One week ago I did the unthinkable. I gave up. I was done. I was beaten by a virus running amok in a chaotic, divided country led by a president without a plan. I spent eight months in quarantine, ten months struggling with a cough that tormented me day and night for weeks at a time and then let up for a week or two and came back, sometimes better, sometimes worse. I struggled each month to make the budget work, and my family communication was sporadic at
best. And just like the heroine in one of my stories, I was trying to get to a place of safety and comfort fourteen hundred miles away.
best. And just like the heroine in one of my stories, I was trying to get to a place of safety and comfort fourteen hundred miles away.
Thwarted at every turn, I began to lose faith in my journey. I was too old, too weak, too poor, too cowardly, too... alone.
I spent hours in meditation, prayer, and overly dramatic, out-loud arguments with God and the spirits of those I’ve loved and lost over the years.
Covid-19 was going to be my Waterloo. I was surrounded and outwitted by a tiny virus invisible to the naked eye and unless some eye-popping miracle dropped into my lap I was trapped for another year in a leaking trailer in need of repair at a place that was becoming too expensive for my fixed income to maintain.
I’ve been predicting an apocalyptic event since the early seventies. At that time I was married to a loving and indulgent husband who agreed the city was not the place to raise our children. So we left L.A and moved to forty acres of raw land in Northern California determined to build a thriving homestead. (I can’t count the number of times I’ve longed to be back on that forty-acre hilltop).
However of all the calamitous events I examined, researched, and wrote about over the years, I avoided pandemics entirely. I could not wrap my head around an invisible enemy that was everywhere and spread like wildfire by hiding in seemingly healthy people. At least Zombies are visible. Many of the Covid infected are not.
You can’t beat a pandemic. All you can do is hope your country is prepared for it, and, if we the people do our part, it submits to our control and we return to some semblance of normalcy.
Other countries have managed to control it, certainly the nation with the brightest minds in medicine and science could do the same and more.
But it takes years to develop vaccines, so then we still have to learn to live with Covid-19 forever lurking around the next corner, invisible but not quite as deadly. Where’s the happy ending in that?
No. I’ll take an EMP, foreign invasion, or frozen wasteland over a pandemic any day. Disasters that can be fought and won by skill, heart, and a united community of patriots is morecompatible with this storyteller’s limited mindset.
Unfortunately, I don’t have my father’s charm or my mother’s wisdom to convince anyone that a gigantic life disruption was on its way and we should all be prepared. Nevertheless I did what I could by storing extra provisions and compiling emergency notebooks. I ignored the dire warnings in the few survivalist books I picked up out of curiosity. They held little interest for a woman who will never don camouflage or combat boots, nor am I willing to eat bugs or dandelions. I’m more of a prepper than a survivalist.
I’ve been carrying (and updating) an emergency backpack in my car for the last fifteen years. I gave each of my family members a binder with what I thought was important, basic emergency information.
It began, of course, with FEMA’s emergency guidelines and ended with a chapter on growing your own food and herbal medicines.
However, when Covid-19 reared its ugly face and we were ordered into a half hearted shutdown, I was not as prepared as I should have been. Oh, I had plenty of basics - water, food, toilet paper, etc. And while my three tomato plants are lovely and prolific this year, they could hardly be described as a victory garden.
I knew I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I spent hours in meditation, prayer, and overly dramatic, out-loud arguments with God and the spirits of those I’ve loved and lost over the years.
Covid-19 was going to be my Waterloo. I was surrounded and outwitted by a tiny virus invisible to the naked eye and unless some eye-popping miracle dropped into my lap I was trapped for another year in a leaking trailer in need of repair at a place that was becoming too expensive for my fixed income to maintain.
I’ve been predicting an apocalyptic event since the early seventies. At that time I was married to a loving and indulgent husband who agreed the city was not the place to raise our children. So we left L.A and moved to forty acres of raw land in Northern California determined to build a thriving homestead. (I can’t count the number of times I’ve longed to be back on that forty-acre hilltop).
