World War II, Korea and Vietnam combined, these assholes in the perverted cult that is now the republican party can’t even muster the amount of patriotism it takes to wear a mask. As a writer, I try constantly, in the back of my mind, to come up with words adequate to express my outrage, to describe how despicable these people are. There are none.

11/22 Mon.
Minnesota’s most recent daily numbers (for Nov. 21): new cases: 4,718; deaths: 37. Nationally, 31,000 new cases and 1,113 deaths.

Looking at the New York Times’s graphs (my go-to source since the start of the pandemic) it looks like, nationally, the infection rate has fallen between mid-September and November 1, but in the three weeks since has turned upward again.

Minnesota’s graph shows a marked upswing since July, and shown no sign of even leveling off.

Once again, as during the previous spikes, I’m afraid not just of catching COVID-19, but of coming down with any health condition requiring hospitalization. Not just because of the possible exposure to the virus, but because I’d hate to put any additional burden on the already overtaxed health care system while it’s commandeered so unconscionably by unvaccinated COVID patients.

11/23 Tues.
It’s just too hard to act on my fears that Sally might catch COVID from a student or a grandchild--especially when she stays with the grandkids overnight—and bring it home. I tried to talk to her about it, saying I’d take responsibility for my own safety, by masking, distancing, using a fan as I did for a while earlier in the crisis…whatever.

But Sally clearly resents my concern, saying it makes her feel like I think she’s “dirty” or “germy.”  So I’ve decided to take the risk and do none of these things. Just hope for the best.

Time will tell…

11/24 Wed.
Our state health commissioner says the current crush of (mostly unvaccinated) cases is pushing hospitals and long-term care facilities “over the edge.” It’s described as a “triage situation” where hospital rooms, ICUs, even hallways are full. Many elective surgeries are being cancelled, and some hospitals are having to turn patients away.

Governor Walz has activated the state National Guard to urgently train and then start bolstering decimated staffing at nursing homes. And federal medical personnel have arrived to help in large general hospitals here in Minneapolis and in St. Cloud.

Today is the busiest day since the whole plague started at airports around the country. Even though that’s just 70 percent of pre-pandemic, one must wonder if all those crowded TSA lines and gate areas (I think experts are still saying that the actual airplanes are relatively safe) will prove to have been super-spreader incubators.

11/25 Thur. (Thanksgiving)
It’s been a very nice Thanksgiving. We were at Sally’s daughter, Jenny’s, house in Mendota Heights—just seven of us enjoying a traditional turkey dinner and watching a bit of football.

Even though we’re in what’s arguably just a lethal a spike in the pandemic here in Minnesota, the mood, the behavior, couldn’t be much different from last Thanksgiving. It was a very stressful time, with Sally having just returned from a visit in Texas, us trying to keep our distance from each other, masking and using a fan to keep air moving.

This year, no masking, no real distancing. But at least all we adults are current on our vaccinations. Of some concern, Anna, 11, and little Jack, 9, have not been vaccinated. I hope we were not reckless getting together with such relative abandon.

Less than a month now until I get on a plane and fly to Boston for Christmas with my kids and grandkids. I’m committed to going, but sure hope there will be a drop-off in COVID cases by then.

U.S. House Minority Leader Kevin McCarthy yesterday lambasted President Biden for failing to quell the pandemic in America, even as members of his T****publican Party have spent months flouting mask ordinances and blocking the president’s vaccine mandates, and the party’s base has undermined vaccination drives while rallying around those who refuse the vaccine. What reckless irresponsibility. What shameful hypocrisy!

11/25 Fri.
The greatest dread of many thinking people around the world—folks who’ve taken the deaths of 5,000,000 of their brothers and sisters seriously—is materializing. A new COVID variant, B.1.1.529, has been detected in South Africa.

The new strain is said to have a “very high number of mutations,” making it more transmissible than the delta variant, and more resistant to current vaccines.

It has already hitched a ride with travelers from that country to Botswana and Hong Kong. I daresay that’s not the half of it. Great Britain has already closed its borders to visitors from South Africa and several other African nations.

Other countries, including the U.S., should follow suit right now! This variant, and all the other so-called “surprises” of COVID-19 have been entirely predictable. As have well-proven methods of controlling them. And, incredibly, sadly, we are proving ourselves too stupid to heed the warnings.

Those at the front lines of the battle to discredit science and defy the public health officials and political leaders trying to follow science’s lead, deserve the very worst the virus can dish out. And still they insist on dragging the rest of us with them.

And the pandemic cannot be seen without the context of all the other crises besetting the world. I believe there’s been no other time in my long life in which the survival of a healthy, functioning family of man has come so close to the edge of extinction.

11/27 Sat.
The new variant, now called omicron, is—no surprise—spreading faster than anyone can get a handle on exactly what it is. As of yesterday, two cases were confirmed in England and dozens more suspected in the Netherlands, Germany and the Czech Republic. Dr. Fauci says he suspects there are already undetected cases in the U.S.

Here we go again. It feels like a cruel game in which one’s hopes for some goodie get built up, and then it gets yanked out from under your nose just as you think you’re going to get it. Over and over and….

For Sally and me, the goodie is returning to Zihuatanejo Mexico after missing one-and-a-half visits due to the pandemic. Can’t plan anything with much certainty it will happen. Once isn’t so bad, but when it keeps happening it takes a toll.

11/28 Sun.
The omicron variant has been identified in Canada. Still no confirmation of any cases in the U.S., but anyone with a brain knows it will happen within days.

Sounds like many countries are blocking entrance for folks coming from southern Africa.

So typical of how this catastrophe has grown and compounded as it has, an official of South Africa is complaining that his country is being singled out and its citizens barred from traveling to other countries. I want to ask him what he’d do if a neighbor whose family has tested positive knocks on his door.

I’ll bet anything this same guy was among the first to call for shutting off China when the original COVID-19 popped up there in 2019-20.

Does anyone still believe a pandemic can be controlled without pain, without sacrifice? Lots of it?

11/29 Mon.
Add Australia and Israel to the list of countries recording cases of the omicron variant.

In South Africa, the suspected birthplace of the omicron variant, it already accounts for most of the 2,300 new daily cases in that country’s Guateng Province. And new cases there have more than tripled in the past week.

South African doctors are seeing an uptick in the number of breakthrough cases among patients who’ve already had the disease, suggesting the new variant might be able to defeat a COVID survivor’s naturally boosted immunity.

Pfizer and Moderna are gearing up to reformulate their vaccines if necessary.

11/30 Tues.
I met last night with my men’s group. It was at a restaurant, where I’d reserved a big round table so we could have as much separation from one another as reasonably possible while eating and drinking together.

In our “check-in,” where each of us briefly recaps what he’s been up to and how he’s feeling. One member told of his wife’s recent trip to Brazil and mentioned that, on her return, she’d gotten a COVID test. And that they expected to hear the results soon.

This raised a red flag for me. I spoke up, saying, “So that means you could have COVID, right?” I thought the tone of his response was defensive, asserting that she was not aware of having been close to anyone with COVID, and that she was showing no symptoms. Then, something like “Yeah, well, do you want me to just go home?”

I think my friend felt I was questioning his integrity. And, as I rethink it today, I guess I was. I figured why would his wife have gotten a COVID test if there weren’t a chance she’d been infected. And if she was, indeed, infected, she could easily have infected him even before becoming symptomatic.

So, for the rest of the meeting I was a bit on edge. But this morning, the man notified the rest of us that his wife’s test came out negative. A relief to be sure, but that’s only part of the point.

I’m quite sure very similar scenarios are playing out every day, by the thousands, around the world. Rationalizing, wishful thinking, mistaken reliance on symptoms as the indicator of infectiousness. And this is exactly how the virus and its now-multiple variants have been able to outsmart us.

As I’ve noted here, there have been quite a few days with minimal mention of the pandemic anywhere in the main section of the Star Tribune. In some cases, the sole article on the plague has been on page three or even deeper in the pages.

Today, the pandemic—and specifically the omicron variant—commands the page-one headline, the main editorial and five other headlines within the A section.

12/1 Wed.
The omicron variant. It sounds like the name of an apocalyptic novel.

It’s now been identified in over 20 countries. Only a matter of time till there’s proof of its arrival in the U.S. And of how much of a foothold it’s garnered under the radar.

(I just did a quick check of today’s COVID news and see that, indeed, the first case of the omicron variant has shown up—in California. It’s someone who’d just travelled to South Africa. So far, he’s showing only mild symptoms.)

And still the percentage of Americans who are fully vaccinated languishes at less than 60 percent. Just how stupid are you when your house is on fire and you refuse fire fighters’ attempts to put it out and keep it from spreading to your neighbors’ house?

I’ve started feeling the return of emotions I haven’t experienced since last fall and winter’s COVID spike. Voices and visions of dread are once again nipping at the edges of my well-being. The plague, climate change, the prospect of democracy’s demise, the GOP-stacked Supreme Court on the verge of overturning Roe vs. Wade…

On the political front, I’m again waking up in the morning with tinges of fight-or-flight hormones coursing through my body, my mind searching for the perfect wording for a meme that would go viral and once and for all put to shame all those T***p troglodytes threatening to drag us into third-world authoritarianism.

I must slide back to the front burner the coping mantras I used during previous surges: Avoid the news; watch for the helpers (thanks to Mr. Rogers); don’t fret about stuff you can do nothing about right now.

It’s now a bit more than three weeks till my Christmas trip to visit my kids and grandkids in New England. I’ve been psyching myself since I bought my tickets for my first flight anywhere since Mexico in early March, 2020.

But now I’m starting to feel there’s a chance, if omicron blows the lid off of our already less-than-successful efforts to control the pandemic, that I might have to cancel the trip. I hope not.

I, like everyone else, am so anxious to reclaim not just my accustomed contact with distant loved ones, but also my grounded-for-20-months sense of adventure.

12/2 Thur.
Omicron’s found its way to Minnesota. A Minneapolis man who’d just returned from a trip to New York City tested positive for it. He’s been vaccinated and so far his symptoms have been mild.

This is how fast a 21st-century pandemic can spread. In fact, by the time we recognize its arrival in any given place, it’s probably been there for some time, since it takes days for it to cause symptoms or show up in a test. And, of course, even folks who have no symptoms can spread the virus.

Two days so far with my avoid-the-news effort. I’m not entirely tuned out, but am limiting the amount of exposure, mostly via my daily newspaper. I think I feel better already.

12/4 Sat.
It’s kind of funny, watching each day’s headlines reporting what everyone and his uncle already knew. Today, as if it were a surprise, it’s omicron’s apparent ability to spread twice as fast as delta. Also, the shock and awe of officials to learn that it might also be able to sidestep the vaccines.

Hate to tell you, doctors, scientists, politicians, this is a pandemic virus. This is what viruses do. They don’t produce variants that are weaker or less smart than their precursors. And they don’t simply go away because 30 or 40 percent of Americans pretend they don’t exist.

Had breakfast this morning with four high school classmates. We sat quite close together in a restaurant that was quite busy. Servers were masked, as were a few of the customers as they arrived and left. I was aware of some risk, but felt pretty safe. I hope it wasn’t an undue risk, especially having read about omicron’s wily ways.

12/6 Mon.
The omicron variant has already been confirmed in 45 countries. There are already hundreds of cases in both Britain and Denmark. Seems obvious that it’s the new outlaw in town.

The first Minnesota omicron patient, a 30-year-old man who was fully vaccinated, says he “felt fine,” with no COVID symptoms, after having tested himself on returning from a convention in New York City.

There’s new debate on the efficacy of travel bans, with one official arguing that “shutting the stable door is pointless since the horse has already bolted.”

Still, I worry that my Christmas trip to New England and Sally’s and my March stay in Mexico might be in jeopardy—either because travel will be curtailed or simply because I deem the threat of infection too great.

12/7 Tue.
Ever since it became crystal clear that the former president and his administration of sycophants would bungle the country’s response to the pandemic, I’ve been looking for statistics that might indicate the cost in lives lost of that misconduct.

Now, the German data-crunching website, Statista, offers that substance to my hypothesis. It shows that, as of Dec. 3, 2021, “13 of the 15 states with the highest total infections per 100,000 population were red, or voted for T***p in both 2016 and 2020.”

Data also confirms that “All 15 of the states with the lowest number of infections per 100,000 were blue and voted both times against T***p.”

Exactly how deadly have the results of red states’ misinformation and denial been? The reporter covering the story concludes, “If 39th-ranked Minnesota had the same aggregate death rate as 15th-ranked South Dakota (where Michelle Bachman wannabe, Governor Kristi Noem, has consistently labeled her defiance of public health measures to fight the virus “freedom”), we would have buried an additional 5,000 people, on top of our current total of about 9,700.”

These people’s callous disregard of not only truth, but of empathy, of common decency, borders on evil.

12/8 Wed.
Covid deaths in Minnesota yesterday: 45. New cases: 12,445. This is—or it should be—shocking!

It appears that fears of the spread accelerating during all the Thanksgiving travel and family gatherings, are proving well-founded. Again, it begs the question: if, as it seems, government’s lost its taste for imposing the rules that might actually control the spread of COVID—like prohibiting travel and at least strongly recommending that people not gather—where are we?

Now it’s the unions that have joined the fray in opposing what few measures  elected officials still dare employ to control the spread. In St. Paul, where mayor Melvin Carter in late October announced a vaccination mandate for the city’s 4,000 employees, Public Works and Parks & Recreation unions have joined police and firefighters’ unions in fighting the mandate.

I’m still confused about the threat of omicron. In my limited exposure to news recently, I’m seeing reports suggesting both that the new variant may be rendering current full-vaccination ineffective in controlling it, and that new omicron cases tend to be milder than many had feared.

Perhaps the most profound effect of the past year-and-a-half on my psyche has been the loss of my lifelong faith in human nature, in the inherent goodness and integrity of my fellow Americans—nay fellow Earthlings.

This perfect storm of pandemic, climate degradation, racial conflict and brazen assaults on democracy has stripped away my assumption that, deep down, everyone shares certain essential values. We do not, and that realization hurts my heart and soul.

Today I decided to start a new blog and post this journal. Though I’ve not posted it in the day-by-day format that pretty much defines a blog, I wanted to get it out there just in case anyone might be interested. I linked to it from Facebook, and have gotten quite a bit of encouragement from friends.

I’m still hoping the Minnesota Historical Society might find my efforts interesting. So, after my two tentative offers so far, maybe I should try a bit harder—perhaps calling by phone.

I’ll continue to journal off-line, and will update the blog every now and then.

12/9 Thur.
If someone especially beautiful or fascinating is being interviewed on TV, I’ll usually put down the crossword and pay attention. If I’m in the kitchen, I’ll put the spatula down and move closer to the TV.

And so it’s been with anyone well-versed in the pandemic and the COVID virus’s latest machinations. Last night, Steven Colbert had on a CBS News medical “contributor” I thought was unusually informative on the topic.

First, he reiterated the stark news of recent days, that the expected post-Thanksgiving spike was indeed occurring, with 119,000 new cases identified yesterday in the U.S. He also minced no words in describing how the omicron variant has learned to evade people’s original one or two vaccination doses, inflicting a soaring rate of “breakthrough” cases.

But he also threw out some very, very encouraging news of recent and emerging developments. First, that it’s looking like a booster shot, on top of people’s original vaccinations, may be quite effective in holding off omicron—up to 90% so, all but restoring one’s protection close to that touted for the
vaccines pre-delta.

And, even more reassuring, that a new oral anti-viral treatment, Paxlovid, has been developed by Pfizer and is awaiting FDA approval. Colbert’s guest said he expects the drug will likely be available to the general public, “in the next one or two weeks.”

Paxlovid, according to Pfizer testing, reduced the risk of hospitalization and death by nearly 90 percent when taken within five days of symptom onset.

Hopeful indeed, but as I’ve noted here several times, I’m not sure avoiding the “risk of hospitalization and death,” while I understand why it's public health people's focus, is my only concern with the COVID viruses. Ironically, one thing the pandemic has done is to raise my standard for what I consider good health from merely survivable to comfortable.

In other words, why just protect myself from hospitalization and death, when anti-COVID protocols—like masking and distancing—have shown me that I can actually avoid catching even the common cold?

12/10 Fri.
I got a text from my son, Jeff, today, in which he advised everyone who’ll be coming to our small family Christmas gathering in rural Maine that his partner, Amy, will have just returned from Texas, not exactly a bastion of good sense about COVID-19.

Also, Jeff said, their home state, Vermont, is among the worst spots in the U.S. for infections right now.

So Jeff and Amy have decided to give themselves rapid home tests right before they drive over from Montpelier to Maine, and encourage the rest of us to do the same.

Actually, this is something I’ve been thinking about for a week or more. I’d decided that I’d wait and hope one of my kids would make the suggestion. I’m so glad that exactly that happened. I’m proud of Jeff for taking the initiative, and whether he had his feeble old parents in mind or not, I’m taking it as a sign of love.

