Today Will Not Be Here Tomorrow

Meanwhile, someplace in the world, somebody is making love and another a poem.”

From Figuring by Maria Popova

Periwinkles, ducks, and clouds. Hood River waterfront on 3/20/20.

I fed hummingbirds all winter. Each time I thought they had departed for a warmer climate, they would appear and take a big slurp from the feeder.

I received two petunia plants in September. They continue to flower. I did not tend them. Still, they survived outside, in northern Oregon, on relative humidity and indirect light.

This is unusual.

In late January, following our return from a Christmas vacation in California, the first news of the coronavirus came from China. The world scoffed aloud, “Hmph”. Now, barely two months later, it stammers a collective, “WTF”. The upheaval is astounding.

The Columbia River looking west from The Hook in Hood River, OR. 3/20/20

Worldwide, half a million people are infected with the virus. More than 25,000 have died. The travel industry needs a ventilator to breathe. Cruise ships are floating petri dishes. Professional and amateur sports suffer in an induced coma. Many states have closed schools. Shortages exist for supplies of hygiene related products. Restaurants across much of the USA shutter their doors in adherence to social distancing. Mayors and governors issue sheltering in place edicts. Bustling downtowns look deserted. The stock market plummeted to record lows, millions are suddenly unemployed, and everyone with a 401k is hyperventilating.

My ukulele-a Mike Pereira “Cali” Baritone.

To the rescue, the federal government …? Wow, where to begin? The kindest thing I can say is that our president’s leadership has been sub-optimal. Evidence of the country’s unpreparedness is matched in degree only by the administration’s improvised responses that, thus far, promise but don’t deliver. Congress, prone to partisan dithering, slogs along. Emergency relief is imminent, albeit late. More will be necessary.

Are we all going to die? No. But, it’s possible someone we know will. Better leadership and foresight could have minimized the number.

I belong to one of the high risk groups. I am older. And, I have a suppressed immune system due to my cancer, multiple myeloma. Fortunately, I am a home body by nature. Social isolation is not a personal hardship. I read, I write, and I play my ukulele.

I am 12 years out from diagnosis. Like those petunias in my front yard, I exist on the relative humidity of my good luck. My anxiety about the Covid-19 virus is tempered by experience. The grim prospect of mortality is an acquaintance. I am no more susceptible to contracting the virus than you. However, I may have a more serious response should it come my way. So be it.

Closed the waterfront to walkers on March 22nd

Our fragility as a species is revealed by a microscopic organism. Knowing better, we nonetheless chose to be unprepared. The current administration dissolved pre-existing institutions established for a menace such as Covid-19. Now, we pay the price for that choice.

Similarly, we will pay a price for our indifference to the threat of climate change. It’s cheering to see hummingbirds visit during the gloomy days of winter. Remember, though, this is unusual. It’s not equivalent to the Australian brush fires or 69 degree temperatures that recently occurred in Antarctica. But it serves to remind me, overwhelming evidence exists of this threat to humanity.

The coronavirus teaches us that calamities occur that effect all of mankind. It also shows that we can respond unilaterally for the greater good of everyone. We will survive Covid-19. Climate change will be a much more formidable challenge. Let’s hope we choose to be better prepared for its consequences than we were for this disease.

Now, a song … 

Today Will Not Be Here Tomorrow

The latest numbers …

The Drill