Day #32--Morning Thanks

The numbers are staggering. The death toll here will soon reach 30,000. Around the world, more than two million have been been struck by the Coronavirus, and about 140,000 have died. That's this morning's toll. The numbers are guaranteed to change quickly. 

Here's Iowa's chart.

While Iowa's numbers overall seem almost insignificant--just less than fifty deaths--the line  indicating new cases is not flattening. And now, with the explosive outburst of cases in a packing plant in nearby Sioux Falls, even here in the far northwest corner of the state, COVID19 creeps closer. Our President calls himself a cheerleader. Let there be no doubt, we need it.

Yesterday, an ex-student just about cried her story into Facebook. Tore away at my heart. Taking care of a table full of little kids who want to be in school is no picnic. Stress magnifies when there's so much to worry about. The elderly are suffering greatly, thousands are dying alone. Nurses and doctors are obscenely overworked and endangered, scared to death themselves of bringing a killer home, which many have done. Millions of Americans are unemployed, businesses locked up and shuttered. 

Yesterday the President accused New York of deliberately padding their stats to get more of what they and the rest of the nation need. He loves to accuse others. That the World Heath Organization played footsie with China seems clear, but jerking funding from an organization vitally needed at this most treacherous time makes our fearless leader seem even more the slap-happy bully he's long proven himself to be. Besides, he left a trail of his own blindness and lies scattered through a dozen February videos. At times, our cheerleader-in-chief couldn't seem more ridiculous if he pulled on a skirt. But worse--far worse, he's dangerous.

Now a protest in Michigan, where a significant chunk of populace believes the governor has vastly over-regulated their freedoms, so much for Pure Michigan. I can't imagine we won't see more of that. Somebody will ask for Fauci's head, if they haven't already. How dare he question the King! We don't need more stress to show us our seams. Those seams have been stretched for years.

Things are bad. 

But I have to tell myself that. 

I'm counting this as Day #32, but that number is arbitrary. I began my count when the NCAA called off March Madness, the news I heard when I knew this whole thing was serious. It might have taken a week before we began "sheltering in place." Most of us, like Dr. Dirx, already use the phrase "social distance" as a verb, as in "If people social distance, then we will. . ." What am I saying? It's what we're doing. It is a verb. In many parts of the world, it's not Day #32.

Honestly, right now, at this moment, with the birds singing outside my window and a gentle dawn arising, it's hard to imagine someone less affected than I am. We're retired. We have very few responsibilities anyway, and both of us keep very busy. Neither of us have had to "make work," and if outside temps finally melt away what's left of last week's blizzard, the backyard and garden will beg for a cleaning. We may make forty today.

For a decade or more, three of our parents lived in retirement homes that would have them locked up right now. Like so many others, we'd have to visit through the windows. But all of them are gone.

Our children have paychecks, our grandchildren are fine--and, my goodness, there's a brand new one, a little girl who may, one day, tell her own grandchildren that she was born smack dab in the middle of an epidemic that killed millions.  

Joy, like success, can sometimes seem so arbitrary. By choosing to live here have we mitigated the possibility of our own suffering? We could have it so much worse. Why are we so blessed when so many languish? 

I don't know answers to those questions. Meanwhile, I'll just keep recording the Boxcar Children for my grandson. 

So much of the world isn't, but all of this is just to say, "we're doing well." 

And for that, this chilly, beautiful morning, I'm very, very thankful.