COVID numbers in individual states are ones which, for most other deadly occurrences, would seem high if they were for the entire country. We’ve become inured to the bad news, so today’s Minnesota numbers—4,500 new cases; 58 deaths—don’t seem to shock anyone any more.

I’m sure part of this dispassion is due simply to what’s being called “COVID fatigue.” We just can’t take the reality of it any more. But another aspect of it is the continuing denial by many.

I just saw a report last night of a rural Minnesota doctor who’d treated a severe case—for over two weeks—only to hear the patient insist, on his discharge, that the pandemic is a hoax. Do these people deserve to reap any benefit whatsoever from living in a country whose democracy has been paid for with the blood, sweat and tears of so many?

12/11 Sat.
A bit of COVID minutiae, an indication of how thoroughly things are being affected by the pandemic: For 45 years contestants on Wheel of Fortune have taken turns reaching out, grabbing a large peg on the wheel and spinning.

There’s been absolutely nothing about the popular game show that would suggest it’s been taped during a pandemic…or so I thought until the other day, when I noticed something.

Now, each player holds what looks like a white plastic tube. Every time one of them spins the wheel, he or she slides that sleeve over the nearest peg and, voila, contactless spin.

12/12 Sun.
The pandemic is having a sweeping impact on the lives of every human being on earth (except, perhaps, a very few who live in remote places, off the grid).

Here in the U.S.—and I suspect in other countries—the economy is showing signs of the continuing stress. But it’s kind of like climate change; some areas seem to be just fine, even robust, while others are reeling. Overall, the trends are confusing and troubling.

For example, since its initial dive of 30 percent in the spring of 2020, the stock market clawed its way back surprisingly quickly, and has enjoyed sustained growth ever since, repeatedly climbing to new record highs. I fear such growth is unsustainable and may suggest a “bubble,” bound to burst catastrophically.

In a complete disconnect between Wall Street and Main Street, it looks like the very richest Americans, the “one percent,” are doing just fine, thank you,  further padding their share of the country’s wealth while average workers and their families, the poor and many of the businesses and organizations that serve them are being decimated.

Like climate change, though, the big picture, the overall trend, is bleak. Prices nearly across the board are soaring, with used car and truck prices among the leaders, up over 30 percent. And this is if one can even get one’s hands on the merchandise. The worldwide supply-chain breakdown has tens of thousands of shipping containers stranded in seaports around the world.

The all-items consumer price index rose 6.8 percent for the 12 months ending November, the largest 12-month increase in inflation since the period ending June, 1982.

Certainly part of the cause has been the massive, unprecedented amount of stimulus money handed out by the federal government. Where it’s going would be interesting to track, since some families seem to have more money than ever, while others are falling destitute.

I think this explains why Minnesota, and I suspect many other states, are enjoying huge surpluses.

Some workers, for the first time in their lives, have the luxury of being able to quit their less-than-ideal jobs and, in a wage-earner’s market, look for something better. But others, primarily young, female, less educated, urban workers are being left behind, with few options.

12/14 Tues.
I was really looking forward to watching the Minnesota Wild hockey game tonight vs. the Carolina Hurricanes, but seven members of the Carolina team and staff have tested positive for COVID, so the game was cancelled.

A small matter, to be sure, in the face of the massive suffering and death around the world, but still, even among those of us in what I’d call a low-risk population—that is folks who are vaccinated and can exercise great caution—it’s another depressing reminder of the continuing presence of this monster.

12/15 Wed.
Minnesota has just recorded the 10,000th confirmed death from the COVID-19 virus. I know the whole nightmare has numbed me because it’s hard to grasp the scale of it.

The toll is higher than any of a list of hundreds of the worst natural disasters suffered anywhere in country—floods, earthquakes, fires, cyclones, heat waves, terrorism or acts of war. And that’s just in Minnesota.

An article in today’s Star Tribune said that the state’s rate of new infections seems to have peaked. Finally! We’ll see if that’s even true, and, if so, how long it lasts. It probably won’t have fallen much by the time I fly to Boston next week, but maybe, by the time Sally and I head for Mexico in March, we’ll feel a bit safer facing the crowds at the airport.

12/18 Sat.
Sally and I spent last evening and overnight at my brother, Dan’s, house in Scandia. It was an early version of our customary New Year’s Eve get-together with Dan, Ruth Ann and two other couples which whom we’ve spent New Years Eve for the past six (more?) years.

Non of us tested before coming. We did not practice masking or distancing. We talked and laughed together; we hugged. I was, indeed, a wonderful, restorative evening. I don’t think any of us worried about spreading germs.

But for one being super-aware of possible COVID exposure, it was a chink in the armor. Just the unlocked door the corona virus exploits time and again in its repeated crime of opportunity.

Omicron has now shown up in nearly every state in the U.S., with New York state recording nearly 22,000 new cases yesterday. In New York City, concerts, plays and other performances, including Saturday Night Live, have  canceled or decided not to allow live audiences.

Of course, I’m now quite concerned about whether my upcoming Christmas trip to New England is still advisable—by either my, or the government’s, standards.

I guess there’s a bit of good news: it sounds like the vaccination rate—especially for boosters—is climbing along with the omicron threat.

12/20 Mon,
Just three weeks ago I reported that the omicron strain of COVID-19 was being identified in a few places around the world. And then, within a few days, the first cases here in Minnesota.

Today’s headline in the Star Tribune: “Omicron is ‘raging through the world’” Health officials are saying the number of cases of the new variant are doubling every two to three days. Considering the awesome power of geometric progression, this is terrifying.

I think I have to ask myself: is there really any way I—or anyone—can get through this apocalypse without catching the virus?

I just met virtually with my shrink. As we talked about how I am, she encouraged me to get in touch with how I really am. When she offered that I might be experiencing grief, my eyes immediately teared up, which tells me she’s right.

It’s grief for lost opportunities to be with loved ones and friends; for the dousing of my spirit of adventure; and for the unspeakable pain and suffering of my fellow human beings around the world.

Most of all, I realized, I’m grieving the shattered presumption of innocence I’d managed to hold for most of my life about people and the institutions they’ve created.

I’m so profoundly disappointed to learn, through folks’ reactions to the pandemic and other crises facing humankind concurrently, that vastly more people than I’d ever imagined are self-absorbed, willfully ignorant, angry and aggressively insecure—some to the point of violence

How to cope with my grief? Keep looking for the good. (Or, paraphrasing Mr. Rogers, look for the helpers.) Try to hang on to at least a little of the idealism that’s colored most of my life. And for stuff that needs changing, do something, however modest the effort, to change it.

I can also understand that people tend to see pretty much what they expect to see. If I step out of bed in the morning believing I’m surrounded by idiots, you can bet I’ll manage to see proof of it all day long. If I wake up convinced that most people are good, just doing the best they can, proof of that is what will catch my eye.

I’m finding that latter, positive mindset exceedingly hard to maintain.
 
12/21 Tues.
As my departure for Boston looms, I have a pit in my stomach—more so, I think, than the normal, pre-COVID flying jitters. I feel like I’m about to run a gauntlet of people who are trying to kill me.

I wonder if, again, pre-COVID, I might have taken such fear as a sign that I shouldn’t get on that plane. I’ve never heeded such premonitions, and I guess I won’t this time. I’ve got all the protection and knowledge humanly possible, so, short of holding my breath for two-and-a-half hours, there’s nothing more to be done.

I just heard back, after my several failed attempts, from the MN Historical Society, saying they’d welcome either excerpts of my pandemic journal or the entire thing. I await their decision on which.

12/22 Wed.
I have successfully (I hope!) run the gauntlet and arrived in Boston. It was quite stressful, but as I’d hoped, somewhere during my flight I reached a point of something between resignation and acceptance. Fortunately, lines at the ticket counter and security were quite short. (Thanks, in part, to my newly acquired TSA pre-check status.)

My old friend, Charlie, picked me up at Logan Airport and drove me to Amanda’s house in Hingham. I didn’t feel 100% safe riding with him, since he’d had some possible, albeit second-hand, exposure to COVID in the past week. So I masked in the car and tried directing some airflow between us.

The biggest risk, though, turned out to be our stop at a Dunkin’ Donuts in Weymouth. No drive-through, so we went in to order. None of the D.D. staff was masked. Neither were any of the other customers. We got out of there quickly and ate our donuts in the car.

12/23 Fri.
This morning, as agreed among the gathering family, I took my very first COVID self test. It was an agonizing 10 minutes waiting for the result. Thank God, it was a negative. I can’t imagine what havoc would have ensued had it been positive (for any of us for that matter).

Now we’re headed up to Maine, and we will be stuck in the car for at least 3 1/2 hours. So just to be safe, I’m masking up for the trip. Trying to stay positive—or I guess I should say negative—as is everyone else.

At Amanda and Dana’s “ski house,” sitting around the fire and their beautiful Christmas tree with my family was absolutely wonderful—first time we’ve all been together for two years.

More people— Dana’s parents and sister—will be arriving soon, heightening the tension anew. Not sure, but I think they, too agreed to self-test just before they left home.

What precious moments. I soaked it in, but turns out everyone but I had waited till their arrival to take their COVID tests. Our whole Christmas was hanging on the results. I waited—no, agonized—10 to 30 minutes for everyone’s results. How extremely sharply things could turn if any of us were to test positive! No one wants to think about it.

Once we all tested negative (on a not all that accurate self-test), everyone let down their guard, and we congregated freely for the rest of our time at the cabin.

(Dana’s sister, Courtney, has been hit very hard by the virus, considered a “long-hauler.” I hope she’s able to put her understandably deep concerns aside for a couple of days.)

12/26 Sun.
After a very long day en route, I’m safely (I hope) back home. I wore an N-95 all day, except while I ate lunch in Logan Airport. Still, there was quite a bit of possible exposure, in close quarters with lots of (masked) people in the TSA line (For this flight, my new TSA PreCheck status didn’t seem to help me), and then later jammed in the jetway while boarding.

Both my flights were fairly smooth, and I saw no one outright defying the masking mandate—except for a few folks who looked like they may have lowered their masks temporarily. I was as cautious as I could be.

I want to minimize any risk I might have brought the virus home with me. So Sally and I will try to keep our distance for the next few days. I’m planning to self-test tomorrow evening just before she returns from spending the night at daughter, Jenny’s. And I’ve scheduled a more accurate PCR test for Thursday, four days after the end of my trip (as the health department recommends).

12/27 Mon.
My self-test was negative. Whew! But I have to remember that this only indicates—and only with something like 85 percent accuracy—that I’ve not been infected at any time up to about three to five days ago.

So, during the last half my visit with my New England family, and my return travel, I might have caught COVID and it wouldn’t show up on a test until about this coming Thursday. That’s when I’ve scheduled my more accurate PCR test.

Anticipating Sally’s return later tonight, I’ve got our small fan blowing across the space between us as we sit in our favorite chairs. Small action, but I figure every bit helps.

12/28/21 Tues.
Five headlines in the Star Tribune’s A section today deal with the pandemic.  In the sports section there are six. Many teams, both professional and college, are being decimated by the omicron variant, the backlog of make-up games starting to look like it will be hard to complete.

On page one: “Minnesota COVID cases pass the 1 million mark”. I guess everyone’s done the best they can given that it’s all been new territory, with public health officials in effect learning on the job. But it’s still a shameful number, considering that one thing we all did know is that masking and distancing are effective in staying ahead of the virus.

And yet too many of us—whether due to disinformation, religious beliefs or idealogical zeal—have refused to believe the science. Even more shameful, these T***p cult members have chosen not to do their part as caring members of a democratic society.

The CDC has reduced their suggested quarantine period after someone asymptomatic tests positive from ten days to five. I strongly suspect that this
capitulation stems from political pressure as much as any new scientific data. And while this may temporarily ease the situation for businesses, I’m afraid it can only prolong the agony for everyone.

12/29/21 Wed.
Minnesota’s numbers for yesterday: new cases: 2,773; deaths: 10. This sure looks better than the stats I was seeing just a few weeks ago when daily new cases were over 5,000 and daily deaths hit 50.

Looking at the New York Times graph for Minnesota, it looks like the current fourth (fifth?) wave might be cresting. Hard to tell though, as this wave is quite jagged.

Airline passengers have taken a beating over the holidays, with thousands of cancellations. Folks, having planned their Christmas / Hanukkah family vacations, have been left stranded by airlines whose pilots and crews have been hit hard by omicron. On top of that, failures of airlines’ ticketing and scheduling software have been widespread.

Sun Country, the airline Sally and I depend on to get us to Zihuatanejo every March, has not been spared. Over the past two days, a “pause” in the airline’s operations has enraged customers eager to reclaim travel plans, many having put those plans off for nearly two years.

So, like everything else, our dreams of returning to Mexico in March cannot be counted on. Such is life during a pandemic—as if the loss of travel for pleasure amounted to a hill of beans when compared with the tragic toll of the plague on those infected and killed, and their loved ones.

I’ve observed myself, with some concern, showing an emotional hair trigger lately. I know it’s largely a product of the pandemic. Somehow I’ve managed not to blow up at anyone personally, but rage and frustration seem to consume me over the slightest provocation.

Something as trivial as dropping my keys on the floor is enough to trigger a tirade of teeth gnashing and bellowed cursing. I wonder if our neighbors, just an eight-inch wall away, can hear the profanity.

I’m not sure how to deal with the problem, other than to acknowledge it and continue the coping techniques I’ve been using: daily exercise, anti-SADD light therapy, meditation, writing/blogging and my monthly sessions with my shrink.

A New York Times article has declared “languishing” to be the dominant emotion of 2021.

12/30/21 Thur.
Throughout the pandemic it’s been nearly impossible to gauge where we actually are with the virus. Most days, it might be reported as very bad by some media, and much better by other media. One reporter or analyst might seize on a story of hope; another, one of despair.

So, to minimize my emotions getting jerked around, I’ve made the New York Times my touchstone. Still, it’s hard not to let the paper’s front page influence my outlook. Today, four of the Star Trib’s cover stories deal with COVID.

And, seeming to challenge my optimism in yesterday’s journal entry, the headline screams “Omicron pushes cases to new high”. I guess, despite Minnesota reporting fairly good numbers, this is indeed the reality nationally.

New cases in the U.S. have soared to a record high, now averaging over 265,000 PER DAY. The good news, I guess, is that hospitalizations, at around 60,000, are running half of what they were during last January’s peak. U.S. COVID deaths have climbed from around 1,200 a day two weeks ago to 1,500.

Even though this data supports experts’ suspicion that omicron spreads faster, but is less serious than delta was, Dr. Fauci is warning folks to avoid large New Years Eve gatherings. (Sally and I are planning a very low-key celebration at home.)

I got my post-travel PCR test this morning. Very smooth having an appointment; no waiting and it took all of 15 seconds. Now I wait 24-48 hours for the results. The lab tech said they call if it’s positive; email if negative.

I’m not nearly as nervous awaiting results as I was at the start of my Christmas visit with my family, since there are fewer people hanging on the outcome this time. Still, if I’m positive, that means I might easily have infected Sally—not good at all.

12/31/21 New Years Eve
I’m sitting here, inspired by about four margaritas (so far), pondering the lessons of the year past, and entertaining hopes for the one to come. I’m tempted to condemn 2021 as the vehicle for yet more COVID-19 pain and suffering, but there are many blessings to count: the vaccines, more knowledge and data about the enemy, a new, functional administration in Washington.

One of my fervent hopes for the coming year is that, finally, we see a clear turning point in our war with COVID-19. Dare we hope that this is the year when we get the upper hand—at least relegating the virus to the status of a flu-like annual nuisance to be handled more or less routinely, with a simple shot in the arm?

My brother, Dan, and Ruth Ann are in Denver visiting their son, Jeremy, and his family. I just heard that their grandson, Frank, has COVID, and is isolating in his room. Still, this is too close for comfort. I don’t know, if I were in their shoes, if I’d have the nerve not to follow my instincts and get out of there.

Makes me wonder if the opinion piece I read recently isn’t right: that we’ll all eventually get COVID, and that we should just accept the fact.

2022

1/1/22
Just a few days ago I noted that U.S. daily new cases of the omicron variant had set a new record, at 265,000. The following day it hit 300,000. Then Thursday’s mind-blowing 562,000 new cases pushed the seven-day average to 343,000.

Despite this sobering evidence of omicron’s virulence—or, perhaps I should say because of it—there’s new hope.

As I sit here watching the annual Rose Parade from Pasadena, I’m putting together the latest numbers and other news and impressions I’ve gleaned over the past week, and now wonder if the pandemic might soon be ebbing.

First, at the Rose Parade, as at bowl games and other huge televised gatherings, I see that hardly anyone’s wearing a mask any more. Are folks, hearing that omicron might not be as deadly as delta has been, finally just giving in and accepting eventually getting infected?

Is omicron proving to be the novel coronavirus’s Achilles heel? With our month in Mexico just eight weeks away, Sally and I are really hoping so.