However of all the calamitous events I examined, researched, and wrote about over the years, I avoided pandemics entirely. I could not wrap my head around an invisible enemy that was everywhere and spread like wildfire by hiding in seemingly healthy people. At least Zombies are visible. Many of the Covid infected are not.
You can’t beat a pandemic. All you can do is hope your country is prepared for it, and, if we the people do our part, it submits to our control and we return to some semblance of normalcy.
Other countries have managed to control it, certainly the nation with the brightest minds in medicine and science could do the same and more.
But it takes years to develop vaccines, so then we still have to learn to live with Covid-19 forever lurking around the next corner, invisible but not quite as deadly. Where’s the happy ending in that?
No. I’ll take an EMP, foreign invasion, or frozen wasteland over a pandemic any day. Disasters that can be fought and won by skill, heart, and a united community of patriots is morecompatible with this storyteller’s limited mindset.
Unfortunately, I don’t have my father’s charm or my mother’s wisdom to convince anyone that a gigantic life disruption was on its way and we should all be prepared. Nevertheless I did what I could by storing extra provisions and compiling emergency notebooks. I ignored the dire warnings in the few survivalist books I picked up out of curiosity. They held little interest for a woman who will never don camouflage or combat boots, nor am I willing to eat bugs or dandelions. I’m more of a prepper than a survivalist.
I’ve been carrying (and updating) an emergency backpack in my car for the last fifteen years. I gave each of my family members a binder with what I thought was important, basic emergency information.
It began, of course, with FEMA’s emergency guidelines and ended with a chapter on growing your own food and herbal medicines.
However, when Covid-19 reared its ugly face and we were ordered into a half hearted shutdown, I was not as prepared as I should have been. Oh, I had plenty of basics - water, food, toilet paper, etc. And while my three tomato plants are lovely and prolific this year, they could hardly be described as a victory garden.
I knew I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
When I turned seventy, I realized that I could not continue to maintain my RV lifestyle indefinitely. Bodies, like cars, wear down as the years go by and while climbing on the roof or under the trailer was doable in my fifties and even the first part of my sixties, I was finding it impossible in my seventies. The plan was to find a place to put my RV and build a small cabin.
But when I had the money the location was wrong and when the location looked right there wasno money.
In January of this year my sister called and offered me a solution. Her life had changed dramatically and she was alone. She asked me to come stay with her in Arizona. I hesitated at first, but as the days and weeks went by I not only reconnected with my sister, I realized this was an opportunity for both of us to survive this Corona virus nightmare. We are stronger together. I just had to get from here to there. But what should have been a difficult, but carefully planned
trip soon became an impossible mission and brought me to the brink of despair halfway through August.
But when I had the money the location was wrong and when the location looked right there wasno money.
In January of this year my sister called and offered me a solution. Her life had changed dramatically and she was alone. She asked me to come stay with her in Arizona. I hesitated at first, but as the days and weeks went by I not only reconnected with my sister, I realized this was an opportunity for both of us to survive this Corona virus nightmare. We are stronger together. I just had to get from here to there. But what should have been a difficult, but carefully planned
trip soon became an impossible mission and brought me to the brink of despair halfway through August.
My sister is funny, kind, generous, brave, and smarter than she knows. She is an essential worker for the airlines, boarding and disembarking passengers on several flights daily. She too, has health vulnerability issues, so even though we speak two or three times a day, I worry about her. She tells me hair-raising stories about people screaming at her when she points to the sign that says you must wear a mask before and during your flight. She has had to be tested twice, negative both times, thank goodness.
I have never done well in the Arizona heat, so I did make her promise not to expect me to spend next summer in the valley. Northern Arizona is a better environment for me.
“Good! I’ll be retired by then. I’ll go with you!”
So I made the necessary lists, filled in my planner and began to pack the RV. Later that month, I read about a flu epidemic in China and a fleeting thought crossed my mind. Would it be contained in China? Probably not but our nation was preppared. Every newly elected president is given a plan to combat pandemics and we have FEMA, the CDC, HHS. I recalled the Obama administration faced a couple of pandemics without major disaster.
