Eating an orange this morning, I thought about those generations of sailors who contracted scurvy because they were unable to get sufficient amounts of vitamin C on long voyages. I can guess why this came to mind.
We’ve been on this Covid-19 journey for almost a year now. Masks have become de riguer attire for all public appearances, removed only at outdoor venues, that is, if we are lucky to find one. Washing hands, social distancing. We all get the routine. But unlike sailors of old, I’m not suffering from swollen bleeding gums. I haven’t seen my son or my sisters in more than a year—not just saying hello on Zoom, but for real.
This year’s Superbowl will feature a face-off between two celebrated quarterbacks, Tom Brady of the Buccaneers and Patrick Mahomes of the Chiefs. Plastic life-size cut-outs of fans and their families will fill the stands helping to reduce the crowd size in Tampa’s Raymond James Stadium to about one-third its capacity. Organizers say that when the wind blows, it looking like the fans are cheering.
I am at my window drinking coffee and watching the rain. Northern California has finally been doused by Mother Nature after a summer of wild fires that burned down nearly 4.2 million acres. To use the language of Silicon Valley, a “gigafire.”
I am waiting to be called up for a vaccine.
I am waiting for Congress to provide financial relief.
I want us to heal our world together.