Check out my horror novel, Mister Poppy, on Amazon.com. Search for Mister Poppy by Louise Audrieth. Available in paperback or ebook formats.

In 2017, we went to a friend’s house for a party to watch the partial eclipse from their back yard just outside Urbana, Illinois. It was a great time! We had lots of good food and drinks and all put on our eclipse glasses to go outside and watch the moon gradually move across the sun. I think it was about 90 percent covered. It got a little darker outside, and we were able to see the crescent-shaped spots of light on the ground where the sunlight shone through the leaves on trees.

Ever since my big brother got to see a total eclipse up in Wisconsin one year when we were kids, I’d wanted to see those crescent-shaped lights on the ground. Curt was always good at sharing his experiences in such a way that I wanted to have them too, so I looked forward to the crescent shapes under the trees that April day in 2017.

That was about as spectacular as it got. It was more a day about sharing the experience with friends and doing a huge group selfie of us all in our eclipse glasses! We had fun.

Right away, the media started talking about the next eclipse, which would be at about the same time of year and follow a similar path across the United States. I told my husband Tony that no matter what was going on with us in 2024, we were going some place where we could see totality. The next total eclipse to come near this area won’t be for another 20 years. Neither of us might even be alive then, certainly not able to drive hours to see it, so 2024 would be our last chance for this once-in-a-lifetime event.

I put the event in my calendar in the back of my mind, and early in January of 2024 I started thinking actively about it. We could find a cabin at a state park in Indiana, or even a motel in southern Illinois. It would be great!

Then I started looking online. First of all, all rooms within driving distance of us were at least double in price – some triple or quadruple. I guess you can’t blame folks for wanting to capitalize on the event. Secondly, most were already booked.

We decided, since totality would only be an hour or so away, we’d pack a picnic lunch and set off in the morning, plenty early, to find a place to set up our chairs and watch the show in the sky. Anyplace would do – a little park in a small town in Indiana or Illinois, a parking lot at a Walmart in the path, the shoulder of a back road.

I was pretty sure all the restaurants would be filled, so I made egg salad sandwiches and we packed those, along with Cheezits, fruit, cookies, and cold drinks. Except for hopefully a bathroom stop sometime during the day, we would be entirely self-sufficient.

We set out at about 9:30 am. We got on I-57 and headed south. Our plan was to make it to Effingham if we could and then head east. Effingham itself would be in the path of totality so once we made it that far, we could stop anywhere. If the traffic on 57 got too congested before we got that far, we’d get off and take back roads as far south and east as we could.

Traffic on 57 was heavy, but kept moving right along. Sometimes we slowed down to 30 or 40 mph, but still kept moving. State troopers were positioned at intervals along the route, just to keep an eye on things, but there were no traffic incidents that we saw. There were several road construction sites along the way, but no workers present. I imagine they decided to halt construction for the day. Electronic signs announced All Lanes Open at each site.

At Effingham, only about 70 miles south of Champaign, we got off the highway and headed east. A little (but not TOO little) town called Newton was about 12 miles east of Effingham. We headed for that. I opened Google Maps on my phone and found a little park in the town. Peterson Park.

It was a lovely little town park. Even had picnic tables and, I think, tennis courts. They had public bathrooms but they weren’t open for the season yet. (Too bad they couldn’t have opened them just for the day, but . . . small town budgets . . .) We set up our chairs in a nice grassy spot just off the parking lot, close to a playground area. Families were beginning to gather in the park and kids were enjoying the playground.

We broke out our sandwiches and snacks a little after noon, just before the first sign of the eclipse began – that first arc of black blocking out the lower right of the sun’s disc.

Just as we finished eating, and elderly gentleman (he was probably our age!) set up his chair beside us and introduced himself. Fred, from Bloomington. He’d come the same way we did. He said 74 from Bloomington to Champaign was worse traffic-wise than 57, but he got off the highway further north and took back roads the rest of the way.

We chatted with Fred throughout the event. He and his wife had traveled extensively all over the world, even to Africa and Russia. I think their most recent trip was to Costa Rica. Not sure why his wife wasn’t with him, but I think she had health problems. We kept putting on our glasses to check the progress of the eclipse. One fourth covered! Halfway! Wow, it looks like only a tenth of the sun is visible! It looked like an upside down lemon rind. Surprisingly, the day appeared not much changed. Maybe the way it looks on a slightly cloudy day. We listened for birds making strange sounds or dogs freaking out, but none of that happened that I could sense.