I knew the plan had to include Covid protection and it soon became a major concern. When and how to get myself and my 28’ RV 1406 miles from Washington State to Arizona in the midst of a dangerous pandemic became more of a roadblock with every step I took.
My health issues slowed me down. On good days I accomplished two or three items on my list. On bad days I did nothing more than sip tea, broth, and water. I watched the news and took notes on the advancing scourge and a president who appeared more and more discouraged in spite of a strained optimism.
I saw my doctor again in February. No improvement in my cough. I broached the theory that maybe I was one of the lucky ones and had a mild case of Covid, but since I had no other symptoms we both decided it was still asthma and she put me on a home nebulizer.
I was still coughing a month later.
I marched forward, determined to get to Arizona in spite of the setbacks.
It was now August and the transporter was ill and unavailable. I could not find a reasonable open-carry “wedge” trailer because 5th wheels are too tall to make bridge clearances, so I would have to make expensive repairs, (check tires, brakes, lights, repack grease on bearings, stuck slide, etc) in order for it to be towed. Then I had to find someone to tow it.
Packing up the inside wasn’t difficult, but I had to get rid of a lot to keep it light for towing. But there was no place open to take donations and I can only put “household” items in the park’s dumpsters.
I thought my neighbor might take my plants, but what to do with the bricks and redwood fencing? What do I do with the garden tools and all the clutter I had packed into my shed? And then there was the shed itself.
My daughter did not want me making the trip alone so she decided to go with me. I welcomed the company but worried about her declining health.
I checked the Covid progress of the four states I have to go through to get to Arizona daily. It didn’t look good. My research into the 1918 pandemic added to the words of my five favorite doctors (Fauci, Gupta, Osterholm, Wen, Patel), Science writer Ed Yong, Pulitzer prize winning Laurie Garrett, (known as the Cassandra of pandemics), historians Jon Meachem and Michael Beschloss, led me to the conclusion I had one last window of opportunity to make the trip. New
target date was set for September and maybe the first part of October. After that I believe Covid-19 will join the influenza virus which comes around every year and wreak havoc on America far worse than what we have already seen.
By mid August I had the RV fairly well packed, but it was still nowhere near ready for a move. Work had to be done on the slide and wheels, I was still looking for someone to tow it, the car had to be tuned and packed and all the while, outside my tiny home Covid-19 continued to ravage the country, the economy, and any semblance of a normal life. Nearly one hundred seventy thousand (at that time) people lost to the virus.
My usual optimism failed, my steps faltered and my self-confidence fizzled.
Once I’m able to leave the relative safety of my 28’ “bunker” what difficulties will I encounter?
Am I putting myself and my daughter in harms way? We will journey through four states to reach our destination. Food, sleep, gas and rest stops are a big concern. I’ve combed the CDC guidelines for travel, AARP Road Trip Safety manual and asked friends and family for suggestions. I wrote lists for a budget, food, gas stations, rest stops and motels en route. I made a list for my pets, medical issues and possible emergencies along the way. Careful planning and lists, even my doctor’s enthusiasm did not pull me out of my increasing anxiety. I had taken on too much to do by myself.
The night of August tenth was especially difficult and my fears stopped me in my tracks. I went to bed thinking about selling the RV as is, putting my possessions in storage and/or moving to Arizona with nothing more than what I could get into my small car.
While trying to quiet my brain into sleep mode I thought about giving up the dream. The original plan was to move the RV to Arizona, put it in storage near my sister’s house, fix it up as time and money allowed and then trade it in on something we could camp in while we looked for property in the north central part of the state. I want to live the rest of my journey in a small town with
a garden and a few chickens. Then I would become as independent as possible and let the noise of the world pass me by.
