Get Off The Ground

Mask Up First For Your Families

Sunday, October 25, 2020

Mapping the Way

"Five bucks each? C'mon," my wife Amy said.

"That's why I said to bring the cash," I said.

"But five bucks each? We'd better take our time in there and enjoy it."

"Yep. Let's go."

Our daughters took the lead into the corn maze. They were both more excited about picking out pumpkins to take home than doing the maze, but plowed into it nonetheless. It felt good to do something somewhat normal around a holiday. Even masked up and keeping our distance from the other families that were visiting the pumpkin patch the week before Halloween.

I don't remember ever traversing a corn maze before. I loved mazes as a kid, though, buying maze books and completing each and every one. I even drew many of my own mazes for others to try their luck. But because this maze was made of drying corn stalks, my mind went to Stephen King's 1977 short story Children of the Corn (which was made into a cheesy movie in 1984) about a couple who end up in an abandoned Nebraska town inhabited by a cult of murderous children who worship a demon that lives in the local cornfields.

You know, just your basic King horror story. Oh, and like the snowed in hedge maze in the movie version of The Shining.

Anyway, there weren't any cults of murderous children, or a crazy man with an axe, just excited children working their way through the maze with their families like we were.

"Let's go this way!" Bryce called to us. "This way to the exit!"

"No, let's go this way," Amy said.

"No Mom! This way!" Beatrice cried out.

"We're going to take our time and get our money's worth," Amy said.

"So, just stay lost in the maze you mean," I said.

"Yes."

But our girls weren't having any of that. Both Bryce and Beatrice picked one path after another, backtracking and trying new ones after we hit dead ends. It was a beautiful fall day, mild, blue sky and sun, the ocean in view beyond the corn field. We wound through the maze and then -- presto -- Bea and Bryce shimmied through a break in the corn to the exit.

"I don't think that was actually the way," I said. It had only been about 10 minutes total time in the maze.

"Yes, it's the way out," Bryce said, running with her sister toward the pumpkin patch.

"I think we were supposed to go back around that way to get to the exit," I said, pointing behind me.

But the girls were gone. Amy and I followed them into the pumpkins beyond. They searched and searched until they found the ones we wanted, ignoring most of our recommendations. After we paid for the pumpkins and carted them back to our car, I glanced over at the corn maze.

This upside down crazy covid world has been one big frickin' corn maze from hell, I thought. One that we keep winding back and forth in, hitting dead end after dead end, with no exit in sight. Doing the same things every day to keep ourselves safe and well, limiting where we go and who we're around, but never really feeling like we're going anywhere, making any progress, getting beyond the repetitive doldrums while the world inverts dreams and reality like the Christopher Nolan move Inception. Our very souls chafe from this painful repetition, and all the hope and love in the world sometimes doesn't feel like enough for us all to see daylight.

Don't get me wrong -- we're grateful to be safe and well and know there's an exit eventually from this crazy maze. Until then we'll take the lead from our kids, their simple resilience mapping the way.

Other "Days of Coronavirus" posts:

All Because of One Day on the Beach

Awash in Love and Hope

The Building Blocks of Healthy Lives

The Part Where All Lives Matter

The Clarity Bridge for Homelessness

Stars to Shine

Loving Community Wide Shots Abound

A Foundation Worth Saving

This Hit-And-Run Thunderstorm

All Because of One Day on the Beach

Sunday, October 18, 2020

Mask Up First For Your Families

Lap #1

Every fall and spring, my lungs would fill with cement. As a child, my allergies were severe and would then trigger severe asthma. This was before widely available breathing treatments. I don't really remember what, if anything, my mom did for me, or my doctor. I don't remember having any inhalers as a child either, but I do remember my mom telling me when I was really little she'd take me to get an adrenaline shot to help me breathe.

I just remember having to deal with it and how unbearably uncomfortable I was, how hard it was to breathe simply walking from room to room. I remember looking sick, like I had the flu, my face pasty and eyes sunken, shoulders hunched forward to help me breathe.

One of the things I dreaded during the school year was the Presidential Fitness Test, especially the mile run we had to do in order to get the official patch award showing we completed it. Push ups, sits ups and more, it was the four long unbearable laps around the track that were the worst part of it all. They felt like eternities woven into eternities when my asthma activated.

Then, when I turned 15, the asthma began to subside, year after year. Amen.

Lap #2

A few years later, I started smoking cigarettes. Clove cigarettes at first that then became Marlboro Reds. I went from being a skinny, asthmatic kid who was very athletic later in grade school, junior high and high school, playing soccer, baseball and football, to a troubled young adult with severe anxiety and a new addiction. Ugh. It sucked, and the cigarettes sucked the life out of me. Addiction is a bitch, no matter the drug of choice, and mine was nicotine and multiple other carcinogens that compromised my health from the first cigarette.

In college I remember getting colds that would turn into nasty coughs. And I'd make them worse by smoking at least a pack a day. I'd tell myself this time I'd quit, to break the monkey's back on my back, but I never did. I kept on smoking and my physical health continued to deteriorate. Little exercise, crappy food and I gained a lot of weight in my mid-20's. Emotionally unhappy as well, the cigarettes were the only things that made me feel better. My ex-wife's family also smoked cigarettes -- her dad, mom and sister (although my ex did not smoke) -- and so we all smoked it up every time we visited.