I did get stung by a bee, but that was probably because I put my arm on it when I reached for my water. It must have been on the arm of my chair. Anyway, it only hurt for a little while. I’ve never been stung by a bee before so I was a little concerned I might have a reaction, but nothing happened. There was a hornet’s nest under the playground equipment. We heard kids talking about it, but I don’t think it was one of those. That would have been much more painful!

Back to the eclipse. We put our glasses back on and watched steadily. Suddenly, the lemon rind slice got smaller and smaller until it disappeared altogether and the sky appeared totally black. Everybody in the park clapped and cheered. It was kind of like watching fireworks on the Fourth of July.

They’d told us we could take off our glasses when the sun was totally covered and look directly at it, so I did. I was amazed! Without the glasses, I could see a black disc the size of the sun with a brilliant white halo all the way around it. It flared out quite far in the dark sky. On the ground, it looked like early evening, with a slight glow of daylight all around at the horizon. Strange.

Since we only had about 4 minutes of totality, I barely took my eyes of that magnificent image of the black sun with its glowing halo. A brighter spot of orange was in the lower left of the halo. Maybe a solar flare?

Then, before I’d had my fill of that image, bright whiteness erupted in the lower left and I quickly put my glasses back on. The lemon rind grew in the lower right until daylight came back in the park. The next hour or so was anti-climactic so we packed up our stuff and left the park, hunting for a gas station for a bathroom break.

The trip home on 57 was about as congested as the way down and traffic kept slowing down suddenly or stopping altogether so it was a little nerve-racking, but we made it home without any trouble.

Two things struck me about the whole event. Well, three, actually. First, it was so nice to see everyone coming together for a common purpose – to watch this rare event unfold. In spite of our political, racial, whatever differences, we were all united for a few hours on Monday, April 8 in the early afternoon to witness something awesome.

Secondly, I was amazed at how truly bright our sun is. Even when it was more than 90 percent covered, it still shown bright enough to give us daylight. Maybe cloudy-day daylight, but it wasn’t dark. Along with the daylight came its heat. The temperature did drop a bit when it neared totality, but then warmed up again when it was over. Even a little bit of sunlight gives us life. Although I suspect if the sun was actually reduced to only 10 percent of its brightness over a long period of time, life on this planet would be over.

The third thing that I’ll carry with me forever about this event is how beautiful it was. Taking off my glasses when the sun was totally blocked out and the sky was perfectly black and then seeing that beautiful corona was breathtaking! I’ll never forget it!

Early stages of a total solar eclipse shows the moon crossing in front of the sun in Bloomington, IL. Josh Edelson/AFP via Getty Images

The moon blots out the sun, during a total solar eclipse, as seen from Carbondale, Illinois, April 8, 2024.

A fairy tale for grownups

In the Heart of the Linden Wood by Ekta R. Garg is a captivating yet serious story of heartbreak, danger, and magic set in a fantasy kingdom governed by a young king troubled by his own doubts.

After suffering a devastating loss, he is challenged to not only defend his kingship, but come up with a solution to save the very life-blood of his kingdom, the Linden trees.

Each character in this book deals with his or her own personal problems that somehow link to the greater problems they are tasked with solving. Ekta keeps the reader wondering as the characters behave in sometimes unexpected ways to deal with their challenges. The final solutions arrive, if they do arrive, in unexpected ways as well.

The book is a delight to read and a satisfying fairy tale complex enough for a grown up!

My birthday is at the end of February – the month everybody hates because winter has gotten serious by now and it’s usually cold, snowy, miserable. We get stuck inside. Oh wait, we’ve been stuck inside for almost a year!

Some of us have gotten at least our first dose of the CoVid vaccine. Being extra careful until after we get our second because now would be a terrible time to get sick – right near the end of the pandemic. I hope it’s the end. I hope that tiny dim light I see ahead is really the end of the tunnel, not just somebody’s tail light.

Like February. We all know about the groundhog. We know there’s either a month and a half or six more weeks of winter. Then comes spring. Temperatures will get milder. Skies will get bluer. Our outlook will brighten.

We’re in this for the long haul, folks. We’ve made it this far. We’ve endured CoVid, the lockdowns, not being able to see friends and family. Long-distance holidays. Zoom parties. I had a Zoom family reunion with my family who is spread all over from Plymouth, MA to Champaign, IL to Taos, NM – even to Wellington, NZ.

We just need to hang in there for a few more months. A few more weeks. As winter ends, so will this modern-day plague that has befallen the earth. Just like those hearty dark-agers, we’ll get through it, and some day come out of our houses to welcome the end of winter.