Ultimately, I wouldn’t get enough for this twenty year old rig to pay for the move down there because I would have to do every bit of it by myself. After observing my fellow citizens around the country and even in my own community treating the virus as a hoax, a joke, or something that did not concern them. It was disheartening.
I pick up no-contact grocery orders and utilize curbside pickup at other stores. I don’t allowanyone in my house including my children and grandchildren. They meet me outside with masks and at a safe distance. That’s only happened 3 or 4 times with my daughter and daughter-in-law in the last six months. I haven’t seen anyone else except my grandson who brought his wife, two kids and new baby to visit, bless his heart. They stayed in the car and we all waved at each other
like crazy. It was a high point of the shutdown for me. I don’t mind being alone but I prefer it to be on my terms not those of a vicious, novel corona virus.
I drifted off to sleep, defeated. I would break it to my sister in the morning. I just couldn’t manage it this year. Maybe next spring would be better.
What was the point of quarantine? Six months of seeing my children, grandchildren and great grandchildren on a phone or tablet screen without hugs, kisses, or laughter. And it is still painful to think about Molly, especially when people post the loss of a pet. Doesn’t it seem as if more pets than usual are passing on?
I was done. Finished. Nothing made sense anymore. The whole world was suffering. The loss of 170,000 lives weighed heavy on my heart. Think of all those families grieving. That amount of grief is paralyzing and I still had so much to do with little energy or inclination to make the trip.
I hated to tell my sister, but I was tired of swimming upstream. I would wait until 2021. I was good at shutdowns. I’d been a bit of a recluse these last years anyway. What’s one more year?
I finally fell into a restless sleep.
Then, in the wee hours of the morning, I heard a voice. I don’t know what dream I was having, but I remember being annoyed that a voice was interrupting the action. He repeated the words and I heard them loud and clear.
“You cannot stay, Anna. You must go.”
I sat up in bed. Was I still dreaming? I hesitated. Of course I was dreaming. but the voice was insistent and somewhat familiar.
“Who are you?”
Silence.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
I got out of bed and grabbed my robe.
“Well, I’m not Anna, so you must have interrupted the wrong dream.”
The silence was deafening and I felt foolish. A woman my age talking to a dream. Ridiculous.
I went downstairs and put the kettle on for tea. I put the cat food and dog food out and then prepared my teacup, still thinking about the strange encounter.
I poured the hot water into my teacup and put the lid back to brew. Then I sat down in my recliner, relaxed and called on Echo for my five minute meditation music.
Within seconds I was into a deep relaxation and the feeling of well-being and peace was overwhelming. I didn’t hear the music, but I could feel it. I’ve been told that meditation is focused prayer and I wondered if that’s what I was experiencing. All fear was gone and I stood in a circle of light that felt warm and inviting. I didn’t want to leave.
I awakened when I heard voices outside my window. A couple was walking their dog and chatting about their day. My tea was cold and when I looked at the clock I saw that it was an hour later than when I sat down with my tea for a quick five minute meditation. I did not turn on the news that day wanting to hold on to the sense of peace as long as possible.
Later that morning my phone rang.
“Hey Sis! I found RV storage so close to the house you can walk to it! And you won’t believe the rent!”
I grinned.
“Oh, I think I’ll believe it. It’s meant to be...right?”
I reheated my tea. I noticed my cough wasn’t bad at all. I thought it must be that new medication my doctor ordered for me the week before was finally kicking in.
I went outside to feed and water my plants while it was still cool. My neighbor was out watering her garden. I waved and she walked over. Impulsively, I asked if she would like my plants. She not only took the plants, she offered to remove all the bricks, fences, and the Thrift Store donations out of my shed. She left and the neighbor on the other side came over and asked if I was keeping my shed. I said no it has to be sold. He bought it on the spot.
That was a week ago and a lot has changed. I still need the repairs done on the rig and I must find someone to tow it, but I have a feeling as long as I move forward one step at a time, everything will fall into place.
My attitude is more upbeat. I’m looking forward to spending time with my sister and other family members I haven’t seen in many years.