Supporting that hope is Columbia University epidemiologist Jeffrey Shaman, who says his team’s model predicts omicron cases peaking as early as mid-January. An encouraging prospect for sure—provided the virus isn’t cooking up some new “come-back kid” variant.

I’m breathing easier about any fallout from my Christmas travels. Just got word that my PCR test results came back negative.

1/2/22 Sun.
Public health officials are concerned about tomorrow’s return to “normal” work and school days for millions of Americans after the socially un-distanced holiday break for many. Will it push the existing critical care crisis in hospitals to the breaking point, or will it prove the fodder the virus needs to start slaking its appetite for new victims?

My men’s group is scheduled to meet tomorrow evening, but I shared my concern about the risk of contracting omicron, especially after most of us have been traveling and gathering with friends and family for Christmas.

I just suggested we all do home tests, but consensus seems to have shifted to once again meeting remotely via Zoom. I think that’s a smart decision.

1/4 Tues.
I have a pit in my stomach. Once again, COVID-19 is wreaking havoc with Sally’s and my marriage.

We’d been planning to drive north to Bemidji this Thursday for her annual face-to-face session with students in her on-line class. We’ve been doing this each January many years, and, though I find Bemidji depressing, I’ve come to enjoy the drive up and back. (Usually, the trip has coincided with our Jan. 11 wedding anniversary.)

This time, though, with the omicron variant rampant, I was trying to visualize all the situations where we might be exposed, and think of ways to minimize the risks, in the hotel, in restaurants and, during our approximately ten hours together in the car.

Last night I told Sally I don’t feel safe making the trip, and, though she says she understands and can certainly make the drive by herself, I know she resents my desertion. The crux, as it was leading up to our previous COVID separation, is that she’s all about living life to the fullest, with the fewest possible compromises, while I’m all about not catching COVID—not even the reportedly less-severe omicron strain.

She feels she’s doing everything within reason to stay safe. I see nothing but all the chinks in her armor.

I’m a bit surprised at the depth of the pain I’m feeling about this. Perhaps it’s that I fear for Sally’s safety making such a long drive when she’s obviously lost much of her confidence in her driving abilities in recent years. And especially when minus-25-degrees weather is predicted for Thursday night in Bemidji.

Or, maybe I’m fearing Sally might judge this as my simply choosing my own comfort over our relationship. If that’s the case, it’s a challenge to my integrity.

Part of my malaise stems from disappointment—maybe even anger—over Bemidji State’s, with omicron obviously exploding, not calling off in-person classroom teaching and going remote. (I just read their current COVID protocols: masking, yes; distancing, no; remote learning, no.)

And you can bet I’m still angry at both COVID and the bastards who continue to fight for their “freedom” to let it run rampant.

1/5/22 Wed.
After agonizing nearly all day yesterday about my decision not to drive Sally up to Bemidji for her weekend teaching gig, I had a minor epiphany: I realized I’d been acting purely out of fear, from a place of deep negativity. Instead of indulging all the reasons why the trip wouldn’t work for me, I decided I wanted to find a way to make it work.

So I told Sally to reverse her plans for a substitute teacher Thursday and re-arrange care for Sylvia at daughter Jenny’s.

So we’re going as originally planned. I’ll be masked in the car and will keep the air moving, front-to-back between us. We’ll stop for food, but only at drive-throughs.

That means we’ll have to unmask in the car while eating, but I’ll keep the air moving. I’ll forego drinking anything while driving. We can stop once for gas and a bathroom break.

Once we get to our hotel, I’ll plan to stay pretty much in our room—unless I can find a corner of the lobby that’s out of traffic. I’ll use the hotel’s free breakfast bar, but will keep away from people while eating. For lunches and dinners, we’ll find restaurants that deliver.

So, we’re taking on a calculated risk, but I’m feeling great relief to still be helping Sally in such an important way. I feel my priorities now better align with my values.

In today’s news, the U.S. reported a million new COVID cases yesterday. But then the disclaimer that that number actually comprises several days worth of cases.

The scarcity of testing remains a troubling challenge, with long, long lines for PCR tests, and few if any home test kits available either in stores or on line. I’m glad I ordered a few kits last week, and hope they arrive as scheduled.

Kudos to the Mayo Clinic, which is canning some 700 employees (about 1 percent of their total workforce) for refusing to follow the organization’s vaccination mandate. Hooray! But what these dolts really deserve is to be stuck on their own remote island where they can only infect each other and can’t steal medical care from those who’ve stepped up to the needle.

1/6 Thur.
Today is the one-year anniversary of the shameful day when a United States president incited an insurrection that killed five people, threatened the lives of members of Congress and of the Vice President, and desecrated the United States Capitol.

Sally and I leave soon for our run up to Br-r-r-midji. I’m feeling okay about the risks, but know I’ll be taking every reasonable measure to stay safe.

Meanwhile, the mayors of both Minneapolis and St. Paul have reinstated mask mandates for all public, indoor places in their cities. Given the certainty of some political fallout, this is a clear indication of how serious the meteoric rise of omicron has become.

On the other hand, I’m hearing more opinions that, once omicron peaks—expected any time between mid and late January—the number of cases should drop rather quickly. This gives me hope that by March first we might feel a little better about getting in a plane and flying to Mexico for a month.

I had a dental appointment this morning—for an intermittent toothache. I’ve got to admire dentists, of all medical front-liners, for showing up every day to work on people literally breathing in their faces! (I’ve got a root canal scheduled for Jan. 25. Ugh!!)

We made it to Bemidji. The high temp here today: -6 F; tonight’s predicted low: -28. I’ll be getting up twice to go out and warm up the car so there’s at least a chance it will start in the morning.

It’s unsettling and raises my hackles to see, once we entered rural north-central Minnesota—pure T***p country—that almost nobody wears a mask. Not in a convenience store; not at Taco Bell; not at a gas station; not at our hotel; and not at a restaurant.

I know it feeds into the polarity we’re all feeling, but I imagined everyone looking at ME with disdain. Big city liberal do-gooder.

1/7 Fri.
I’d planned, as the “price” of my decision to bring Sally up here to Bemidji, to be meticulously careful about possible COVID exposure. This morning, I’m afraid I gave the virus an opening. Instead of grabbing breakfast from the breakfast bar in the hotel lobby and taking it back to our room to eat, I opted to sit down there with Sally.

I’d hoped the area wouldn’t be mobbed. At first, it wasn’t, but then 20-30 members of a Michigan hockey team in town to play the BSU Beavers showed up. Against my better judgment, I stayed put and forced down my bacon and eggs, trying not to breathe as I sat there within six feet of several maskless young men. I hope I won’t be sorry…

Sally has “a cold.” So does just about everyone in her daughter, Jenny’s, family. How does one know if it’s just a cold or a mild case of COVID? Testing, I guess, but with the delay between onset of symptoms and the tests’ ability to detect the virus, we can never know if we, or those around us, are safe.

The WHO reports that COVID cases worldwide have “increased sharply,” with the Americas showing the largest spike.

1/11 Tues.
Yesterday’s numbers for Minnesota: 10,964 new cases; 44 deaths. The test positivity rate: 16.6 percent. (Could be worse; Michigan’s rate is 33 percent!)

While hospitalizations and intensive care occupancy are both down a bit from the previous week, there are just 22 ICU beds available in the whole state. Officials are reporting nearly all hospitals “full.”

Looking at the New York Times graph for Minnesota, I see pretty clear evidence that the new-cases curve, starting on a steep decline just before Christmas, have surged since the holidays, now approaching the levels of the previous record spike of November, 2020.

Every day, more businesses, schools, cultural organizations and government entities are re-instituting remote participation. Many others are jumping on the bandwagon and requiring proof of vaccination for any in-person activities.

Testing, both at public sites and at-home, remains hard to come by. Today, Twin Cities general hospitals are pleading with people not to seek routine testing at their buildings, as they’re already overwhelmed by confirmed COVID cases.

1/12 Wed.
I went to Target today to pick up a few things. Again, I was shocked by the many empty spots on the shelves. Items I’ve been unable to find—at Cub Foods, at Target or at the co-op—include distilled water and tapioca.

And for the items one can find on the shelves, they ain’t cheap. December’s price increases reflect greatest year-to-year price inflation since 1982. Among the reasons: for groceries, increased demand from folks who’ve been eschewing restaurant dining for cooking at home.

For other items, massive losses in the numbers of truck drivers, temporary COVID worker absences for manufacturers, and, in some cases, hoarding by consumers.

It’s now three days since Sally’s and my drive up to Bemidji. So I’m thinking—knock on wood—that neither of us contracted COVID during that trip, despite our above-comfort-level potential exposure.

1/13 Thur.
As omicron continues to rage, more and more officials are recommending that folks abandon the non-surgical-grade cloth and paper masks for real N-95s or their near-equivalents, KN-95 and K-94. I guess they’re all readily available to the public now. (I’ve been ordering them on Amazon, and now have a stock of about 50.)

By the way, I’m gratified that Sally asked me for one of my N-95 masks to wear at school as she teaches and collaborates with other teachers. This tells me she understands her risks and that the fashion-first cloth masks she’s been wearing since day one may not be adequate. I hope she finds its better fit—and slightly restricted breathing—tolerable.

The mayors of both Minneapolis and St. Paul have issued proof-of-vax or negative-test mandates for all restaurants and bars, effective next week. Despite the entirely predictable push-back from T***publicans, the move aims to minimize the chances of such public eating and drinking establishments having to be completely shut down if omicron persists.

The mandates will also, it is hoped, boost vaccination rates.

Many Twin Cities Metro school districts are returning to virtual learning. This is a nightmare for many parents and students, but what else can public health officials do to dampen the pervasive spread of the virus?

According to public health officials along the northeast coast, infection rates appear to be falling, a sign of hope that the rest of the country should see similar declines before long.

After some mild interest in this journal, the MN Historical Society’s manuscripts curator has informed me that they’ve decided to focus on journals of health care workers and folks in certain industries most impacted by the pandemic. I may try the Hennepin County Historical Society, or even the American Historical Association.

1/14 Fri.
The U.S. Supreme Court has weighed in, along with all the other right-to-be-stupid politicians, ruling that the Biden administration cannot enforce a vaccine-or-testing mandate for large employers. They did, however, allow such a mandate for health care workers at facilities receiving federal funding.

As I weigh the risks and rewards of possibly attending any kind of social or cultural event, I want to believe that the growing number of places now requiring proof of vaccination or negative test might put my fears to rest of attending such events.

Alas, as I understand it, vaccination has little or no effect on one’s ability to spread the omicron variant. So Sally and I could attend, say, a concert, and be no less likely to contract the virus than if there were no vaccination requirement at all.

So, our fate would ultimately be decided not by the concert venue’s vax mandate, but by our own vaccinations—and then, not preventing infection, but only minimizing the chances it would put us in the hospital. God, this plague sucks!

1/15 Sat.
Yesterdays numbers for the state: New infections: 11,560; Deaths: 32. For the week ending January 6, Minnesota’s test positivity rate hit a new record high at 21.6 percent.

Interesting fact: According to an article in today’s Star Tribune, the regular flu was virtually nonexistent last winter (’20-’21), with just 35 cases identified. But, as of last Thursday, there have already been 418 cases so far this winter, complicating both the tracking of COVID-19 cases and the ability of health care facilities and staff to respond.

My daughter, Amanda, has COVID. There, in Hingham, Mass., she says nearly everyone she knows, including most of daughter Callie’s friends, has had it at least once. Amanda’s symptoms have been like those of “a bad cold,” except that they include a headache, which Amanda says she seldom gets. Only four days after she felt the symptoms did self-testing prove positive.

What a difference—in locale and, I suppose, social milieu—between her world and Sally’s and mine here in Minneapolis to explain our different experiences with the virus. Here, and at our age, we’re much better able to avoid contact with kids and other possible carriers.

In fact, to Amanda’s amazement, I told her I know no one among all my close family and friends who’s actually come down with COVID. Let’s hope it stays that way!

1/16 Sun.
An article in today’s Star Tribune echoes my feeling that folks are coming to believe catching COVID is inevitable. This coming from both the general public and doctors hearing from their patients.

As I’ve noted here more than once, this strategic retreat seems to pop up whenever someone needs a justification for putting their own economic interests ahead of public health. And the “live with the virus” movement has spread around the world, leaving only China—probable birthplace of COVID-19—still pushing “zero COVID” policies.

Public health officials, however, caution against this resignation. Once again, as with so many other public perceptions about the pandemic, it’s not about whether or not one person catches COVID. It’s about the spread of the virus. It’s the poorly-controlled spread that ultimately finds its way to the most vulnerable, leading to hospitalization and death.

Letting COVID have its way, say officials, is an invitation to the virus to continue devising new variants and do what viruses do: remain relevant.

1/19 Wed.
Yesterday’s numbers for Minnesota: new infections: 10,651; deaths: 29.

For a bit of much-needed perspective on the magnitude of the still-raging pandemic, I checked average daily death rates of various other threats to people in the U.S.  It looks like COVID-19, based on yesterday’s statistics, is still killing more folks every day than any other cause except heart disease—and that one exceeds COVID by only about five percent.

The good news, though, is that the Mayo Clinic, based on their pandemic-tracking statistical model, predicts the current spike will peak some time between Jan. 22 and Feb. 1. Deaths and hospitalizations should lag by as much as several weeks.

This gives me some hope that by time Sally and I leave for Mexico on March 2, the threat will at least feel less onerous.

But, once again, that pesky reality refuses to go away: in just the time till the current spike subsides, modelers predict somewhere between 50,000 and 300,000 more Americans could die of COVID.

A Coon Rapids, Minnesota man’s wife, has sued Mercy Hospital, challenging its decision, after devoting two months of intensive-care treatment to her unvaccinated husband, to remove him from a ventilator. The court supported her plea, but not before she’d found a hospital in Texas that agreed to the continuing care she demands.

What utter conceit! I’ve not seen a reason for the Minnesota hospital’s decision, but applaud it if it meant others who’d at least tried to stay safe could find an ICU bed.

Last night after cross-country skiing in very cold, windy conditions, I started feeling like I was coming down with a cold. Of course, I was worried the next symptom would be losing my taste and smell. Fortunately, a good night’s sleep has me feeling much better. Fingers crossed…

1/20 Thur.
The federal government is providing some 400,000,000 at-home COVID tests for delivery to Americans across the country—four for every household.

1/21 Fri.
By my rough reckoning, this is day 670 of the pandemic’s impact on Sally and me. I still marvel at having somehow avoided (knock on wood) the virus this long, especially given omicron’s voracious appetite for victims.

It still troubles me that, while I’ve been able to keep away from close contact with others most of the time, Sally continues to be exposed to possible infection nearly every day.

Even though she’s as careful as can reasonably be expected for a teacher and a very active grandparent of kids who live nearby, the odds of a breach in those meager protections are, I feel, quite high.

I still feel I should keep my distance, regularly sanitize my hands and items we both touch—like the TV remote—and keep a fan blowing laterally between us when we’re sitting in your adjacent Lazyboys.

We seem to have settled into a nice equilibrium, but I still fear the contrast in our COVID-protection protocols has taken a toll on our marriage. We both wonder when—or if—we’ll be able to hug once again.

Thinking ahead to our upcoming “escape” to Mexico, I must temper my hopes of omicron’s rapid retreat predicted by public health experts, since the variant’s trajectory in Zihuatanejo, Mexico will likely be very different. I won’t be surprised if omicron decides to spike there during our stay.

I’m trying to anticipate, to visualize, what it will be like down there trying to balance our usual carefree comings and goings with keeping our distance, masking and maybe testing. Our host, Luis, tells me he has a trusted laboratory that will come to our location for the required PCR

Then there’s always the question: What if one of us shows positive on the required pre-return test? I’m guessing Luis, since he owns several properties around town, might be able to offer an apartment or room for a week’s quarantine.

1/22 Sat.
Indicative of the confusion many people suffer about the pandemic and our progress in dealing with it are these headlines on pages one and three of today’s Star Tribune:

Page one: “Long-term care threat returns” and “Omicron cripples business staffing.” Page three: “Boosters are winning U.S. omicron battle” and “Booster rate a hopeful sign.” I can certainly see how the average Joe (like me, I suppose) might throw up his hands in resignation.

Once again I’m reminded of the wedge the corona virus keeps forcing between Sally and me. Today, she asked me why I have the small fan moving air between our two easy chairs. I explained, as I have more than once, that I feel it helps reduce the chances of either of us infecting the other when we’re sitting almost side by side for hours at a time.

Her response, as usual, is that it makes her feel like I’ve deemed her somehow “dirty,” or at least irresponsible. “Do you have a fan on when you’re at your studio?” “Of course not,” I replied. “There’s been no one else in my studio for over two years.” “Well there you go; it’s me then,” she concluded.

I told her I don’t know what else to do besides the fan and other small steps to remain safe. She said she could once again move to Jenny’s house for a while. “No,” I explained, “doing these small things is so you don’t have to do that!”