Time to write the annual Christmas letter. I used to dread getting those. Everybody bragging about how well they were doing. How much charity work they’d done. How their kids were opening schools in Africa or taking in orphans in South America, while mine were working at fast-food joints! Then I realized, Christmas letters were a way to catch up on what folks had been doing all year, when we weren’t keeping in touch. Then I started to enjoy them.

So now, I write them every year. But this year? What to write? We haven’t done anything since March. Oh, there was the time we sat on the couch and binge-watched an entire 25-episode Netflix series in a weekend. Wait, I think we did that more than once!

How about the time I made home-made bread? The fifteen times I made home-made bread? Not to mention the pies, cakes, cinnamon rolls, casseroles . . . I dug out old comfort-food recipes of my mother’s. From the 50s. Do you know how unhealthy food was in the 50s?

Then there was the cleaning. We cleaned our floors, we cleaned out our closets, we cleaned out the garage, the shed, the refrigerator. You gotta be desperate to clean out the refrigerator!

We did venture out on occasion. We went to get groceries. Every time we left the house, we’d go through our checklist – masks, gloves, hand sanitizer, armor, shields, swords. We’d take turns going in. The lucky one would wait in the car. Sometimes we were able to score toilet paper, or Kleenex, or meat! Most times we made due with pasta, canned goods, and paper napkins.

We visited friends on their driveways – with masks. We Zoomed. Boy did we Zoom! If it wasn’t for Zoom, I would have gone all summer and fall without seeing another face except my husband’s – and mine in the mirror. Speaking of mirrors, do you Zoom with the mirror function on or off? It’s really strange to have it off and see yourself the way others see you – not the way you look in the mirror. I couldn’t get used to it. My head looked lopsided! I guess it really is, but I’m used to seeing it lopsided in the other direction.

Oh, and I forgot to mention crafts! I told Tony when I retired to watch out because I was going to do a lot of crafts. I haven’t done as many crafts in all the years since 2012 as I’ve done this year. I have knitted shawls, socks, sweaters, scarves, cowls, crocheted baskets, sewn masks, done some painting, written a novel, a couple short stories, and cut my own hair at least three times. This is like retirement on steroids!

I’ve lived through a lot of history in my life. I lived through the civil rights movement, the assassination of President Kennedy, Bobby Kennedy, Martin Luther King, Jr., the war in Viet Nam, Watergate, the death of Princess Di, 911, the ongoing Gulf war, the stock market crash of 2008. I’m sure I’ve forgotten a couple historic moments.

Now CoVid. This is another historic time I’d rather not experience. Now I know what those folks in Europe felt like when the Plague came calling. This is our 21^st century Plague.

I think there is a glimmer of light at the end of this tunnel. A vaccine is on its way. Several vaccines. Don’t know how long it will be before we get it – or how long it will be before we can feel safe to go out in public again, or meet with friends, or shake hands with anybody, but someday we will. When that day comes, let’s dye eggs, set off fireworks, have a parade, gather for a big turkey dinner, and open Christmas gifts!

Better get that letter written . . .

Click.

A sound. Rosie holds her breath as she listens intently for another sound.

Nothing.

She waits, her thoughts beginning to wander and blur. I have to get up early for work tomorrow. I have to allow time to stop at the bank. I have to . . .

Creak.

Wait, is that the squeaky third step? Is someone in the house?

Could I get myself under the bed? That’s the first place they look! What about the closet? That’s the second. My phone is downstairs. Damn!

She is wide awake now, nerves taut as she listens intently for another sound.

Whish.

A barely audible scrape. She is holding her breath now. She listens. And listens.

Thump.

Barely audible. It comes from the hallway.

Rosie lays still as a stone, afraid to make a sound, hoping if someone is in the house, they won’t come to the bedroom.

She’s never been frightened in the house before.

This is my home. I feel safe. I am safe.”

She waits.

Silence.

After what seems like an eternity, the adrenaline subsides. Her muscles begin to relax. She grows drowsy.

She gasps as she suddenly becomes aware. It’s morning. Nobody has killed her in the night. Now she feels silly. Like a kid afraid of the boogey man. She swings her feet over the edge of the bed.

And feels a hand close around her ankle like a vise.

After being confined to home since mid-March, Tony and I were beginning to feel like prisoners. Yes, life did go on; we made weekly forays out into the world for groceries and necessities, depending more and more on Amazon and other online delivery services for non-essential items. Well, maybe even for essentials, like masks and boxes of antiseptic wipes. Items that weren’t always available on the shelves of local stores.