I am hoping to leave sometime around the 9th of September. Once I’ve settled in and unpacked, I’ll try and find the identity of the mysterious Anna. Then, maybe I’ll have a happy ending for this story.
I have never done well in the Arizona heat, so I did make her promise not to expect me to spend next summer in the valley. Northern Arizona is a better environment for me.
“Good! I’ll be retired by then. I’ll go with you!”
So I made the necessary lists, filled in my planner and began to pack the RV. Later that month, I read about a flu epidemic in China and a fleeting thought crossed my mind. Would it be contained in China? Probably not but our nation was preppared. Every newly elected president is given a plan to combat pandemics and we have FEMA, the CDC, HHS. I recalled the Obama administration faced a couple of pandemics without major disaster.
I knew the plan had to include Covid protection and it soon became a major concern. When and how to get myself and my 28’ RV 1406 miles from Washington State to Arizona in the midst of a dangerous pandemic became more of a roadblock with every step I took.
My health issues slowed me down. On good days I accomplished two or three items on my list. On bad days I did nothing more than sip tea, broth, and water. I watched the news and took notes on the advancing scourge and a president who appeared more and more discouraged in spite of a strained optimism.
I saw my doctor again in February. No improvement in my cough. I broached the theory that maybe I was one of the lucky ones and had a mild case of Covid, but since I had no other symptoms we both decided it was still asthma and she put me on a home nebulizer.
I was still coughing a month later.
I marched forward, determined to get to Arizona in spite of the setbacks.
It was now August and the transporter was ill and unavailable. I could not find a reasonable open-carry “wedge” trailer because 5th wheels are too tall to make bridge clearances, so I would have to make expensive repairs, (check tires, brakes, lights, repack grease on bearings, stuck slide, etc) in order for it to be towed. Then I had to find someone to tow it.
Packing up the inside wasn’t difficult, but I had to get rid of a lot to keep it light for towing. But there was no place open to take donations and I can only put “household” items in the park’s dumpsters.
I thought my neighbor might take my plants, but what to do with the bricks and redwood fencing? What do I do with the garden tools and all the clutter I had packed into my shed? And then there was the shed itself.
My daughter did not want me making the trip alone so she decided to go with me. I welcomed the company but worried about her declining health.
I checked the Covid progress of the four states I have to go through to get to Arizona daily. It didn’t look good. My research into the 1918 pandemic added to the words of my five favorite doctors (Fauci, Gupta, Osterholm, Wen, Patel), Science writer Ed Yong, Pulitzer prize winning Laurie Garrett, (known as the Cassandra of pandemics), historians Jon Meachem and Michael Beschloss, led me to the conclusion I had one last window of opportunity to make the trip. New
target date was set for September and maybe the first part of October. After that I believe Covid-19 will join the influenza virus which comes around every year and wreak havoc on America far worse than what we have already seen.
By mid August I had the RV fairly well packed, but it was still nowhere near ready for a move. Work had to be done on the slide and wheels, I was still looking for someone to tow it, the car had to be tuned and packed and all the while, outside my tiny home Covid-19 continued to ravage the country, the economy, and any semblance of a normal life. Nearly one hundred seventy thousand (at that time) people lost to the virus.
My usual optimism failed, my steps faltered and my self-confidence fizzled.
Once I’m able to leave the relative safety of my 28’ “bunker” what difficulties will I encounter?
Am I putting myself and my daughter in harms way? We will journey through four states to reach our destination. Food, sleep, gas and rest stops are a big concern. I’ve combed the CDC guidelines for travel, AARP Road Trip Safety manual and asked friends and family for suggestions. I wrote lists for a budget, food, gas stations, rest stops and motels en route. I made a list for my pets, medical issues and possible emergencies along the way. Careful planning and lists, even my doctor’s enthusiasm did not pull me out of my increasing anxiety. I had taken on too much to do by myself.