It’s so frustrating. I know Sally’s doing her best. Of course, she wants both of us to stay well. But she still doesn’t grasp that any day either of us could contract omicron and pass it to the other before even realizing we have it. And I don’t think she really gets how much more exposure she has during an average day than I do.

No wonder the virus has had its way with so many millions of people. I picture the kind of disconnect there is between Sally and me, and a score of other vulnerabilities and rationalizations, playing out in families around the country.

And that’s just the “innocent” opportunities folks have given the virus. Add to that the millions of Americans who simply don’t care what science, the government or their fellow citizens say, demanding their right to be ignorant and to infect anyone they wish.

It’s hard not to be pessimistic when there are these constant reminders of why the virus continues to win so many battles.

1/23 Sun.
Yesterday’s numbers for Minnesota: new infections:11,213 (nearly 60 percent more than at the peak of the previous spike in November, 2020); deaths: 26 (a little more than one-third). Looking at the New York Times’s graphs, it looks like the state’s death rate may have peaked, though I think it usually lags behind an infection spike, which suggests it will go up again in the next week or so.

The unvaccinated Coon Rapids man who caught COVID, and whose wife sued Mercy Hospital for its decision to remove him from a ventilator, and then moved him to a Texas hospital that agreed to continue heroic efforts to save him, has died. I suppose it’s not very kind or generous of me to see some justice in that outcome.

1/24 Mon.
Sally leaves for Texas tomorrow to see her son and grandkids. I pray she won’t face any militant anti-vaxxers either on the plane or once she gets to that hotbed of political backwardness.

Texas is seeing five times the number of average new daily infections as we are in Minnesota, while the percentage of citizens fully vaccinated there trails Minnesota’s by eight points.

Dr. Fauci today said that new infections in the U.S. have dropped ten percent in just the past week. Is this the start of the predicted steep decline?

To no one’s surprise, a new “subvariant” of the virus is being detected around the world—in 40 countries so far, including the U.S. Not much information about it yet.

1/26 Wed.
I’ve survived my root canal. The fear of sitting, maskless, mouth agape, within about a foot-and-a-half of two people was easily outweighed by the fear of pain. All went well, though—and nearly pain free.

One of the countless impacts the pandemic has had on society is the disruption of the supply chain for many critical products. Among the most critical, computer chips. The Commerce Department reports that the worldwide supply, estimated at about 40 days’ worth in 2019, has now dwindled to five days’ worth.

This has hobbled manufacturing, fueled inflation and resulted in glaring gaps on retail shelves. Any further stress on the supply chain—more COVID outbreaks, a natural disaster…—could, it is feared, delivering a crippling blow to the entire economy. As if we needed anything more to worry about.

1/27 Thur.
My old high school friend, Phil, had a stroke in December. He’s on a long road to recovery, dependent for now on medical and rehab care. His daughter’s Caring Bridge updates describing the staffing situation in both the hospital and the transitional care facility are chilling. Staff stretched to its limit, some working mandatory 16-hour shifts; insufficient time for them to acquaint themselves with incoming patients (even their most basic medical condition and needs!).

1/28 Fri.
In what the White House is calling “the largest deployment of PPE (personal protective equipment) in U.S. history,” the government is distributing 400 million N95 masks, available free of charge through drugstores and community health centers. There’s a limit of three masks per person.

This reflects national health experts’ latest strategy to limit the spread of the highly-contagious omicron variant of COVID. I have my doubts about the government’s ability to handle any such effort in an efficient and timely way.

I’m back online searching for masks for our upcoming month in Mexico. I already have about 50 N95s, but am anticipating situations where we might be eating or drinking and easy on/off would be a very helpful feature.

So I’m looking for the best masks available that have ear-loops instead of the generally better-quality over-the-head straps used on most N-95s. It looks like there are many options, including KN95s. The number of choices out there is staggering.

1/29 Sat.
I’m beginning to seriously wonder if I will ever enjoy being carefree again. As a person with compromised bronchia, I’ve been quite concerned about getting COVID. And I’ve discovered I just might, by being vigilant with distancing, disinfecting and masking, avoid ever catching even a cold again.

What a trade-off! Staying healthy versus loosing the reins on my carefree spirit. I know Sally’s formed a definite limit to how far she’s willing to go with COVID caution. She’s certainly not irresponsible, but she’s not obsessed either. I still don’t know where the happiest balance point is for me.

This past Friday’s numbers: new infections: 14,565; deaths: 43. Still considerably higher than two weeks ago. Higher, even, than last November. Is this thing really peaking any day now??

1/30 Sun.
NBC News is reporting the new COVID cases have dropped by a third over the past month in some of the metro areas of the country hardest hit by omicron. Nationally, the falloff is less spectacular at 14 percent—tempered by continuing surges in some states.

Sally’s home from Texas. I’m happy to see her taking the initiative with the modest safety measures I’ve been insisting on. She was masked when I picked her up; and just now, when I returned from skiing, she’d turned on the little fan I like to have blowing across the space between us in our favorite chairs. This makes me feel really supported, really good!

1/31 Mon.
Today’s new cases in Minnesota: 12,098; new deaths: 29. The New York Times graph of new cases looks, finally, to be on a pronounced downslope. As predicted, the graph of deaths seems to be lagging, hopefully starting to drop within a few weeks.

I just ordered more masks online. Some are 3M Aura N-95s, which feature a fold-flat design which will make them easier to pack for our upcoming trip to Mexico. (I’ll still use the regular 3M molded-shape N-95s on the plane, as I’ve come to trust the fit and function of that model.)

Thinking ahead to drinking / dining situations in Mexico, I’ve also ordered some KN-95s, which have ear loops instead of over-the-head straps. I figure those will be a good blend of effectiveness and ease of taking on/off while in restaurants.

2/1 Tues.
I had a dream last night of being at a party. People were jammed into a tiny little alcove that served as the bar, or perhaps where the hors d’oeuvres were set out. Everyone was gabbing cheerfully, reaching over each other’s shoulders to pass something to someone or shake hands.

And no one was wearing a mask.

So the question I’m asking myself is this: was this scene a denial of COVID—as if the pandemic had never happened? Or was it post-COVID—after we’d all survived the pandemic and gotten back to our healthy, carefree lives?

2/3 Thur.
A “freedom convoy” of truckers is blockading parts of Ottawa, protesting vaccination, testing and quarantine requirements on truckers entering Canada. There’s some speculation that the mob has support from non-Canadian sources. Just reeks of U.S. T***publicans’ me-first manifesto!

The seven-day average of new U.S. COVID cases continues its steep drop-off according to the New York Times’s graph—325,000 yesterday. But that’s still not down to the level of last January’s peak of 280,000.

Deaths, however, though not declining on the graph, are still, at 3,600, lower than last January’s per-day rate of 4,100.

Sally and I are joining Dan and Ruth Ann for dinner in a restaurant this evening. I’m a bit nervous given the inherent risks of being with folks who aren’t masked. But the restaurant seems serious in its efforts to minimize those risks.

This will be my first time having to produce proof of vaccination (under the recently ordered mandate from both Twin Cities mayors).

2/6 Sun.
Some groups, especially the travel industry, are calling for a change in approach to the virus, to accept it as a part of everyday life to be managed, not a deadly scourge requiring lockdowns and stringent preventive measures.

While I understand where this sentiment is coming from—more than I do with the “personal freedom” argument—I can pretend I don’t see its dark underbelly: in effect throwing the old, the health-compromised and the poor under the bus. Collateral damage. The inevitable price for the healthy and well-off to resume their accustomed ease.

2/7 Mon.
The daily New York Times graphs show that, in the past three weeks, the seven-day average of new COVID cases in the U.S. has dropped from 806,000 to 298,000.

It’s taken two years and the persuasive powers of omicron to get public health officials advocating for N-95 and KN-95 masks. Early on, it was important to leave those grades—said to be some ten times more effective than regular surgical masks—for front-line medical personnel.

Now that production of these top-grade respirators has caught up to demand, they’re widely available. (I get my 3M brand N95s on Amazon.) And now, after all this time, officials are touting the masks for use by the general public.

And now is the first time I’m hearing about the importance of fit when choosing a mask. I’ve felt, since the very beginning of the pandemic, that using an ill-fitting mask, no matter it’s filtering performance, is no better than holding one’s hand in front of one’s face

I doubt public health officials’ recent emphasis on fit will sink in with everyone. People, especially when they’re focused on living life as normally as possible, are just not careful enough, disciplined enough, to “mind the gap.”

2/10 Thur.
COVID-19 hospitalizations in the U.S. have dropped below 100,000, and new cases continue their steep decline. Dr. Fauci says the country is “on the road to approaching normality.”

With states and municipalities are rushing toward lifting all masking and testing mandates, I’m concerned, as are public health experts, that we might let up our meager pressure on the pandemic too soon, inviting another clever variant, another surge.

Sally was recently asked by a couple of her teaching colleagues if we’re still going to Mexico. Why?, Sally asked. They replied that the State Department has declared Mexico a “no travel” country due to COVID rates.

I went to the State Department’s website, where I found that certain states in Mexico have indeed been deemed “do not travel” destinations. The state we’re headed to, Guerrero, is among the five or so states considered the most dangerous.

But the warning is not about COVID; it’s about the threat of kidnapping and murder! I don’t dismiss the warning, but we’ve gone to Guerrero several times before—if not every time—when such warnings were activated.

We figure, if we’re involved in neither drug activity nor any attempt to stop it, our greatest danger would be perhaps getting caught in the crossfire between enforcers and their victims. Not to taken lightly for sure, but not enough to cancel our plans.

The mayors of St. Paul and Minneapolis have both lifted the requirement that restaurants and other public gathering places check for proof of vaccination of a recent negative COVID test, effective immediately. They cited rapidly falling infection rates. Masking mandates remain in place.

2/11 Fri.
The statistics organization, Our World In Data, reports that nearly 54 percent of the world’s population has been fully vaccinated against COVID-19. Yet less than 11 percent of people in low-income countries have gotten at least one dose.

Despite the glaring inequity—which no one in their right mind would not have predicted—the accomplishment of such a monumental feat is, I think,  unprecedented in human history.

2/15 Tue.
Daily new cases of COVID in Minnesota continue to drop rapidly—from 2,600 just over two weeks ago to about 1,000 yesterday. It looks like all the other key markers—hospitalizations, ICU occupancy, and deaths are following suit.

The CDC has published a comparison of different types of well-fitting masks in how much they reduce the odds of consistent wearers’ testing positive for COVID-19 after exposure in indoor public settings (compared with wearing no mask at all).  It shows cloth masks do so by 56 percent; surgical masks, by 66 percent; and respirators (N95 or KN95), by 83 percent.

I take this as vindication for my near-obsessive quest for true N95 masks and effective alternatives. (It might not justify, however, my having spent hundreds of dollars on various other sexily-advertised masks, a couple of which cost me as much as $30 per mask.) I still have found no mask with a better combination of filtering, fit and comfort than the good old 3M model 8210—which I used for years, pre-pandemic, when flying to prevent catching colds/bronchitis.

2/16 Wed.
Two weeks from today Sally and I head for Mexico for the month of March, reclaiming our cherished tradition so abruptly highjacked by COVID two years ago. I’m excited about the planning, packing and navigating the now-familiar straits we’ll traverse getting there.

I’m feeling optimistic about my chances of avoiding the plague, or what for me could be just as unpleasant: catching the common cold. My greatest concern would be either of us catching COVID while we’re there and failing to pass the test required to get back into the U.S.

Of concern, too, is the possibility of conflict between my super-cautious approach to COVID in general and Sally’s more fatalistic attitude. I’m hoping love, trust—and a little humor—will get us through the month feeling good about the trip and each other.

2/18 Fri.
I’ve been seeing more and more articles about the worsening behavior of drivers. According to the Department of Transportation, it’s a national problem, with speeding, passing on the right, tailgating, running stop signs and red lights, and even more overt road rage all dramatically up from pre-pandemic levels.

Aside from the obvious uptick in people’s frustration levels in coping with a monster in our midst for two years, there are clearly other factors contributing to the collapse of civility on the roads. Politics, for example. A T***p-championed us-versus-them mentality seems to have the most rabid of the MAGA hoard acting out their outrage, pretending impunity not just from from any sense of decency, but from the law.

Another part of it, I think, is a darkening cloud of fatalism. Young, urban and suburban kids especially—from teens through twenty-somethings—are speeding and car-jacking in record numbers. For kids whose lives may have seemed pretty hopeless even before COVID, the disruptions of what little purpose they may have had in their lives has them even more adrift.

Dr. David Spiegel, director of Stanford Medical School’s Center of Stress and Health calls it a “social disengagement,” a feeling that the social contract underlying a successful democracy is suspended.

2/19 Sat.
Hong Kong, despite their strict, zero-COVID strategies, is suffering their worst outbreak to date. Many, most of them with family ties on the Chinese mainland, are lining up to flee the city.

I’ve been tempering my excitement over plummeting COVID numbers with concern that they might not drop fast enough to thwart another variant of this clever virus. Each day without mention of one has fed my relief.

But then, a couple of days ago, I see it: sub variant B-2. A tentative, not-yet-peer-reviewed study from Japan, showing that it’s already out there, percolating, and suggesting it might be both even more contagious than omicron and also even more easily spread.

How many lives does this pandemic have to claim before everyone just gives up?

2/20 Sun.
Today’s COVID numbers for Minnesota:  seven-day average of new cases: 2,324; deaths: 25.

All the New York Times graphs are showing the steep drop-off of new cases continues, nationally and here in Minnesota. This makes me feel just a bit safer about our upcoming month in Mexico, something I couldn’t have said just a month ago—when daily new cases here were about four times higher.

I just checked the numbers for Mexico and for Guerrero, the state we’ll be visiting. Both those graphs also show the steep declines in new cases and barely-peaking death rates. It’s all good…I hope.

My mens group is scheduled to meet tomorrow evening. Other members are suggesting we meet in person, but I’m still feeling that’s not safe, especially with the Mexico vacation coming up in just ten days.

2/21 Mon.
The COVID-19 pandemic has now killed 5,800,000 people, including 935,000 Americans. How surreal! And how tragic, especially when ignorance, greed, lack of discipline and, I suggest, a profound moral failing, have been responsible for so many of those deaths.

On a positive note, the U.S. daily death rate has fallen below 2,000 for the first time in a month. This in addition to the rapidly-falling rates of new infections I cited yesterday.

2/23 Wed.
I remember, sometime last spring, Sally’s asking me for an end date for the pandemic. Based on what I knew then, I threw out what I believed to be a safe guess: November, 2021. A time we could all start living something close to “normal” lives again.

Well, I guess I was off by three or four months. Just in the past few weeks, seeing the infection and death rates drop precipitously just about everywhere, I’m starting to feel my soul unclench. It feels like I can finally believe that the worst of the pandemic is over—at least for those of us fortunate enough to have been vaccinated.

I realize that in some parts of the undeveloped world, and among some cults of denial and defiance, the virus and its variants rage on. I also realize that, even though I’ve seen no cause for immediate alarm, there is already a “sub variant” of omicron that’s been detected in some places.

Still, my optimism, which I’ve kept guarded for the past year-plus, yearns to shake free from its last restraints. I’m hoping that our Mexico vacation, starting next week, will see the numbers continue their decline, and will help nurture my sense reclaimed freedom. Dear God, I pray…

As if we needed yet another surreal event during the COVID era, Russia, after amassing forces around Ukraine for the past couple of months, and despite warnings from just about every country in the free world, has finally, brazenly, invaded.

On top of everything else the past few years have brought us, might we also be witnessing the first shots of world war three?

2/24 Thur.
Just when I’m reporting here on my burgeoning optimism, this news in todays Star Tribune: The BA.2 subvariant of COVID-19, already found in most U.S. states, and responsible for nearly 4 percent of cases nationwide, is showing up, at low levels, in Twin Cities wastewater.

I’m afraid that, like the initial death toll after a mega-earthquake in Timbuktu, the BA.2 count can only get worse. Maybe much worse.

2/25 Fri.
BA.2, just recently being mentioned in the news, apparently has been quite busy. Today’s article says “stealth omicron” is now causing more than a third of all new omicron cases around the world, and has been identified in every one of the 50 U.S. states. In the U.S, it’s caused only about 4 percent of new cases so far.

Early analysis suggests BA.2 may be considerably more virulent than its “parent,” but that it might not necessarily cause more severe illness. It’s not clear if it’s a prediction or just a hope that it will be well controlled by existing vaccines.

2/28 Mon.
As we near our departure for Mexico, here are yesterday’s encouraging COVID numbers for Minnesota: Seven-day average of new daily cases: 273 (a month ago that number was 3,500);  deaths: 4 (a month ago it was 9). Still headed in the right direction!

I have a feeling that COVID news will be sparse—and relegated mostly to page tree or four—for some time, giving way to increasingly alarming news from Ukraine. Most recently, that Putin’s put his nuclear arsenal on high alert as NATO and virtually everyone else tightens the screws on Russia’s economy and communication capabilities.