Anyway, by August, we were feeling the need to get out there – do a little exploring. We’re travelers at heart. We prioritize our savings for travel. We live frugally so we can afford to travel. We’d already had a long-planned trip to Vienna, Austria cancelled because of CoVid. Instead of taking a refund from the airline, we took a credit so we can apply it to the same trip next year.

My husband’s birthday in early August was the perfect excuse to take a road trip to Galena, IL to explore – in a safe, social-distanced way. The trolley tours were limited to fewer people and did not include tours of the historic homes. Since the homes only allowed 10-12 people per tour, the lines were long for those, and people had to take a chance on getting in. But we did get an overview of the town, wandered a lot on foot, and ate outdoors where restaurants had set up tables along the street. Very European!

We did eat indoors at the historic DeSoto Hotel. We were alone inside except for one other couple, seated in the opposite corner from us.

After Galena, we drove down along the Mississippi river, stopped at Mississippi Palisades State Park and looked out over the river from several scenic overlooks. Then we made our way on down to LeClaire, IA, in the quad cities area, to visit the American Pickers store, Antique Archeology. If you don’t know who the American Pickers are, you haven’t watched the History Channel! They drive all over the country in their big white van, poking through people’s collections of old cars, motorcycles, petroliana, and just plain junk. They spot gems amongst the rust, pay a fair price, and re-sell the items in their shop. We saw items in the shop that we had watched them pick on the TV show! We took a short cruise up the Mississippi and back on an old-style steamer, sitting in wooden rockers in the open air on deck. Such fun!

The trip was fun, but over too soon. We were longing for some real travel. Tony has relatives who rent a cottage on a lake in Maine every summer. We have visited them there several times. So, we drove to Dayton, OH, where we picked up Tony’s sister-in-law, and the three of us flew to Portland, ME, rented a car, and drove up to Long Pond (the lake next to Great Pond, which is where Ernest Thompson lived – author of On Golden Pond). This part of Maine is hilly, full of lakes and pine trees. Beautiful and peaceful. After months of social distancing, watching all the violence and mayhem taking place in our big cities, all we wanted to do was sit in the grass behind the cottage, gaze across the lake, and listen to the loons. It was idyllic.

We didn’t do a whole lot. We caught up on each other’s news, ate open-air lunches at hot-dog stands and golf clubhouses, visited a farmer’s market, and explored a couple brave shops that were still open – masks in place. But it was so good to look at scenery other than the view out our front window, and see faces other than our own. It was rejuvenating!

We went for CoVid tests the day after we got back – not because we feared exposure from the relatives, but there were lots of people on the planes and in the airports – even though we wore N95 masks going and coming. We both tested negative, so everything is good. We are still being careful, and recommend safety first to everybody, but it was so good to get out there!

We had been without a pet for several years. The elderly cats that both Tony and I brought to our marriage in 1994 had one after the other passed away. My cat, Pan, died just short of her 20^th birthday, and Tony’s cat, Pussy Galore, died several months later at the age of 18. It was 2005. It was shortly before Tony started a new job. We decided it was time we got another cat.

So, we visited the Champaign County Humane Society and looked at the many cats available for adoption. We thought a young cat would be good, but not necessarily a kitten. If the cat was de-clawed, that would be OK, but we would never have that barbaric thing done. If the cat had claws, so be it.

We found a little black male cat – almost a kitten. He had just recently come in to the shelter. He was de-clawed on all four feet. Unfortunately, he was so freaked out by finding himself in the shelter, he was too frightened to come out from under the chair in the get-acquainted room. We had no idea what his personality would really be.

Next, we looked at a young tabby cat. She had been in the shelter long enough to feel calm about her surroundings. Once we got into the get-acquainted room she turned on the charm! She went from my lap to Tony’s, nuzzling our cheeks, purring loudly, and generally being adorable. She had all her claws, but personality trumps furniture. Needless to say, she turned out to be the one.

The Humane Society records said she had been found wandering the streets of Monticello, and had given her the name Leigh-anne. We gave her a home in our house and re-named her Abby the Tabby. After a 24-hour waiting period, during which a chip was inserted between her shoulder blades, we took her home.

The vet told us she appeared to be about 2 years old. But she looked much younger because she was so small. She never grew any larger. She never weighed over 8 pounds. She wasn’t a runt, she was just petite.