The night of August tenth was especially difficult and my fears stopped me in my tracks. I went to bed thinking about selling the RV as is, putting my possessions in storage and/or moving to Arizona with nothing more than what I could get into my small car.
While trying to quiet my brain into sleep mode I thought about giving up the dream. The original plan was to move the RV to Arizona, put it in storage near my sister’s house, fix it up as time and money allowed and then trade it in on something we could camp in while we looked for property in the north central part of the state. I want to live the rest of my journey in a small town with
a garden and a few chickens. Then I would become as independent as possible and let the noise of the world pass me by.
Ultimately, I wouldn’t get enough for this twenty year old rig to pay for the move down there because I would have to do every bit of it by myself. After observing my fellow citizens around the country and even in my own community treating the virus as a hoax, a joke, or something that did not concern them. It was disheartening.
I pick up no-contact grocery orders and utilize curbside pickup at other stores. I don’t allowanyone in my house including my children and grandchildren. They meet me outside with masks and at a safe distance. That’s only happened 3 or 4 times with my daughter and daughter-in-law in the last six months. I haven’t seen anyone else except my grandson who brought his wife, two kids and new baby to visit, bless his heart. They stayed in the car and we all waved at each other
like crazy. It was a high point of the shutdown for me. I don’t mind being alone but I prefer it to be on my terms not those of a vicious, novel corona virus.
I drifted off to sleep, defeated. I would break it to my sister in the morning. I just couldn’t manage it this year. Maybe next spring would be better.
What was the point of quarantine? Six months of seeing my children, grandchildren and great grandchildren on a phone or tablet screen without hugs, kisses, or laughter. And it is still painful to think about Molly, especially when people post the loss of a pet. Doesn’t it seem as if more pets than usual are passing on?
I was done. Finished. Nothing made sense anymore. The whole world was suffering. The loss of 170,000 lives weighed heavy on my heart. Think of all those families grieving. That amount of grief is paralyzing and I still had so much to do with little energy or inclination to make the trip.
I hated to tell my sister, but I was tired of swimming upstream. I would wait until 2021. I was good at shutdowns. I’d been a bit of a recluse these last years anyway. What’s one more year?
I finally fell into a restless sleep.
Then, in the wee hours of the morning, I heard a voice. I don’t know what dream I was having, but I remember being annoyed that a voice was interrupting the action. He repeated the words and I heard them loud and clear.
“You cannot stay, Anna. You must go.”
I sat up in bed. Was I still dreaming? I hesitated. Of course I was dreaming. but the voice was insistent and somewhat familiar.
“Who are you?”
Silence.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
I got out of bed and grabbed my robe.
“Well, I’m not Anna, so you must have interrupted the wrong dream.”
The silence was deafening and I felt foolish. A woman my age talking to a dream. Ridiculous.
I went downstairs and put the kettle on for tea. I put the cat food and dog food out and then prepared my teacup, still thinking about the strange encounter.
I poured the hot water into my teacup and put the lid back to brew. Then I sat down in my recliner, relaxed and called on Echo for my five minute meditation music.
Within seconds I was into a deep relaxation and the feeling of well-being and peace was overwhelming. I didn’t hear the music, but I could feel it. I’ve been told that meditation is focused prayer and I wondered if that’s what I was experiencing. All fear was gone and I stood in a circle of light that felt warm and inviting. I didn’t want to leave.
I awakened when I heard voices outside my window. A couple was walking their dog and chatting about their day. My tea was cold and when I looked at the clock I saw that it was an hour later than when I sat down with my tea for a quick five minute meditation. I did not turn on the news that day wanting to hold on to the sense of peace as long as possible.
Later that morning my phone rang.
“Hey Sis! I found RV storage so close to the house you can walk to it! And you won’t believe the rent!”
I grinned.
“Oh, I think I’ll believe it. It’s meant to be...right?”
I reheated my tea. I noticed my cough wasn’t bad at all. I thought it must be that new medication my doctor ordered for me the week before was finally kicking in.