3/1 Tues.
We’re off to Zihuatanejo tomorrow morning. I’m feeling good about getting back there after missing a year thanks to COVID. Praying there will be no anti-masking crazies aboard our plane.

It will be interesting to see how the locals are dealing with what we hope will prove the late stages of the pandemic. We’ve heard that they’ve been doing a pretty good job with masking and distancing—and, I presume, with vaccination—and that the greater concern has been with American and Canadian visitors who obnoxiously demand their “personal freedom” to get sick and then spread it.

I sure hope we can have a mostly carefree trip, though I know I’ll be more cautious than Sally will.

3/3 Thur.
Here we are, back in Zihuatanejo! It’s evident that, like in the U.S., there’s a broad variance in how people are dealing with these, what we all hope are the last stages of the pandemic. For the most part, though, I’d say most of the locals are still masking. Many—I’d say at least 20 percent, are masked while walking down the street.

Sally and I are donning our masks in situations where we’d feel pretty safe back home—like outdoors, breezy, not many people around—just to show respect to hardworking folks who’ve probably had it up to here with those from north of the border who think they’ve escaped the heavy hand of the liberal elites who believe part of our job as decent human beings is to help take care of each other.

3/6 Sun.
It’s pretty easy here keeping in the open air. Even in most restaurants, the space is either open on at least one side or completely outdoors. Still, though, nearly every restaurant we’ve been to so far has had their servers and staff masked.

Cab drivers have their masks at the ready and all have donned them as we entered their cabs. Yet I don’t feel we’re out of the woods, COVID-wise. I must stay vigilant, especially on the more crowded streets, where anyone we pass might exhale or cough—even masked—within two feet of our faces.

Overall, though, this trip is proving so far to be a true escape from the worse times and the worst fears encountered back home during the past two years. I pray we are safe.

3/8 Tue.
Today we taxied over to Ixtapa. All the shops we went into required masking. Many Mexicans, as is Zihuatanejo, are masked, even walking down the street, even when people are pretty widely spaced. We are spending time with my brother and sister-in-law, dining, riding around in taxis. We mask when possible, but I still worry about the proximity of three of us crammed into the backseat of a Nissan Sentra.

I was a bit concerned, too, last night when we had dinner at our host’s and his wife’s home. None of us was masked, and we found, halfway through the evening, that neither of them has had their booster. I suppose this doesn’t matter, since having had it would make little difference in how contagious they’d be if they had the virus.

3/9 Wed.
Today’s covid numbers for the U.S.A.: seven-day average for new daily cases: about 40,000 (compared with over 800,000 at their omicron peak seven weeks ago). Daily deaths: a bit over 1,400 (compared with the last peak at 2,600 about five weeks ago).

3/13 Sun.
The pandemic feels like it’s receding to become a speck in the rearview mirror. Yes, we still see many Mexicans here masking, certainly indoors, and often on the street. We keep our masks at the ready and don them indoors or when we’re  in crowds outdoors. But it sure feels like the pandemic is  waning.

It’s a wonderful, liberated feeling, but I hope we’re not letting up on our defenses prematurely.

The New York Times graph of Minnesota’s COVID numbers for yesterday show ZERO new cases! The seven-day average, though, is 581. Deaths were also at zero yesterday, with the seven-day average at 13.

If we can believe the numbers here in Zihuatanejo, the official number of current cases in the municipality is six.

3/16 Wed.
Another week has begun for us here in Zihuatanejo—our third. The time is flying, and one reason is our strong sense that things are finally easing in terms of worry about COVID.

I had a frank discussion with one of the fine artisans down on the Paseo de Pescador about COVID. He asked me if we Americans and Canadians who are masking up here are doing so because they’re afraid of catching the virus from Mexicans. I hope he believe me when I opined that most of us are doing so out of respect for Mexicans.

It must be unnerving to be so thoroughly dependent on tourists for one’s living, and yet have to cater to thoughtless folks who might believe the pandemic either never existed or has nothing to do with them.

3/20 Sun.
It’s two years now since our lives got suddenly upended by this sinister invader from inner space, COVID-19. As we prepare for our pre-return tests here in Zihuatanejo, Guerrero, Mexico, I’m reflecting on the whole nightmare, one we’re by no means sure is over.

We’re trying not to get too anxious about the test results, it’s hard not to, as an unplanned extra week or more here might tarnish some of the glow of an otherwise fine month.

One thing I do know is that it feels like Sally and I have, indeed, reclaimed our precious time together in this very special, amazing place. The people, businesses and government have been responsible, careful and smart with COVID—putting to shame so many in the U.S. who have proven absolutely bankrupt of those virtues.

3/22 Tue.
Amanda got her COVID test yesterday for return to the U.S. today. The lab tech came right to her villa, did what Amanda thought was a very quick, superfluous swab just barely inside one nostril. A couple hours later, there was an envelope on her bed with the printed negative results. Whew! One down, just Sally’s and mine to go.

Sally gets her test today; mine will be next Tuesday.

5:30 PM: Getting anxious about Sally’s proof of negative test, which was promised for “some time this afternoon.”

7:00 PM: Good news: The courier just arrived with Sally’s printed test result: Negativo. Hooray! Once I get Sally on the plane all I have to worry about is myself, and I don’t have to sweat it till next Tuesday.

3/23 Wed.
Looking at today’s New York Times COVID numbers for Minnesota as Sally returns home:
Average daily cases: 464; Average daily deaths: 9. This confuses me, since I reported here a couple of weeks ago that both cases and deaths for the state came in at zero. My guess is that that ws an anomaly, that for some reason neither stat even got recorded that day.

Those latest numbers represent continuing decreases: cases, down 28%; deaths, down 39% over the past 14 days. Daily new hospital admissions still, as they have throughout the pandemic, run about three times higher for those over 70 than the average for all ages.

3/26 Sat.
I don’t know if I dare hope the pandemic is nearly over. Here in Mexico I’ve seen very little in the way of news. I’m aware, but not well informed, of Russia’s continuing conquest of Ukraine, but little else, including any but the most basic statistics about COVID.

As the end of my month here in Zihuatanejo approaches, the people here—the locals—are still mostly masked, some of them even while walking down the street in open air. I still have a mask at the ready, hanging from a lanyard around my neck, and put it on whenever I either enter a building or pass through a place with lots of people.

Tonight, though, I had dinner with six Mexican friends. We sat quite close together, but were outside on a patio. One person arrived masked, but soon took it off in order to eat and drink. I wasn’t too worried; maybe I should have been.

I’ve heard no more about COVID sub-variants. Does this mean we can look forward to a spring and summer that looks more or less like those we so took for granted pre-2020?

I keep hoping to see U.S. Customs drop the pre-return negative COVID test requirement. Sounds like Canada is doing just that, but not us apparently.

3/29 Tues.
I passed my COVID test required for reentry to the U.S. tomorrow. It’s been a wonderful month here in Zihuatanejo, with far less worry about COVID than I’d anticipated. I’m thinking I might actually be more worried back home where there are still T***p-sucking crazies running around coughing on the masked just for fun.

For yesterday, the state of Guerrero reported exactly one new COVID case and zero deaths. Compare this with Minnesota, which reported 464 new cases and 13 deaths. So I guess some concern is warranted, even though those numbers are quite low (and Mexico’s near-utopian results might raise some eyebrows).

3/31 Thur.
Home from Mexico safe and sound! I’m always nervous aboard planes—have been for at least the past five years, since I’ve feared catching as much as a cold, which always would lead to a bout with bronchitis. A few people on my flight played it fast and loose with masking, but most showed care
and respect. Then, after landing, we sat on the ground for a full 45 minutes, waiting first for an arrival gate to open up, and then for a customs official to come the gate.

Adding to my concern was the crowding of the departures area at the Zihuatanejo airport. Caused partly by major remodeling and partly by our flight’s two-plus-hour delay, making our security/boarding process coincide with those of several other departing flights.

There’s an article from AARP about the proper use of N-95 respirator masks. Helpful, I’m sure, for most, but I noticed a couple of misleading points. First, the graphic showing various mask types and their relative effectiveness, the N-95 mask was shown to have ear loops rather than over-the-head/neck straps. The latter, I believe, are essential for those masks’ proper fit and function.

Second, the article stressed that a proper fit over the nose is evidenced by one’s glasses not steaming up from exhaled breath. Problem is, most folks wouldn’t know the difference between glasses fog caused by air leaking through gaps between the mask and the face, and fog resulting from breath exhaled through the mask. The only difference, in my experience, is that the latter occurs after a second or two’s delay (the time it takes for the warm, moist air, exiting, properly, through the mask to rise the lenses.

4/3 Sun.
On learning that a second booster shot—fourth shot in all for all but those who originally got the Johnson & Johnson vaccine—is now authorized for folks over 50 and/or with some degree of immune system compromise, I’ve made my appointment and will get the shot next week.

4/5 Tues.
Got my second booster this morning. Though it helps put my mind at ease, I must not get complacent. COVID is still out there and, if I’m careless, I could get it. My fresh vaccination might mean I wouldn’t die, but it doesn’t mean I wouldn’t get sick.

Today’s numbers in Minnesota: seven-day average of daily new cases: 118; seven-day average of daily deaths: 2. Nationally, daily new cases during the past week average almost 29,000. That still sounds like a lot.

As I look at the New York Times map of worldwide cases over the past 14 days, it appears that Europe is still being hit quite hard compared to anywhere else in the world.

4/6 Wed.
There’s very little in the newspaper about the pandemic these days. Today’s Star Tribune’s A section has just one article—on page four—about the “extremely grim” situation in Shanghai, China, where over 13,000 new cases were reported just yesterday. Whether because the urgency of the pandemic has worn off or simply because we’re sick of it, other world events now capture the media’s attention: the ongoing war in Ukraine, the rapidly escalating toll of climate change inaction, more flashpoints in the battle between law enforcement and folks who feel abused by it.

4/8 Fri.
In what looks like a very telling study, public health experts in Colorado, Virginia and Washington DC report that life expectancy in the U.S. has declined significantly in the past two years, presumably due to the ravages of COVID-19. The figure, 78.86 years for 2019, fell by more than two years, to 76.60—a drop analysts call “historically unusual.”

Most interesting to me, the analysis indicates that, while the virus, in terms of its health effects, has demonstrably impacted people of color harder than White Americans, the drop in life expectancy is more pronounced among the White population.

The study’s authors speculate that this might be due to the predominance of pandemic denial, vaccine refusal and the rejection of masking/distancing restrictions among a mostly-White political and geographic demographic.

It’s hard not to snipe, “Good for you! For your strident ignorance, your self-centered petulance, you just threw away two years of your life! You might say it’s your life, so butt out. But it wasn’t just your life; you’ve taken countless thousands of other, completely innocent lives with you. There’s a special place in hell for cowards like you…and—ha!—you’re going there two years sooner than the rest of us.”

4/9 Sat.
News today reports that New York City and Washington DC are experiencing severe outbreaks of BA.2 COVID. This and the current spike throughout Europe strongly suggest based on past trajectories, that the whole of the U.S. will not be far behind.

Sweet Jesus! Are we in for not just the expected endemic persistence of the virus, but yet another epidemic?

4/10 Sun.
Citing the current surge throughout Europe, specifically in the U.K., a Mayo Clinic spokesman predicts at least one more wave of COVID impacting the U.S. He says there are two variants beyond BA.2 already gaining ground.

I was thinking today of reclaiming my COVID-scuttled trip to Oaxaca planned for last October-November. I’m pretty sure Amanda won’t be able to join me as we’d planned for last year, but I’d still like to go. But with the pandemic apparently far from done, it feels like an exercise in frustration to actually book flights and hotel.

4/11 Mon.
I managed to spend the first 70 or so years of my life believing in the intelligence and integrity of most people. The fact that we cannot and will not eradicate this pandemic is elegant testament to how misplaced that faith was. Ample evidence of our ignorance and hubris as a species—first, with the election of a shallow, amoral clown as president of this great country, and then with the world’s utter failure with the pandemic—has beaten it out of me.

We had all the information, all the public health models and protocols, all the technology to have contained the virus in China two-and-a-half years ago. But a lethal mix of pride, denial, petty political gamesmanship, wishful thinking and sheer selfishness made containment impossible.

By now, the numbers have numbed us, but the official death toll for our failing stands at 6,180,000. The Economist estimates the actual number of deaths may be two to four times that number. Let’s say it’s only two; that’s 12.3 million souls, the vast majority of them murdered by human beings’ choosing their own political and religious beliefs over science, and self-interest over the common good.

This crime against humanity, coupled with our unconscionable crimes against our planet raise the specter of something I could only have imagined in the most dystopian science fiction: our own  extinction.

4/13 Wed.
Two years ago Sally and I were separated due to concerns—mostly mine—about COVID-19. What a strange state of affairs that was: no idea yet about how that first manifestation of the virus was going to act, how it spread or all the ways it was going to affect people. And no immediate hope for a vaccine.

This morning I took Sylvia for a long walk. (Most people still, two years into this, move off the sidewalk when approaching each other.) We ended up just past the old Shriners Hospital, at the small park where Sally, Sylvie and I would meet every few days to chat.

Recalling that stirred bittersweet emotions. Sadness that we had to go through that dark period, and how its scars are still visible. But also a kind of joy that we were able to come up with such a meaningful, memorable little institution to help get us through.

4/14 Thur.
The CDC has extended its masking requirement for public transportation, but the airlines, and I assume other carriers, are opposed.

I started with another hospice patient this morning. The Presbyterian Homes facility is the most thoroughly COVID-conscious one I’ve seen: very thorough sign-in screening; strict masking requirement; seating spacing; hand sanitizer dispensers at every turn.

4/15 Fri.
There’s an editorial in today’s Star Tribune supporting the federal government’s two-week extension of the mask mandate for fliers. It also supports my long-standing unease with how we’ve allowed ourselves to be numbed by the persistent deadliness of the coronavirus.

They point out that, despite a 26 percent in the national death rate of COVID-19 over the past two weeks, there are still over 500 Americans dying of it every day. They compare that with the average death toll of the “regular” seasonal influenza: 167 per day. And they suggest that, given the current surges in the virus’s two latest sub variants, extending the masking mandate for just two more weeks may prove “overly optimistic.”

Another editorialist opines that Americans—and, I’d add, just about everyone in the world—are suffering from a COVID-induced case of PTSD. Supported by psychologists, it is being acted out in many ways, including road rage, gun violence, epidemic work resignations, unruly air traveler behavior and several other indicators.

4/16 Sat.
The Metropolitan Council reports that the Twin Cities wastewater treatment facility found the level of BA-2 in metro waste water has increased 72 percent in the past week. While the actual level remains quite low, such data has very accurately predicted significant turns in COVID infection rates in the past.

4/17 Sun. (Easter)
It will feel like a much more “normal” Easter this year than the past two, when I was pretty much hunkered down with Sylvia. We’ll be going to Jenny and Joe’s with their extended family. I doubt anyone will be very careful at all. Certainly no masks; probably no effort to distance.

The World Health Organization (WHO), after more than a year of research  and analysis, has calculated a worldwide COVID-19 death toll that, at 15 million, is well over double the “official” number—the sum of countries’ individual reported numbers—of six million. More than a third of those additional nine million deaths are estimated to have occurred in India, which has strenuously disputed the indictment.

4/19 Tues.
A T***p-appointed federal judge in Florida yesterday ruled that the CDC overstepped its authority in issuing mask mandates for airports, train stations and other typically crowded public buildings. Literally overnight, those orders, based on the best-available public health science, are rendered as impotent as the little orange demigod himself.

We’ll see how that goes as the virus continues to morph, pecking away for yet another crack in our will to defeat it.

4/20 Wed.
The Biden administration is challenging Monday’s lifting of the federal mask mandate for public transportation. And today’s Star Tribune editorial condemns the ruling as shortsighted and “reckless.” New infections are clearly on the rise, and this will not help.

The judge who made the ruling is another manifestation of the “gift that keeps on giving”—think a good strong case of syphilis—from the T***p fiasco.

I keep hearing of more cases of COVID catching up with people I know. Just today, I learned that both my nephews have now gotten it. One seems to have gotten through it pretty easily. The other, the jury’s still out.

4/22 Fri.
For the first time in two months, Minnesota’s COVID infections rate has crossed the “high-risk threshold,” set at 1,000 new infections in one day. That comes to 12 per 100,000 residents, above the rate of ten which indicates “substantial viral spread.”

So, given that I still intend not to get COVID, I should still be employing all the defensive measures I did before, even before I got my first vaccination. Masking, distancing, avoiding indoor gatherings. Somehow those measures seem less appropriate now, but that assumption might be just the tactical error the virus exploits. God, I’m so sick of this!

I was just looking online for any comparison of countries’ responses to the pandemic. I guess I expected the United States to show up on at least some of the lists—and not the list of winners. I did not find that.

But I did find this stupefying comparison: the country with the highest death rate has been Peru, with over 6,000 deaths per million inhabitants. The lowest rate? Burundi, with 3.1 deaths per million inhabitants. That’s 2,000 times lower a death rate! Could this be true?