She played like a kitten her whole life. Running with all her speed up and down the stairs, playing with balls of yarn, milk bottle caps, any small thing she could get her paws on.

She adopted a Beanie Baby tiger I had, and would carry it around the house in her mouth, like a mother cat does with her kittens – yowling at it in a loud voice the whole time. Then she’d put the tiger down in its new location and walk away and ignore it for another week or so.

I had said before we found Abby that I wanted a lap cat. Be careful what you wish for. She would seek out my lap or Tony’s any time we were seated. She loved to sit on Tony’s lap while we were eating supper, probably because she knew he wouldn’t be moving before we were finished. Her favorite position was draped over his left arm, snuggled against his chest.

Every night, when we went up the stairs to bed, she would race ahead, jump out of my studio door and bat at my ankles as I walked past on my way to our bedroom. When I got in bed, she would barely wait until I settled under the covers and opened my book to read a bit. Abby would climb up toward my left shoulder and settle there while I tried to read my book by craning my neck around her. Then she would move down to my lap and sleep until I was finished reading. As I turned out the light and rolled over to sleep, she would curl up at my feet to spend the night.

Promptly at 5 or 5:30 am, she saw it as her duty to move from my pillow to Tony’s and pat at our cheeks and chins until we woke up. After we did get up for the day, she would seek out the warm spots in the bed we had just left.

This last week, we had to say goodbye to Abby. She was only about 17 years old, but suffering from cancer in her brain or sinuses. Her strength was gone, her breathing labored. She never complained or whined, but I know she suffered. We took her back to the Humane Society, where they gently ended her misery.

We’re still looking for her on our laps, expecting her to leap onto the bed in the middle of the night, watching for her on the stairs, and wondering where she has curled up to take a nap. I guess it will take us a while to realize we no longer have a cat. And what a cat she was. Sweet, friendly, affectionate, playful, and a wonderful lap warmer.

R.I.P. Abby.

It’s almost the end of July. 2020 is more than half over, thank God! But now what? The states that have totally re-opened are now having spikes of CoVid. The rest of us are holding our breath, waiting to see if the spikes calm down, if a vaccine is developed, if it’s safe to leave our houses yet. If you are in a vulnerable population group (over 65, underlying conditions, etc.), I’m sure you are wondering like I am – when will it be safe?

Can travel plans that were cancelled be resumed? Can we go out to eat? Can we go to the gym? Is it better for us to stay at home and continue to lose our muscle tone, or risk exposure at the gym? I know, I know, we can lift cans of pineapple and stay fit at home. That just doesn’t work. It’s too easy to sit on the couch.

Our lawn has never looked better, all kinds of home-improvement projects are finished or in the planning, and I have dredged up all the old comfort-food recipes in my repertoire. I’ve baked bread and cakes, made scones, revived the porcupine meatballs my mother used to make (recipe follows), and added a few new dishes thanks to Pinterest. I’ve always liked cooking so that’s no surprise, but now I have days and days to dream up new meals for us.

We are still more-or-less sheltering in place. Let the young people go out to the restaurants and bars for a while and take the risks. Once those businesses are open, nobody can stop them anyway. We still see friends on occasion, but no hugging and we all keep our distance. I just want to get back to normal, but when will that be? If ever.

Society will be forever changed by the events of this year. First the pandemic, then the protests and violence happening all over the country. I think we’re all mad as hell and we’re not going to take it anymore. We’re fed up to here with the virus, the violence, the unfairness of life itself.

The stress people are under is taking its toll. Now we’re having debates over when, and if, it’s safe to resume schooling. How many children’s futures have been disrupted by this thing? Young people already at risk of dropping out of school, or getting through, but without a proper education, are now lost in the shuffle of home schooling and distance learning. Each school district will ultimately have to make their own decisions about returning to the classroom, just like each business has had to make decisions about allowing employees to work from home. Those decisions are dictated by the nature of each business, and decisions about the schools should be dictated by the nature of the students’ circumstances. I’m sure there will be false starts and mistakes. Maybe schooling will be a kind of hybrid between face-to-face and distance learning. Whatever decisions are made, 2020 will move forward. I can’t say I’ll be sad on December 31^st to say goodbye to this year! But we will eventually have to pick up our lives in whatever job-related or educational shambles they are in.

We’ll have to look forward. Now what? Hopefully, 2021 will bring health, peace, and prosperity to all. One can always hope.

