I started scanning old pictures again last week. Which always makes me feel melancholy.
My sister Pat and I were on one of our fabulous camping trips to the UP. It was the week of July 15, because we stopped somewhere so I could buy her an ice cream cone for her birthday. Then one evening, as we were strolling along Lake Superior, she snapped this picture.
I wish I could say that she stole my camera and captured
this moment, but it was staged. I told her I would look out over the lake as if
I were lost in thought, and blah, blah, blah. But whether spontaneous or not,
it never took either one of us any effort to look out across that huge body of
water and imagine all the years of our lives floating there.
We never could have imagined that the length of her life
would amount to a mere puddle.
I never would have thought thirty-nine years ago that this picture – one of those artsy ones I snapped all the time – would remind me more of the coronavirus than of a marigold.
A week ago, I was all worked up about having side effects from my second COVID-19 vaccine. I didn’t have any sort of reaction at all. A bit of a sore arm and a headache, which I attribute more to the lack of sleep, in anticipation of the fever, chills and body aches which never happened.
The latest stress is the vaccine clinic we are hosting at my work this Saturday. It will be all hands on deck to efficiently and safely get those 170 patients in and out. And that number of patients is just a drop in the bucket compared to the lists of people in our area who still need the vaccine. I have no idea how they will all get vaccinated. I have no idea if it will make a difference in stopping COVID. I have no idea who that person is in the water.
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