Also astounding: third on the list of fewest deaths is China, at 3.2! China, where it all started. I’m guessing this success rate—if you can call it that—is possible when you have an iron-fisted totalitarian government and a culture where personal responsibility and self-discipline are highly valued. (And, perhaps, where the government controls the numbers?)

4/25 Mon.
Spring is being really stingy with its wonders this year, just adding to the seemingly endless burden of COVID worries. It’s late April and today didn’t even reach 40 degrees. We’re all so hungry for warm, sunny weather so we can do things outside.

4/26 Tues.
The Chinese are reportedly storming grocery stores, stocking up at the threat of new rounds of quarantines since the recent dramatic COVID-19 spikes in some areas. Can Europe and the U.S. be far behind?

Today’s numbers for the U.S. from the New York Times are ominous. The seven-day average of new cases is up from about 30,000 a month ago to nearly 50,000. Deaths, though continue to fall—from about 4,000 in early February to about 350 yesterday.

The big question in my mind: will this coming surge last three months as the one in fall/winter or 2020/2021 did, or will it last a good six months as the omicron surge did this past late summer through winter? And how might it impact people’s long stifled lust for freedom from this scourge now that summer’s coming?

4/27 Wed.
The CDC reports that Minnesota’s “official” case count (those verified through testing) falls short by half of the real number, which they put at 3.3 million. That’s a staggering six in ten Minnesotans they say have actually contracted COVID-19 since it arrived.

I’m writing a post for my One Man’s Wonder blog entitled “How to Survive a Pandemic.” (I’m careful to point out—at the risk of tempting fate—that “survival” can be claimed only day-by-day.) When I started writing the piece I figured I’d just list ten or twelve simple tips based on my COVID experience, with maybe a paragraph of explanation for each.

I should have known. The latest iteration is more like a short book. Turns out I have a lot to say about the pandemic and its effects on me and my loved ones.

4/28 Thur.
Sally’s off to Texas once again. I wish I didn’t feel some tension about the risks. I know she has to do this. I know I do some things she could say are just as risky. But with COVID on the rise again, I find myself devising strategies for staying safe when she returns next Tuesday.

It’s impossible to do what I should do without her noticing and feeling disrespected for it—like setting up the fan blowing across the space between us; like not hugging; like sanitizing more often. Alas, the relentless grind continues.

I heard Dr. Fauci quoted as saying we’re no longer in the “pandemic phase” of COVID, and that we can look forward to “endemicity.”

4/30 Sat.
In Twin Cities waste water sampling, the BA-2 sub variant accounts for 97 percent of the viral material being found. And traces of the latest, even-faster-spreading BA-2.12.1 variant are starting to appear. This is getting complicated; it reminds me of trying to keep up with the numbers of software or operating system versions.

Last September, at the peak of the delta wave, 23 percent of those dying of the virus were unvaccinated. In what strikes me as a dramatic and frightening turn, that percentage has soared to 42 percent in January and February, during the omicron surge. Of those, nearly two thirds were over age 75.

Minneapolis has upped its assessment of COVID’s current spread, once again recommending—notably not mandating—wearing masks in public indoor spaces.

5/6 Fri.
A panel of experts convened by the World Health Organization has assessed global COVID-19 deaths and determined that the “official” number reported by many countries is just a fraction of the actual count. In Mexico, for example, the real number is about twice that of the government. In Egypt, the difference is twelve-fold.

In the U.S., the government’s official number of deaths, as of the end of 2021, was 820,000. The actual number, according to the WHO study, was 930,000.

Worldwide, the official death toll, simply a composite of all countries’ reported numbers, was about 6,000,000. The new WHO panel’s assessment: 14.9 million, a number that suggests, with COVID-19 still far from being controlled around the world, the pandemic of 2019-2? might rival the 1918-20 “Spanish” flu pandemic before it’s done.

This is shameful considering how far the field of epidemiology has come since then. In other words, we knew more or less what to do and when to do it as the current pandemic started two-plus years ago. And we—as governments, as citizens—in effect made conscious decisions not to do it.

5/7 Sat.
Four Twin Cities Metro counties are among 21 in the state that have jumped back up into the “moderate” risk category for new COVID cases and hospitalizations. On the graphs, the upturn is quite evident, though still small compared with the huge spike we saw this past winter.

Once again, as I look around at what other people are doing, and try, cautiously, to ease back into a relatively normal social life, I wonder if catching the virus isn’t a certainty for everyone, including me. It looks like, as the virus retools into variants, it’s becoming less lethal, but much more infectious.

I know my odds of dying from COVID have gone way down, but I still don’t trust my damaged lungs to be up to the stress I feel the virus still inflicts on its victims.

5/8 Sun.
I keep wondering how the current strain of coronavirus compares with other diseases in its contagiousness. A Tulane University virologist says that, while COVID keeps evolving to be ever-more contagious, it has not (quite) caught up to measles in its transmissibility. That helps me put the coronavirus into some perspective.

I haven’t seen a comparison of infection numbers, but doctors and researchers estimate that COVID is about ten times as deadly as the common seasonal flu.

5/11 Wed.
Two items: first, today’s Star Tribune’s A section contains not a single mention of COVID-19 or the pandemic. This may not be the first time, but I’m sure it hasn’t happened often.

Second (in B section), the lead article notes that COVID hospitalizations in Minnesota have swelled to levels not seen in two months. The state department of health reports an average of about 1,800 new infections per day, a number last seen in mid-February.

I don’t think these two things are unrelated. What the hell would you expect when so many folks feel life is back to “normal”? (I bought groceries at Cub Foods this afternoon, and I was one of very few shoppers wearing any kind of mask.) People are getting very close together, in many settings, without any protection.

I suspect that, even with very little prominent mention of the pandemic in the paper, people know better than to let their guards down, but are giving in to a strong sense of resignation. We’re getting this bug sooner or later, so we might as well not fight it any more.

5/12 Thur.
The roots of the pandemic have grown wide and deep, and, I’m afraid will last for generations. Just a couple of examples in today’s paper: First, it appears that the number of children in emotional or behavioral crisis is soaring, with one Twin Cities hospital chain—Fairview—reporting a surge in kids being referred to their ERs by counties and social service providers from “one or two such cases a month” to around 20 a month.

And, nationally, drug overdose deaths reached a staggering 107,000 during 2021, a record high. The number is up 15 percent over the previous year, also a record.

5/15 Sun.
South Africa is reporting its new cases at 8,000 per day, up from 300 per day just six weeks ago. Other current hot spots: all of Europe, especially Germany and Portugal; East Asia, especially South Korea and Taiwan; and Australia.

Sally and I have been relatively lax on COVID avoidance when we’re together, both at home and in the car. While it’s wonderful not obsessing, and seeing her more relaxed, I still worry.

5/17 Tues.
A shameful milestone: The U.S. has recorded the 1,000,000th death from COVID-19. It makes the reputation we once thought we enjoyed as an intelligent, generous, evolved society a joke! These MAGA cretins who insist on controlling women’s lives to save the “innocent lives” of fetuses, have no problem claiming their trivial “personal freedoms” for hundreds of thousands of lives that were just as innocent.

The numbers started to become numbing a few months into this pandemic, and now I fear they have gone beyond that to an attitude that looks more like denial. Another attempt at some perspective on this new milestone was being reported yesterday: it’s like the death toll of the 9/11 attacks every single day for nearly a year.

Of course people would rather not think about the impact of their lifestyle choices, their political choices. One of the apparently inherent failings of human nature, I guess. The pandemic has, for me, taken those failings out of the dark corners where they’d resided for most of my life and brought them right out into the light.

5/19 Thur.
COVID sub variants BA.4 and BA.5, known, from their effects in South Africa, to spread easily even in highly immunized populations, have shown up in Minnesota. It’s not clear yet what impact they’ll have on numbers of serious cases and hospitalizations.

5/20 Fri.
The front- / back-page spread of today’s Star Tribune is a brilliant graphic representation of the COVID-19 pandemic’s U.S. death toll, compared with other historic pandemics and armed conflicts.

The entire spread, except for small right and left margins for notations, is what looks to be just a big grey square. But, like most larger areas of color in a newspaper or magazine, it’s actually a very fine grid of barely distinguishable black dots.

Each dot, the legend explains, represents one COVID death in the U.S. Like previous attempts to capture the true enormity of the death toll—like the massive installation of white flags arrayed on the National Mall last year—it is powerful. But it takes a period of quiet contemplation to let the enormity of it actually soak in.

In the left margin of the Star Tribune cover piece is a list of all the states in order of the pandemic’s death toll per 100,000 population in that state. And, as if any further proof were needed of the deadliness of ignorance and hubris, nine of the ten hardest-hit states are either heavily conservative politically (seven of the nine) or lean conservative.

I know it’s not nice, no helpful in any way, but part of me applauds the wisdom of the Cosmos for its attempt—certainly futile—to cull the herd.

5/23 Mon.
I went to a homeowners association meeting with my neighbors this evening. Of the 40 or so attendees, fewer than half wore masks. I was one of them.

I was chatting with a couple of my neighbors after the meeting, and, as I left to walk home I realized that I hadn’t even been aware of whether the two people were masked or not. I also realized that now, after two and a half years of this shit, I’m no longer self conscious about my masking.

As if our utter failure to control COVID weren’t bad enough, there’s yet another plague out there just waiting to do us all in: monkey pox. It’s just recently caught on in the U.S., and is expected to proliferate with the warmer weather this summer.

5/25/22 Wed.
Once again, there is not one mention of COVID-19 in the newspaper’s A section. And just one tangential mention in the B section. I don’t know what this means. I guess that COVID is indeed gradually morphing from a pandemic to an endemic.

5/29/22 Sun.
Last Saturday I had breakfast with a friend. I’m always a bit nervous in any public setting, especially restaurants, where people have to be maskless to eat and drink. Luckily, we were able to eat outdoors, albeit within six feet of a guy at the next table.

My friend told me his daughter and toddler granddaughter had symptoms that could be COVID, and that he’d been in their presence recently. Because I was about four feet away from him, both of us maskless, and because he regularly sprays saliva and food particles when he talks, I was very concerned. I thought about dropping my food and making up some excuse to leave. I did not.

This evening, I just got a text from him saying his daughter and granddaughter have both tested positive for COVID. I asked him if he’s testing too, and sit here nervously awaiting his status. I’ve double-checked CDC guidelines and find that the ideal time to self-test is 4-5 days after suspected exposure or when symptoms appear.

I pray I’ve dodged what might just be the closest bullet to me since the pandemic started.

If I get it, I’m thinking the first thing I’d do is test myself. Then, I think I’d take a course of the prednisone I have on hand for possible bronchitis bouts. Maybe contact my ENT to see if I can get the latest anti-viral drug.

5/30/22 Mon. (Memorial Day)
I finally heard back from my friend, reassuring me that the last time he was with his infected daughter and granddaughter was last Monday, and that since then he’d self-tested negative.

I wasn’t sure why I’d been feeling in a funk these past couple of days. I guessed it was the uncertainty about my possible exposure. That was borne out by my getting the above news this afternoon. My dark cloud has drifted away.

Still, I plan to self-test Wed. night just before my early Thursday flight to Boston. Don’t want to import the virus to my New England family.

6/10/22 Fri.
I’m back from four days in South Shore Boston. I was very careful on my flights and in the airports. And in indoor spaces when I got there. My daughter and I went to a movie, but not before determining that there were only about 20 people in the theater.

We also went to church Sunday—with me having forgotten my mask. We found seats more than six feet from other worshippers, but had not counted on the Congregationalists’ tradition of greeting those sitting around you. I could have demurred, but sucked it up and shook peoples’ hands and bumped elbows.

It’s been quite a while since I reported the official COVID numbers. According to the New York Times’s accounting, yesterday in Minnesota there were 490 new cases reported, and no deaths. Nationally, about 118,000 new cases and 343 deaths.

That sounds pretty good, but it’s still exceeds the number of deaths expected from the crash of a big airplane every single day.

It’s quite clear that people are moving on from whatever concern they may have had about catching the virus. Recently, at sports venues, in stores…even in churches, very few people are masking or social distancing any more.

6/17/22 Fri.
I see it’s been a week since my last entry here. I think that’s another sign that, for all practical purposes, things have returned to “normal,” and that the pandemic is about as over as it will ever be. Almost no one hesitates going anywhere, indoors or out. Almost no one observes distancing nor masking.

Still, average daily new cases in the U.S. number over 100,000, and deaths, around 300. For an epidemiologist, that’s small potatoes, but for 100,000 people and all their friends and family, it’s still anything but.

By comparison, the seasonal influenza we’ve become accustomed to is showing up in less than 2,000  new cases every week, sharply declining from about 6,500 per week over the past few months.

I’m still masking when indoors and still keeping my distance from others as much as possible.

6/22 Wed.
It sure looks like my jottings here are winding down. There just isn’t much about COVID in the news any more, at least partly because it’s getting pushed aside by other concerns. Like the long-awaited Congressional committee hearings on the Jan. 6 insurrection, which has commended front-page attention for the past week or so.

6/23 Thur.
WOW! One day I’m feeling like COVID might just be fading into the background of our lives, and today Sally has tested positive. She started having cold-like symptoms yesterday (stuffy sinuses mostly), and today they’re a bit worse.

She’s not concerned about her own case, but feels very apologetic about exposing me to the bug. We’ve been trying to figure out where she (and possibly we) might have contracted it. One possibility is at the concert we attended last Sunday.

If that was where we got it, it was one of those situations where, try as one might to control one’s exposure to such an omni-present threat, that control can so easily be lost. When I bought the concert tickets I considered only events taking place in the place’s outdoor, tent venue. I figured that would be where air circulation and spacing between tables would be safest.

As it turns out, the day of the concert the temperature was nearly 100 degrees. When we arrived, we were led into one of the club’s indoor stages, the staff explaining that we just wouldn’t be comfortable in the tent. At the time, none of us was about to complain, and frankly I didn’t give it a second thought.

Of course, we can’t be sure that that was where Sally contracted the virus. And now, five days later, I’m facing the closest brush with COVID in nearly two-and-a-half years of zealously, fortunately, avoiding it.

It’s a struggle to not let my own fear swallow up my concern for Sally. I need to focus on helping her through this, and not let myself get stressed out before I even know if I, too, got infected. If I do come down with it, it will be, I’m afraid, a hellish couple of weeks around here.

In the meantime, we’ve called everyone we can think of with whom we might have been in contact over the past week or so, including my men’s group, which met three days ago at our house. Turns out my brother, with whom we attended that concert four days ago, has been having symptoms for the past several days, though he’s self-tested negative.

6/24 Fri.
Day two of Sally’s COVID case. She says she’s about the same as yesterday, which is good news. She has a cough, but so far it’s not frequent. So far, no appreciable body aches.

Meanwhile, I’ve come down with my own minor medical emergency: an ugly abscess on the crease in my groin. Got in to see my doctor, who’s prescribed an antibiotic and given me an urgent referral to surgery to get it lanced. It’s quite painful when I walk, which means my Sylvia duties are a bit limited.

Given our perilous situation, I’m wondering what it is that’s keeping me from being more afraid than I am. After all, we’re in a pandemic that’s killed 6,300,000 people. I’ve read the stories of the last great pandemic that terrorized people in 1918. For two-and-a-half years I’ve obsessed over staying away from the COVID virus.

And now it is in my home.

My wife has COVID, and I’m at the greatest risk I’ve seen to date. So now is when I get to really understand what it’s like to face the scenario I’ve been dreading for so long. Why am I not falling apart?

I truly believe neither of us will die from the disease. First, we’re both vaccinated and boosted with all the shots available to date. Second, at least for Sally, I know that, if her symptoms get worse I can get the anti-viral treatment, Paxlovid for her. And finally, I know that she’s a tough nut to crack for any illness.

As for myself, even though I’m not as tough as Sally, I do have the same medical options. And I have plenty of 3M N-95 masks and Lysol disinfectant to protect myself.

What’s more, I think there’s some kind of simple faith at work. Faith that we’re smart enough and in good enough shape that we can weather the storm.

I got my abscess dealt with (it was actually a cyst), and am feeling much better. Afterward, Sally and I spend a very pleasant hour together (socially distanced and me masked most of the time) having a cocktail and catching some sun on our deck. I’m feeling very optimistic.

6/25 Sat.
Day two of Sallys’s infection. She’s feeling slightly better, and certainly sounds and acts like this isn’t going to knock her down for long. She’s planning to self-test again tomorrow, and is counting on getting back into action by Monday (actually only day four of her five-day quarantine).

I self-tested again today. Still negative.

6/26 Sun.
Day three with COVID present in our home. Sally’s feeling, if anything, a tiny bit better. We’re both encouraged that she’s not getting worse. She’s developing a pretty bad case of confinement and isolation—despite my efforts to check in and chat once in a while.

We’re going for a walk later—both of us masked. That will do both of us a world of good.