Porcupine Meatballs

1 lb. ground beef

1/2 C. uncooked rice

1/3 C. chopped onion

1 tsp. salt

1/2 tsp. celery salt

1/8 tsp. pepper

1/8 tsp. garlic powder

1/2 C. water

2 T. oil

1 can (15 oz.) tomato sauce

2 tsp. Worchestershire sauce

2 T. brown sugar

1 C. water

Combine rice, onion, seasonings, and 1/2 C. water. Add beef and mix well. Shape into small meatballs. Brown in oil. Cmbine tomato sauce, 1 C. water, brown sugar, and Worchestershire sauce. Pour over meatballs. Reduce heat, cover, and simmer 1 hour.

It’s day 51 of this lockdown thing. We have social distanced – pretty much isolated ourselves for this long. Is the curve flattening? Are we at the end, the beginning, the end of the beginning, or the beginning of the end of this thing?

For the first 30 days or so, we clung to the latest news. Always eager for the latest statistics on new cases of coronavirus, how many testing positive, how many deaths. What were the latest statistics in our state, our county, our city, our zipcode? Were any of our neighbors affected? Was anyone we know sick? While still feeling helpless, we considered that being up to date and in the know about all the scientific progress, information, and speculation would be useful. Now, I think we’re just feeling numb. Maybe we could go to sleep tonight and wake up tomorrow and discover it was all a bad dream!

It’s kind of like post-September 11, after a while, we became immune to the shock and horror of what we were seeing and hearing on the news. I NEVER want to become immune to shock and horror over what terrible things humankind – or nature – can do to people. But one’s psyche can only take so much. Then walls go up, you become incapable of feeling the acute pain. In an effort to protect your sanity, your brain shuts off some of the channels to empathy. It’s a defense mechanism.

We certainly do feel the pain of folks who are suffering WAY more than my husband and myself are during this crisis. People who have lost loved ones. People who are sick themselves. People who have lost their jobs, or work in jobs considered essential while putting themselves and their families at risk for exposure to the virus. There are people all over the world suffering in ways we can’t even imagine because of this crisis. All over the world.

But I must point out that there are good outcomes to this event as well. People are learning how to slow down and take time doing “menial” things. I’ve always enjoyed cooking, but not everybody does. But people who never baked before are baking from scratch. We are pulling out old recipes for “comfort foods” from our childhoods when our parents took the time to make these dishes for us. I have made my mother’s Porcupine Meatballs several times already. A real taste from childhood. Last week, I made a large pan of macaroni and cheese. Not the instant kind where you boil pre-cooked macaroni and stir in cheese sauce from a pouch – the kind where you cook a big pot of macaroni, make a white sauce from scratch (the secret is to stir in the milk OFF the heat), melt in at least 2 kinds of cheese, add the cooked and drained pasta, then top it with buttered bread crumbs and bake until bubbly and browning around the edges. Like Mom used to make.

Over the weekend, I scored a pork roast at the grocery store. I heard the meat-packing plants are being hard-hit by coronavirus because of unsafe working conditions, so there may be a shortage of packaged meat in the near future. Just this hint on the news can trigger panic-buying – as we have seen with toilet paper – so I felt compelled to buy the pork roast when I saw it. I resurrected a recipe for pulled pork with balsamic vinegar and soy sauce that cooks in the slow cooker all day. I have the cooked and shredded meat in its sauce in the fridge, waiting for me to make polenta and an avocado cream topping to heat up the meat and serve it all for dinner tonight. My husband and I are eating well these days!

But my main question here is What’s Next? As things gradually re-open, will we all of sudden be safe? Are face masks the new normal? I don’t know about you, but I feel very claustrophobic in mine. I can’t wait to get back in the car, or get home so I can rip it off and take a deep breath! But I’ll wear it as long as I’m required. I’m nothing if not a rule-follower. I witnessed a near-altercation at the grocery store last week. It was the first day of mandatory face masks in public. Two gentlemen in line at the check-out were quietly arguing because one of them was not wearing a face mask. I hurried past them toward the back of the store. Don’t know how the argument ended, but it was apparently over by the time I made my way back to the check-out. I could picture this sort of scene all over the country – some arguments ending in physical violence.

When will we be able to simply greet friends and family with an unreserved hug? A handshake? Will we ever return to that normal?

Even though my husband and I are healthy, at 74 and 69, we are considered part of the at-risk group if we catch the virus. So. we are being careful. We’ll take our time returning to society. Maybe visit friends and family in outdoor settings for a while and avoid touching. Maybe avoid touching for a long time. Maybe a really long time. Is that what’s next?