We have thirteen reported cases of Covid-19 in Newberry County as of this morning. I’m relaxing downstairs in the den, taking a break from watching MST3K on a cool but sunny afternoon.
I go to the office every couple of days. It’s technically legal (“the best kind of legal”), as our state’s order is described as a “home or work” order. In actuality, the order has more holes in it than a junkie’s forearm, making exceptions for visiting family, outdoor recreation, and religious observances (although the latter strike me as a flirtation with Matthew 4: 7.)
I’ve seen two people in the building this week, both of whom were in the hallway while I was in my office. I spend my time there reading, doing a bit of lesson planning, and recording episodes of my Social Distancing Storytime project, the fourth of which will drop on Monday.
Mrs. M does stuff around the house, dealing with her kids and their parents as necessary. Tomorrow’s her birthday, and while she had originally planned to go to Terpville and visit the Spawn and Main Squeeze, she instead has to settle for hanging around with me and the Hound of the Basketballs (not necessarily in that order.) One of her birthday gifts has arrived, and the second, a projector like the one the Spawn received for her birthday, is en route.
So basically, we seem to be doing okay — I hope you are as well.
On the other hand, there’s my brother. Several inmates and staff have been infected with the virus at his facility. As of yesterday when he spoke to our aunt, he was not among them. My information is secondhand, and Michael is almost the definition of an unreliable narrator, but he reports that inmates who test positive are placed in solitary unless and until they may be in extremis, at which point they are hospitalized.
He told my aunt that he’s scared. For those who know Mike, that alone is unusual, but given his history of asthma, there’s a foundation for it.
I’ve said before that while I believe Michael’s sentence is appropriate, and while I don’t anticipate a renewal of our relationship, I have no desire for him to suffer further, and it bothers me to think of him as frightened. I think we’re all worried at this time, but I can see that he has more reason than many. So in these days that are holy for a variety of faiths, if you can spare a prayer for Mike Moore, his fellow inmates, and the staff at his prison, I’d appreciate them, and perhaps he would as well.
I’ll close this one with a bit of music that seems appropriate. This is the title cut from the first album featuring Police guitarist Andy Summers and King Crimson guitarist/mastermind Robert Fripp. From 1982, this is “I Advance Masked.”
May we all advance, masked or not, to a safe end of this strange period of our lives.