In today’s big Star Tribune, just one mention of COVID in either the A—national— or B—state and local— sections: that 40,000 members of the National Guard remain unvaccinated. (Pretty hard to believe after a good year-and-a-half since the vaccines were rolled out.

6/27 Mon.
Day four for Sally. She’s so anxious to get out of quarantine that I’m afraid she’s ready to overlook some of the rules for when that can happen. Hard to believe that the guidelines she’s been finding don’t suggest at least one negative test result.

Sally tested again yesterday. The first one had shown only a faint “T” line; this time it was quite definite.

Anyway, I’m looking forward to things getting back to normal…and praying we make it through this without my catching it. (I just found out that the old friend with whom I was to have lunch today has come down with the plague. I can only hope his bout is as mild as Sally’s has been.

A highlight of these last few days has been our “poop walks” with Sylvia. We both wear our masks, and thoroughly enjoy the camaraderie, fresh air, and exercise.

6/29 Wed.
Day six of Sally’s spat with COVID. She seems quite close to 100 percent, not coughing, headache gone, energy level much higher. She took her temperature again--the third time, I think--and again it's normal. 

She hasn't done another self-test, since none of the quarantine/isolation guidelines mentions a negative test as one of the recommendations for ending one's isolation. Still, I'm sure that at some point we'll have to test again just for a sense of closure.

While still being very considerate of my comfort level, Sally’s easing up on her isolation—with my blessing.

I’m still going to mask when in close proximity, but we’re ready to celebrate. We may go out for dinner, or maybe just get Chinese takeout. I’m so proud of Sally for her attitude throughout this scare. I’m not sure I’m quite out of the woods as far as having caught the virus from her, but by this weekend, I’ll (we’ll both) breathe a lot easier.

In COVID news, the Minnesota Department of Health has, due to continuing low numbers, stopped its daily reports of state COVID stats, switching to weekly reports. After 27 months!

The Congressional hearings on the January 6 insurrection continue in Washington, with ever-more damning testimony emerging about T***p's outrageous tantrums and criminal attempts to overthrow the presidential election. (I mention this only because the fool's gold president has also played such a pivotal role in misleading and mis-leading the millions of Americans dumb enough to listen to him. If criminal charges and convictions don't emerge from these hearings, I'm afraid we're in for a truly hellish ...well, rest of my life.)

7/3 Sun.
Day ten of Sally’s COVID. Even though she still tested positive yesterday, she’s met all the CDC’s requirements for getting back into circulation after isolation. (Surprisingly, those guidelines do not include a negative home test.) Nonetheless, she did take a test this morning…and it still shows a faint “T” line. I hope we’re not jumping the gun by hanging out closer together so soon.

Anyway, we’re pretty much back to normal: Sally’s at a Twins game today; we’re going to a Willius family get-together tomorrow; enjoying Fourth of July weekend.

7/5 Tues.
I hope I’m not jinxing anything, but I feel pretty much out of the woods as far as catching COVID from Sally. She’s feeling 100 percent again and will be trying another self test in the next couple of days.

Thursday we’ll be going to a big-time musical at the Orpheum. Makes me nervous, but I’ll wear an N-95, so I should be okay.

The epidemic of mass shootings continues across the U.S.—most recently in Highland Park IL, where a 20-year-old monster shot into the crowd at a Fourth of July parade, killing seven and injuring 30-plus. It’s also happening in other countries—most recently in a Copenhagen mall.

I know I’ve claimed the connection between such violence and the pandemic, but it seems clearer every day that there’s a connection. Sure, there are other factors making people crazy, but wouldn’t it make sense that the COVID plague, with its astounding death toll, might be conspiring with violent video games, parental incompetence and other forces, to warp impressionable minds and utterly desensitize them to death?

7/8 Fri.
My sixteen-year-old granddaughter, Callie, on an Outward Bound trip in California, has tested positive for COVID, and is being “evacuated” from the field. As of yesterday, she hadn’t yet been able to be in touch by phone with her parents. We are all hoping that she will have a mild case, if any. And I hope the experience won’t end up tarnishing this, her first big independence challenge.

I also hope that, somehow, Callie is the only camper who’s affected.

Last night Sally and I went to the Temptations musical at the Orpheum. A bit uncomfortable staying masked during the whole evening—including Uber rides to and from—but very few other people were masked, so probably a good idea.

I’m concerned about my good friend, Todd, who for the past week has had some bug with symptoms quite similar to those of COVID: fatigue, body aches, dizziness… He’s self-tested and has seen several doctors so far, and still no diagnosis, though it’s apparently not COVID. They’re testing for Lyme disease.

The main source of COVID infections in Minnesota now is the fast-spreading BA.5 variant. But new infections are down from more than 2,100 per day in mid-May to just 1,300 for the last week of June. June’s deaths were at 107, compared with 1,081 last December at the peak of the last pandemic wave.

7/11 Mon.
Once in a while, the pandemic sneaks back onto the front page of the newspaper. Today’s mention only supports my long-held belief that we’ve declared—or at least wishfully thought—prematurely, that the thing is over and done with.

Todays article: “Over? Not so fast. Virus is still evolving”. It says that in the past week that CDC has reported an average of about 100,000 new cases (most of them BA.5) per day. But that epidemiologists think the real number might be as high as A MILLION! Even though we’ve not yet seen as dramatic a spike in hospitalizations, one researcher, from Scripps, calls it “the worst version of the virus that we’ve seen.”

7/13 Wed.
COVID’s finagling its way back to page one news. And I’m finding it alarming that about 95 percent of people I see from day to day show no sign of concern—no masking, no distancing, not a care in the world. Or are they all simple resigned to getting the virus?

The latest variant, BA.5, apparently has the ability to sidestep vaccination, spreading very fast, though with what looks like less severe illness than previous strains. Less than ideal vaccination rates, even in developed countries like the US, worry health officials as much as ever.

I must continue to be as vigilant as ever with my masking and distancing! Pretty discouraging, after about two-and-a-half years of this, to still have to be this careful.

7/15 Fri.
The new variants are spreading so quickly—and people are so numb to it—that the city of Los Angeles is considering reinstating their masking mandate for indoor public spaces. I wonder how far it will spread. That is, will we have a whole new round of public officials trying to get people to do what they’re too stupid to do on their own?

Believe me, every day I wake up without symptoms is a good day, but it’s like the vast majority of my fellow human beings has decided to not lift a finger to put out a fire that keeps smoldering, threatening to kill yet more hundreds of thousands of people. Pretty discouraging.

7/22 Fri.
President Biden has COVID. With political leaders, one can never be sure, but he appears to be tolerating it well, having delivered a couple of messages from his quarantine quarters, and insisting he’s working hard.

The BA.5 surge continues unabated, now accounting for some 70 percent of all new cases.

7/28 Thur.
President Biden has come through his bout with COVID and returned to his regular schedule and contacts.

I continue to give thanks each morning I wake up with no COVID (or any other) symptoms.

7/29 Fri.
Almost certainly because of people’s decisions that getting back to “normal” is more important than Gramps or Aunt Helen dying a horrible, gasping death, COVID-19 is holding its own here in Minnesota. And, I think, in the rest of the country.

Last week, Minnesota’s rate of new infections held steady at about 1,400 per day. And deaths are up just a tad, at an average of six per day. Still troubling is the BA-5 variant’s ability to muscle its way through even the most thorough four-jab vaccination. In fact, about 70 percent of both new cases and deaths.

What’s more, BA-5 is infecting many people who’ve already had COVID and assumed that afforded them some degree of immunity. Nope.

This just bolsters my determination to continue being extremely careful out there—masking, distancing, sanitizing, and, as always, being mindful of the direction of air flow around me. I still have to walk the tightrope between safety and respect when I’m around Sally—who’s once again off to Texas for ten days of closeness with grandchildren.

8/2 Tues.
President Biden’s come down with COVID again—with no symptoms--just a few days after recovering from a first round. It’s becoming clear that it’s common for patients taking Paxlovid to have an “encore” case of the virus.

According to a study led by a Washington University epidemiologist, reinfection significantly increases—by two-and-a-half times—one’s risk for long-term heart or lung problem.

8/5 Fri.
I’m thinking back to the time when it first became evident that the pandemic was not going to be a months-long inconvenience, but a very long-term, deadly scourge. At that time I, and I’m sure lots of folks, started doing what oppressed and besieged people have always done: we dreamt about what we’d do once the world got back to whatever new normal would be left us.

But, as I’ve opined here more than once, that’s not exactly how this plague was going to work. Relief was to come so gradually that none of us could tell when the thing was over.

It’s still clearly not over, but people are moving on to one degree or another. (I’m still masking, distancing and being quite aware of my surroundings, but the vast majority of people appear to have moved on entirely.

The point is I need to recall those unspoken promises to myself about what I’d do “after COVID.” I must reclaim my life as much as I can. Of course, in many cases this will involve a balance between renewed freedom and safety.

Sally’s been doing that far better than I have, resuming her ambitious schedule of flying to Texas for time with Matt, Shari and the kids. I’ve been slower out of the gate, but have managed a couple of trips to New England, as well as resuming Sally’s and my much beloved spring vacations in Mexico.

Really big for me is my recent booking of the trip I’d planned and scuttled last year to Oaxaca, Mexico for Day of the Dead in late October and early November. There will still be a few concerns and compromises to stay safe (like having to continue my Spanish learning and practice while masked), but the important part is the reclaiming of the dream.

8/9 Tues.
I’m feeling a bit nervous about the upcoming visit of Sally’s ten-year-old granddaughter, Maddie. Because kids—including my own teenage grandchildren—can’t really be expected to be careful about spreading disease, who knows what she might be bringing into our house. And we’ll surely be sharing the same room, likely within a few feet of each other.

I can only do my best to manage the situation—short of offending either Maddie or Sally. Or should I insist on safety, as long as it doesn’t inconvenience them? The continuing question of the past two-and-a-half years.

8/12 Fri.
Interesting, telling juxtaposition of articles in today’s Star Tribune: Page one: The CDC has dropped its key guidelines for dealing with COVID-19, including social distancing and quarantining after known contact with an infected person. The move reflects the fact that, between vaccinations and surviving a bout with the virus, an estimated 95 percent of Americans have acquired some degree of immunity.

Then, these two headlines on page three: “U.S. virus cases soaring,” and “COVID cases in China hit 3-month high.” The reason for the apparent disparity is that the deadliness of the latest strains of the virus continues to fall, reaching a rate “rapidly approaching that of the annual flu,” according to one official.

Are these signs we’re finally coming out the end of this long, dark tunnel? All I know is that, deadly or not, the virus is still something I’ll do everything I can reasonably do to avoid.

8/20 Sat.
I went to a Minnesota Vikings pre-season game tonight at U.S. Bank Stadium. I wore a mask in the car on the way to the game with two friends. Once we got there I continued masking except when I was drinking my beer or eating my brat.

I’ve not felt self-conscious about masking for the past year or so, but tonight I was quite aware of how much I must have stood out to other fans. I’ll bet I got a look at the faces of several thousand people in the concourses and just looking around from our seats. And I saw not a single other person masked in that crowd.

That seems a striking sign that nearly everyone here—and, I suspect, across the country—has all but moved on from COVID thinking. I am not there yet.

8/31 Wed.
As summer ’22 winds down and COVID succeeds in blending in to our “normal” lives, I find myself jotting entries here less often. Many days, the pandemic’s not even been making it into the newspaper. People have either lapsed into denial, or they’ve just become resigned to catching the virus and moving on with their lives.

The Minnesota State Fair is halfway through it’s 12-day run, with attendance still about 20 percent short of pre-pandemic numbers. Still, well over a million people will have been literally rubbing shoulders out there—very likely unmasked.

That and the approach of a new school year threaten to feed the plague more fuel as we head into winter, when folks will once again be home- and office-bound for about five months.

Epidemiologist Michael Osterholm says infection rates have been fairly steady all summer, having reached a high, but stable level—a “high plateau.”

Meanwhile, in what appears a case of terrible timing, the federal government will shut down its free-COVID-at-home-tests program this Friday. Minnesota will continue its free-tests program for now, and I’ve ordered another allotment of eight kits.

My much anticipated late-October/early November trip to Oaxaca Mexico is fast approaching. I’d hoped maybe by then I’d be able to feel quite unencumbered by necessary COVID precautions.

But that, apparently, will not be the case. I will still be masking whenever indoors or even outdoors when in a crowd. And I’ll continue preferring outdoor spaces to indoor ones for any kind of social interactions (like my Spanish classes).

9/2 Fri.
Only a few years of hindsight will tell the whole story of the pandemic’s impact on life here in the U.S. and around the world.

But signs of it are evident every day and in nearly every aspect of our lives. For example, just today I see that math and reading test scores for U.S. students have declined significantly since COVID joined the student body—seven and five percentage points respectively. It’s the worst setback in 30 years.

And this stat kind of shocked me: Still, after all the attempts by nearly everyone to put the pandemic in the rearview mirror, only about 40 percent of downtown Minneapolis workers have returned to work in the offices they called work prior to the pandemic.

9/4 Sun.
At last, the third COVID booster shot—one updated to specifically address the wide-ranging omicron variant—is being distributed around the country. It’s being reported that it will help not just to lessen the power of the virus to send victims to the hospital or kill them, but also fend off infection in the first place.

I’ll be checking Health Partners’s website regularly for word of when folks can start making appointments. I’m hoping I can get my jab well before I head to Mexico in six weeks.

9/10 Sat.
I’ve scheduled my third booster (Pfizer again, this one described as “bivalent”) for next week, just before I fly to Boston. This will give my confidence a boost, not just for this venture outside my normal routines, but for my upcoming trip to Oaxaca, Mexico. Still, I will not let my guard down.

9/13 Tue.
It’s been ages since I cited my go-to source for COVID date, the New York Times. It’s tempting to believe that the eschewal of nearly all Americans of any effort to limit the impact of the virus as proof that it’s simply gone away.

The truth: Yesterday saw 87,500 new cases of COVID across the U.S.  And 437 confirmed deaths. That’s still like a couple of major airplane crashes every day. But hey, they’re just old people who didn’t have much of a life anyway, right?

9/15 Thur.
Got my third booster this morning. Hoping for no more of a reaction than I had to all previous Pfizer jabs. Got my seasonal flu vax too—in the other arm.

Meanwhile, daughter Amanda tells me her husband, Dana, has COVID. He’s on a business trip in Connecticut and is having a miserable time with the illness. She said he nearly got to the point last night, with headache and sore throat, of calling 911. Wow!

So, I’ve rescheduled my planned/booked visit to their house in Boston for the following week. Sadly, since my original fare was a real steal, and since airlines no longer offer free flight changes due to COVID, the round trip cost will double!

9/19 Mon.
President Biden said last night in a CBS TV 60-Minutes interview that the COVID plague in the U.S. is over. “We still have a problem with Covid,” he said. “We’re still doing a lot of work on it. But the pandemic is over.”

This gaffe is truly unfortunate. First, it takes the wind out of the sails of public health officials still trying to keep people motivated to be careful about the still-robust spread of the virus.

Secondly, and I think more damaging, it fuels the continuing insanity among Republicans claiming any government efforts to manage the pandemic are—and always have been, for that matter—an egregious overreach.

9/23 Fri.
Two items of interest side by side in todays Star Tribune: First, according to a study led by the Veterans Affairs St. Louis Health Care System, former COVID-19 patients had a 42 percent higher risk of brain and nerve conditions like Alzheimer’s and stroke than those who’ve never had the disease.

That, assuming that this study is supported by continuing research, is yet another reason people should still be taking COVID seriously.

The second item is news that, in Minnesota, daily new COVID cases have dropped below 1,000 for the first time since April.

10-2 Sun.
Just got back from a few days visiting my daughter and grandkids in Boston. I think I was careful enough traveling, but once I was there, close contact was unavoidable. My grandson, Connor, had just gotten over a bad case of strep, and was still coughing now and then—without covering his mouth at all. I tried to stay far away, but could easily have been exposed to something.

And last night I went to a party at my friend, Silverio’s house. There were about ten or twelve people there, and I was worried that, since it was drizzling, we might be forced indoors. But we had drinks and dinner in the open garage.

Still, I was nervous since we were all quite close together and I was kind of forced to dance with one of Silverio’s colleagues. Some hugging of folks on arriving and leaving too.

Now, next day, my throat is feeling a little iffy. I’m hoping it will pass, but, especially with my big Oaxaca trip coming up, I really don’t want to get sick--even if it only turned out to be a cold.

10/3 Mon.
Well that came on fast! Last evening, I started feeling a very slight sore throat. I kept waking up during the night hoping it would pass, but it’s just gotten worse. And this morning it feels like a full-fledged cold: runny nose, sore throat, cough and a little general weakness. So far today it hasn’t gotten any worse, but we’ll see about tonight.

To say I’m terrified it’s COVID-19 would be a stretch; I’m concerned. I took a test and it came out negative. So, I guess I’ll just treat it as a cold, hoping it doesn’t balloon into yet another nasty case of bronchitis per my experience over the past decade or so.

