The coronavirus has hit Seattle, and right now I am visiting the Boy at his tiny boarding school in Montana where coronavirus has not hit.
Yet.
These kids are isolated in a bucolic small town that is off the map and then ALL of their parents are brought in from New York City, San Francisco, Houston, etc. bringing a global collection of germs to this very local village.
I haven't coughed in a week except for when my tea was too hot and I am a little more tired than usual. I feel reasonably fine. One a scale of one to ten, I feel like a 7.5 which isn't bad for a week of traveling.
And yet, I am terrified that I might be carrying this nasty bug and having "subclinical" case, meaning I might have the virus but not the symptoms. Now I know how the rats must have felt during the bubonic plague. I feel like a blanket with fleas carrying smallpox to the Native Americans back in the 1600's. Monday, I shook my son's soccer coach's hand and then found out he has a medically fragile son. Today I apologized to him: "I am sorry I shook your hand yesterday. I'm from Seattle."
I hope this bug is grossly over-hyped, for everyone's sake because right now I am feeling super guilty if on the off chance this little community gets the superbug that it will be my fault.
This blog is about the little and big thoughts that pop into my head. I once read that when Flannery O'Connor walked into a bookstore, she would want to edit her published works with a red pen. In the digital world, we have the luxury of tweaking things up after we've hit the publish button. I can be a perfectionist/procrastinator, where waiting for the ideal means little gets done. Here I will share what is not--and likely will never be--perfect.
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