I went outside to feed and water my plants while it was still cool. My neighbor was out watering her garden. I waved and she walked over. Impulsively, I asked if she would like my plants. She not only took the plants, she offered to remove all the bricks, fences, and the Thrift Store donations out of my shed. She left and the neighbor on the other side came over and asked if I was keeping my shed. I said no it has to be sold. He bought it on the spot.
That was a week ago and a lot has changed. I still need the repairs done on the rig and I must find someone to tow it, but I have a feeling as long as I move forward one step at a time, everything will fall into place.
My attitude is more upbeat. I’m looking forward to spending time with my sister and other family members I haven’t seen in many years.
I am hoping to leave sometime around the 9th of September. Once I’ve settled in and unpacked, I’ll try and find the identity of the mysterious Anna. Then, maybe I’ll have a happy ending for this story.
Meanwhile, I am looking forward to next year and all the possibilities:
Maybe we will have accurate, quick testing that is so affordable
anyone could test themselves every day if they wanted to stay safe and
not be responsible for spreading the virus.
Maybe we will have therapies that cure the virus and keept so many
of us from dying.
Maybe, like the pandemic of 2018 there will be outbreaks here and
there that can be controlled.
Maybe there will be a new administration and we will be able to
learn and live with the “new normal” forced on us by Covid-19 and
America’s response.
Maybe divisions will begin to heal.
Maybe we will have an administration led by someone with
character and competence.
Maybe we will be able to have immigration reform without tearing
families apart and placing children in pens.
Maybe we can finally put an end to inequality and poverty that is at
the root of racial injustice and learn to appreciate that the strength of
America lies in her diversity and sense of justice.
Maybe we will provide health care for every citizen and act as if we
truly care about the well-being of all our citizens, regardless of their
race, creed or who they choose to love.
Maybe we will have recognized the critical health of our planet,
rejoined the Paris Climate Agreement and will be striving to make a
better healthier world for our grandchildren.
Maybe the U.S. Senate will no longer be controlled by a self-avowed
“grim reaper” and Congress will reach across the aisle to compromise
and move us forward.
Maybe we won’t see cars lined up for miles while families wait for
hours to get a box of groceries.
Maybe our warriors, the health care workers, in the battle against this
scourge will be recognized and rewarded for their dedication. The
doctors, nurses, emts, aides, custodians, firemen, police officers, who
risk their lives every day to care for the sick and dying. And where
would we have been if not for all the essential workers, grocery store
clerks, restaurants that provided take-out and deliveries, who also
risked their lives and gave their all to keep the country going during
lockdown? They should be recognized with more than a heartfelt
“Thank you.”
Maybe there will be no more hate crimes against Asian Americans.
Maybe other countries will have reopened their borders to American
visitors.
Maybe small businesses will be able to reopen with loans and
guidance that work for them. They are the backbone of our economy
and something is terribly wrong when they are allowed to fail while
the giants make money hand over fist during the Pandemic.
Maybe Russia will be acknowledged as an adversary not a
puppet-master and will be sanctioned for offering bounties on our
military men and women.
Maybe the forty plus million people out of work will have great new
jobs in an economy that seeks to heal our infrastructure and our land.
Maybe weird conspiracy theories and unproven medicines will no
longer be given credibility by people who should know better.
Maybe zealots who claim Trump’s enemies have sex with demons, or
that the president protects children from the Press and Democrats
who are part of a satanic cult of cannibals and pedophiles, will
disappear under the rocks from whence they came.
Maybe supporters who wear weird costumes and shout vile threats,
will once again be ignored by the mainstream and will land on
history’s trash heap where they belong.
Maybe those misguided souls who throw their masks to the ground,
pledge their allegiance to a mythical save the world movement and
party while the rest of us struggle to survive will no longer act on their
beliefs, but will actually do the work of saving the world.
And maybe the black pickup I followed last week with a bumper
sticker that read “All Democrats Should Be Hung for Treason” will
instead have one that reads, “Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of
Happiness.”