I’ve started myself on a course of prednisone, which my ENT prescribed to nip such progressions in the bud. If no improvement in a few days, I’ll start on the antibiotics.

I’m relieved to not have to self-quarantine nor contact everyone I’ve been close to the past few days.

10/5 Wed.
My early cold-like symptoms have once again ballooned into a full-on sinus infection and cough. I had a very slight fever, so I’ve started on Cephalexin antibiotic, blitzing the infection with a heavy, 10-day regimen.

But I’m sure it’s not COVID. Nonetheless, I’ve postponed a dentist appointment and my weekly hospice patient visit.

I’m realizing how closely I may have dodged a COVID bullet by putting myself in a setting where I so easily picked up this sinus thing. I have to be more careful. Even though it’s not COVID—this time—it’s still no fun.

Fortunately, I anticipate being over it in time for my trip to Oaxaca in two-an-a-half weeks.

10/10 Mon.
As my Oaxaca trip nears, I’m hoping not to have too many second thoughts about reclaiming this dream while COVID-19 still rages in many places around the world.

As I imagine my daily comings and goings in Oaxaca, it’s hard to imagine wearing a mask in every risky situation—especially when I’m trying to understand other people speaking Spanish. Not to mention just feeling free and uninhibited.

I’ll insist on keeping any sit-down class work outdoors, though I suspect there may be some situations in which that will be impossible without being a drag on teachers or fellow students. And socializing…I guess I’ll just have to play that by ear.

And, no matter how careful I am, the trip still feels like a leap of faith.

10/12 Wed.
I’m becoming painfully aware of the clash between my wanting my upcoming Oaxaca trip to be carefree and joyous, and my deeply engrained caution about COVID—and any other bug I might catch.

As I picture my daily comings and goings in that beautiful, vibrant city, I’d like to think I could hang out with my fellow students, visit the home of a local family or drop into a coffee shop or bar without worrying about masking and distancing. But the reality is that the virus is still around.

Yesterday, according to Google, there were 14 new cases of COVID in Oaxaca state. That’s good because just two months ago that number was peaking, once again, at around 500. And I should keep reminding myself that I’ve just gotten my third booster, which should help keep me safe.

Now that I’ve just weathered another bout with sinusitis and borderline bronchitis,—very likely contracted at a party—I guess I should worry more about that kind of exposure than COVID. But maybe having just had that illness will render a repeat infection less likely.

10/13 Thurs.
One of a thousand little changes I’m noticing over the past several months that ever-so-gradually suggest that the pandemic may be nearly over: Today, at my weekly hospice patient visit, the reception procedure no longer required me to take my temperature and provide my phone number for contact tracing.

Masking, however, is still required by both the facility and my hospice program.

10/23 Sun.
I’ve arrived safely in Oaxaca, Mexico. The usual precautions throughout my two flights, as well as in the airports and in cabs.

Now all I have to worry about is all the casual exposure one can hardly avoid when going to school (Spanish) and hanging around other people. I’ll do my level best to avoid indoor gatherings of any kind.

As we noticed in Zihuatanejo last March, the Mexicans here observe masking far better than anywhere I’ve been in the U.S. over the past six months.

10/28 Fri.
With the growing fervor around Day of the Dead, it’s nearly impossible to avoid close contact with people, though nearly all of it’s outdoors. I do mask up whenever I enter a building, and sometimes even on the street, when I see that I’ll have to run a gauntlet of folks crowding the sidewalk.

Today, I spent a few hours in a taxi, exploring a bit outside the city. We had the windows open the whole time, but just to be safe, I wore one of my N-95s.

11/5 Sat.
Last night here in Oaxaca, and I’m feeling very, very blessed that I haven’t come down with COVID—or anything else—while unavoidably rubbing shoulders with my fellow students in language school and the thousands of people who’ve overrun the city before and during Día de los Muertos events this past week or more.

As I’ve noted, many Mexicans—far more than U.S. people—are still observing COVID protocols with masking and hand sanitizing—if not social distancing.

Fingers crossed for my flight home tomorrow, but I think being in an airplane might just be the safest place I’ve been for the past two weeks.

11/13 Sun.
Some two years and eight months after I started this tome, the effort is finally feeling like it’s run its course. It’s hard to know for sure how much of the COVID-19 virus and its variants are still out there. But there are a number of reasons to feel, at long last, that we’re all but done with it.

I should start by saying I don’t consider people’s—especially Americans’—behavior any indicator that the pandemic is over. We knew, long ago, even when the virus was rampant, that about 30-40 percent of my countrymen are either fatalists or ignorant members of a political / religious extremist cult.

I place my trust in other, more telling signs. First, there’s hardly any mention of the pandemic in the news any more. Clearly, other challenges have grown more urgent.

Secondly, I know I’ve been exposed more and more to situations in which, even though I’m still masked and am careful to steer clear of people’s coughs and sneezes, I’d expect to have contracted the virus if it remains at all pervasive out there.

Third, some businesses and institutions whose judgement I respect, have finally eased their voluntary continuation of what were once official public health mandates. At my coffee shop, the Workhorse, I can once again see the faces of the folks who make my morning Joe.

11/17 Thur.
I’ve started entering some businesses unmasked. I guess you could call it testing the water. Some of the easier ones first, like the coffee shop—as long as I do take-out. Picking Sylvia up at doggy daycare.

Clouding the un-masking decision is what’s looking like a very premature spiking in cases of the regular flu and something similar running rampant through many schools. Though I’ve gotten my flu shot, I think I’ll continue masking when I’m around kids in tight spaces.

11/18 Fri.
As it has countless times before the virus, just as I think I’m seeing a weakness, speaks up again and says, Not so fast!

This morning, I read that, between continuing COVID cases and the early surge in regular, seasonal flu, Minnesota hospitals are feeling the squeeze again.

11/29 Tues.
China’s “Zero COVID” policy, mandating business and community lockdowns when even a single case of the virus is detected, has resulted in massive, violent demonstrations in many parts of the country.

Today, after a pretty lame attempt to placate protesters with minor concessions failed to dampen the rebellious activity, the government cracked down with curfews, preemptive arrests and unwarranted searches of people’s cell phones. And, voila, the demonstrations have ceased…for now.

12/11/22 Sun.
China has had to loosen its draconian COVID-19 controls, which apparently saw the government locking down entire companies and neighborhoods when a single case of the virus was detected. Large numbers of Chinese have been demonstrating for several weeks.

Some numbers are down in the past week, but the consensus is still that much of the world is (or at least should be) in crisis mode for this winter’s confluence of COVID, seasonal flu and respiratory syncytial viruses.

Hospitals, including those here in the Twin Cities, are once again packed to nearly the max with all of these patients. Once again putting doctors, nurses and paramedics into the soul-grinding, numbers-depleting combat zone of today’s health care.

12/22/22 Thur.   
I’ve arrived in South Shore Boston, having just beaten one of the worst blizzards to hit Minnesota in a while.

The plan is to spend a couple of days here before driving with daughter Amanda and family up to her parents-in-law’s home on the coast of Maine. My son, Jeff, and his partner, Amy, will drive over from Montpelier and join us. All sounds wonderful, and I’ve been looking forward to it for weeks.

Then this morning, suddenly, everything looks different. Amanda and Jeff’s mom, Leslie, who’s driving up from Cape Cod to join the get-together, called to say she’s tested positive for COVID and will not be coming after all.

What’s more, she and Amanda, and my grandson, Connor, spent quite a bit of time riding around in a car with Leslie just three days ago.

So, what that means to me, someone who’s terrified of catching anything, not to mention COVID-19, is that two people I may be spending four hours in the car with tomorrow may have the virus. They have no symptoms, but symptoms can emerge anywhere between three and six days after exposure.

This is clearly the riskiest situation I’ve found myself in since the whole mess started nearly three years ago. And I’m afraid my options are limited.

One thing I’m considering, since everyone else is committed to heading to Maine, is to stay behind here in Dedham, spend Christmas alone, and pray I can head home as planned on the 26th without having gotten sick.

It may well be just a reflection of how deep my anxiety is about catching the plague, but ever since hearing of Leslie’s condition I’ve been feeling light-headed and slightly off-balance walking.

If I do drive up to Maine with my family, I’ll have to keep masked just as zealously as I do when I’m flying or in a crowded public space. I’ll also suggest that everyone self-test, not just for my sake, but for the sake of Dana’s parents, who are generally healthy, but are in their late 70s / early 80s, and his sister, who’s been quite sickly with after-effects of a bad case of Lyme disease and long-term COVID.

I’m trying to stay positive and not worry about anything I can’t do anything about, but it’s very hard. The next few days could be the joyous time I’d hoped for—with a huge helping of relief, or they could be a real nightmare.

12/24/22 Sat.
It’s Christmas Eve, and I’m thanking God for every hour that goes by with my—and nobody’s—having any symptoms of COVID. I don’t think I’ll really feel I’m out of the woods until the holidays are over and I’m back to my normal, rather solitary, routine.

Leslie says she’s turned the corner and is feeling better each day.

12/27/22 Tue.
I’m back home and, at least so far, feeling healthy. If I stay that way, I’ll consider it another bullet dodged in my efforts to avoid COVID and other respiratory viruses.

An analysis by the Commonwealth Fund, conducted by medical and public health researchers from several major universities, estimates that the monumental, incredibly rapid development and release of the COVID vaccines prevented some 3.2 million deaths in the U.S.

It’s further proof—as if any more were needed— of the reckless ignorance of folks who’ve disparaged the vaccines’ effectiveness.

2023+++++++++++++++++++++++2023+++++++++++++++++++++++++

1/1/23
With much gratitude I reflect on having survived a third year of the COVID-19 era. That despite having relaxed considerably with our attending a few public events, dining out and traveling just about as much as ever.

I’ve become a member of a pretty select group: those of us who’ve not yet contracted the corona virus. A few possible and even probable exposures, and one onset of possible symptoms (which proved to be just a cold).

I plan to continue common-sense measures: masking when around others indoors; keeping away from people who are coughing or look sick; hand sanitizing and washing; and keeping myself healthy through diet, exercise and spiritual practice.

1/9/23
It seems China, in response to growing popular unrest over its strict COVID control measures, has simply given up trying to control the virus. First, it lifted its nearly three-year-old virtual lockdown within its borders.

Then, just recently, it re-opened its borders to travelers from the rest of the world, which has public health officials concerned, since older forms of the virus are running rampant over China—situation similar to that the rest of the world experienced in early 2020.

Meanwhile, in the U.S. and much of the rest of the world, COVID has morphed once again, with the dominant variant, XBB.1.5 (nicknamed “Kraken”) now responsible for over 40 percent of U.S. cases.

Kraken is being called the most easily transmitted variant to date, the best at outwitting whatever immunity people have from vaccines or previous infections.

So the depressing truth is that the pandemic, regardless of our desperate wishes to act as if it’s over, is not going away. Far from it. It’s still producing around 67,000 reported new cases per day in the U.S., 47,000 folks currently hospitalized, and over 500 deaths (five times the number of Americans killed in car crashes every day).

1/17 ’23 Tues.
Since China lifted its strict COVID controls in December, the country’s national health commission has revised its data. The result? Instead of the previously reported 37 deaths in hospitals, it now admits that it’s actually been nearly 60,000. And even that could easily be a serious undercount. One epidemiology expert estimates the real number at well over 400,000.

Given that COVID’s latest variant, having gained a foothold in the northeast U.S.,  is running rampant across the country, I still wake up every single morning with a prayer on my lips: Thank you God for my not having symptoms!

1/23 ’23
I’m reading that many hospitals are now more or less resigned to the fact that COVID-19 is here to stay. Like the common seasonal flu, it can be expected to surge and retreat all the time, perhaps annually, with people’s seasonal activities.

That notion challenges my determination not EVER to catch COVID.

Right now, the highly transmissible, immunity-evading XBB.1.5 variant is accounting for about half of all new U.S. infections.

It’s been four months since I got my last booster, so I’ll ask my doctor at my upcoming annual physical if I can get another.

2/11 Sat.
COVID is hardly ever in the news any more. If I do see an article in the paper, it’s buried a few pages deep. And most of those lately have been about declines in cases and hospitalizations.

For all practical purposes, it feels like the COVID-19 pandemic of 2020-22 is over—or as over as it’s ever going to get.

My health precautions these days are aimed as much at other diseases as much as COVID. About the only places where I still see anyone wearing a mask are at the doctor’s office and at some public performances. Airport? No. Sporting events? Uh-uh. Grocery shopping? Nope. (Call me old-fashioned, but I love the fact that the entire studio audience of The Late Show with Steven Colbert still has to mask up!)

I did ask my primary care doc. about getting another COVID booster (and also a seasonal flu booster). He nixed both, saying neither has been authorized or distributed. So I’ll have to live with the knowledge that my protection with both vaccinations has dwindled month by month for quite a while.

3/6 Mon.
It’s hard to believe, but the three-year anniversary of my first entry in this tome is coming up. And it was just a week or so before that (about Mar. 10, 2020) that we first heard about this corona virus thing apparently catching on in China and starting to spread elsewhere.

Sally and I are back here in Zihuatanejo, Guerrero, Mexico for our annual March stay, and this year, finally, we’re feeling that the world may just be about as over this pandemic as it ever will be.

Very few of the Mexicans we see and interact with every day—and the tourists still here now that the busy season’s almost over—now wear masks. I still wear one on a lanyard around my neck, so that whenever I have to go into a crowded shop or along an especially busy sidewalk I whip it on, just to be on the safe side.

4/18 Tues.
Having survived yet another trip to Mexico, and the four-and-a-half-hour confines of airplanes, I’m feeling lucky to still not have gotten COVID. I’ve eased up just a bit more on my masking practice, but still worry about letting down my guard.

Just the other day Michael Osterholm, the epidemiologist, reported that he’d dropped his guard, taking just a 30-second elevator ride without masking…and paying the price. A cautionary tale.

Just the other day I found myself in what could well be the most dangerous situation of the whole shit show for me. I met my friends, Silverio and Larry, for lunch at a little restaurant in St. Paul.

I found Larry at a small table back in one corner—just where I like it, away from most other people. Then Silverio walks in—or should I say stumbles in. He looks horrible; it’s obvious that he’s sick. I ask him what’s ailing him and he explains that he’s got a sore throat, chest congestion, a cough and really bad body aches.

Larry and I both blurt simultaneously “You’ve got COVID!” He shrugs his shoulders as if to say “whatever.” I ask him if he’s tested himself, and he pretty much dismisses the idea.

The old—up to a few months ago—me would have excused myself on the spot and walked out of there. But this time I felt that would be awkward and stuck it out—though I was glad I was at least across the table from Silverio and not right next to him like Larry.

I also became quite aware of what felt like a decent air flow in the room, coming at us from the side, which gave me a bit of comfort, but I was still on pins and needles for the rest of the meal. And struggling with the anger I was feeling at my friend for being so careless with a couple of vulnerable senior citizens.

This morning, as diplomatically as possible, I asked Silverio how he’s feeling, and if he’s tested for COVID. His response: feeling much better, and “have not seen a doctor.” As if that answers my question. I’m still pissed. And counting the days (three now) till I can safely say I’ve dodged another bullet.

5/3 Wed.
I’ve scheduled my next booster, this one my sixth Pfizer shot, my second of the bivalent version, which targets the omicron variant.

People I know are still getting COVID, but, amazingly, neither I nor at least four of my friends still haven’t caught it. I’m much less cautious than I was a few months ago, choosing not to mask in some situations where I can be fairly sure the space won’t be crowded. Hoping that the (late) arrival of Spring and warmer weather will slow down the spread of all contagions.

5/6 Sat.
The pandemic emergency declared by the WHO, initiated more than three years ago, is now officially over according to the organization’s executive director. However, WHO officials were quick to caution that, “While the emergency phase is over, COVID is not.”

Meanwhile, coronavirus levels found in Twin Cities area wastewater have fallen 69 percent in the past ten weeks, a further sign that we’re all but past the plague.

Nonetheless, I’m still hearing of friends’ family members contracting the virus.

The latest figures: “official” death toll to date: 7,000,000 souls. But some public health experts say deaths are really closer to 20,000,000. It’s really hard to put either of those numbers in perspective.

7/27 Thu.
I see that it’s been nearly three months since my last entry here. I’d say that’s an accurate indicator of how much my concerns about COVID have abated since then. It rarely rears its ugly head in the news these days.

I do occasionally hear of someone—usually a friend or relative of a friend or relative—coming down with the virus, but I’d say my day-to-day worry about it is a small fraction of what it was even a year ago, when new infections in Minnesota were running about 1,400 per day. Today, looking at the Minnesota Department of Health’s and the New York Times’s data, it’s hard to even find a number for current daily infections.

I still put on a mask whenever I enter a building I know will be crowded, and often carry one just in case I encounter an unexpected crowd. I don’t think I’ll ever want to use any less caution, since, even if COVID risk were zero, I’d still like to avoid the regular seasonal flu—and even the common cold—as much as possible.