Years later, I'd move to Santa Cruz and start a new life, meeting Amy, who also smoked. Not as much as my pack-plus a day habit, but a few cigarettes here and there. She would quit soon after we were dating, eventually motivating me if I wanted to marry her.

"I don't want to be married to a smoker," she said. "I want us to be healthy for the rest of our lives."

And so after many failed attempts, on September 22, 2002, I officially quit.

Lap #3

My birth father, Jerry, smoked cigarettes when my sister and I were born and throughout our childhood. That made my allergies and asthma even worse, which I didn't think was possible when I was at my most miserable.

My sister and I stopped seeing Jerry when I was 13. It would be decades later when I read his obituary online. My mom still heard from his sister once and awhile, and I believe that's how she heard he had died. His obit was less than 30 words in total. It said he died on January 2, 2012, in a hospital in Redding, CA, and that he had lung cancer. He was only 69 years old.

Lung cancer jumped out at me like an abusive PE coach trailing close behind me on the track. Every so often I look behind me figuratively and I take a deep breath.

Lap #4

Eight years after his stroke, my dad developed an abscess on his lung. He nearly died in our hometown hospital, developing secondary infections, and had to be moved to the UCLA Medical Center in Southern California. The doctors there helped him recover and heal after removing the abscess and part of his lung.

When he and our mom was married in 1979, he also was a smoker. Mom never was, thankfully, but Dad smoked for decades. He was a police officer and detective for 32 years, smoked over two packs a day, and then in 1984 he quit cold turkey. Ironically that's about the time I started smoking. 10 years later he'd have that stroke, right after he retired from the police department.

Dad died in 2012 from advanced melanoma, the same year my birth father died, although due to different circumstances. Thankfully both he and Mom got to hold our girls when they were very little. I miss them both terribly.

The Longest Mile

Seasonal allergies and adult asthma came back to haunt me about 14 years ago. The asthma activates when I have a surge of allergies or catch a cold, usually in the fall and then again in the spring. I also worry about the years I smoked cigarettes and the damage done to my lungs. I'm healthy overall and exercise regularly, but I still think about that metaphorical PE coach along the way.

And today, we're still neck deep in a pandemic, the virus known as COVID-19, which affects the lungs among other organs and destructive symptoms. The last time I flew in a plane was in March when I went to one of my last in-person conferences this year, where (again ironically) I had an allergy/cold combo going that had activated my asthma. Where everyone around me got a little freaky wondering if I had the coronavirus.

Nearly 220,000 people have died in the U.S. alone from covid. There have been nearly 40 million cases worldwide. Cases are surging again as well, just in time for flu season, with covid still being 10 times as lethal as the seasonal flu. Our family got our flu shots, which we've done every year since having children. I'm 55 now and although not everyone shows symptoms with covid, I'm in a more susceptible group due to my history. My dad had health issues and nearly died in the hospital, my mom had health issues and did die in the hospital, and my sister had a random infection a few years ago and nearly died in the hospital. I had another type of abscess infection three years ago, unrelated to the lungs, and I do not want to be in the hospital ever again.

Although I haven't flown on a plane for eight months, I remember all too well the pre-flight reminder of what to do if the plane lost cabin pressure and the oxygen masks dropped down. You put your mask on first, and then you help your loved ones and your children.

The infectious disease experts tell us the only thing we can do today about COVID-19, until a viable vaccine is available, is to wear our masks, stay socially distanced, do not gather in large groups and wash our hands, a lot. I believe the science of this; it's not about personal freedoms to get sick or make others sick. The pandemic sucks for sure on so many levels, and like many others, we don't have the resources to go on and on if one of us got sick. That's why nothing else matters to me except to keep myself healthy -- for me -- and for my wife and daughters. For my family and friends as well.

This has been the longest mile for many of us and it's far from over. My lungs are currently clear as is my mandate: mask up first for your families.

Be safe and well.

Other "Days of Coronavirus" posts:

Awash in Love and Hope

The Building Blocks of Healthy Lives

The Part Where All Lives Matter

The Clarity Bridge for Homelessness

Stars to Shine

Loving Community Wide Shots Abound

A Foundation Worth Saving

This Hit-And-Run Thunderstorm

Sunday, October 4, 2020

Awash in Love and Hope

"But time

Keeps flowing like a river (on and on)

To the sea, to the sea

Till it's gone forever

Gone forever

Gone forevermore..."

–Alan Parsons Project, Time

Twelve years ago, shortly before our oldest Beatrice was born, I thought about when I was 12 years old. I remembered imagining then what my life would be like when I turned 35, in the year 2000. I was full of anxious hope back then. Where would I live? Would I be married? Have a family? Would I be healthy? Would I be happy? What kind of work would I do? Would I be successful? Would I be a writer?

Back then, 35 felt so far away. Goodness, 13 felt so far away. Time is funny and fluid that way, and it eventually brought me to the sea, literally. And every day, my mental tides then wash away the remains of my experiences, leaving a few foamy bits sparkling in the sun. I pick through them sometimes, hold them in my hand and reminisce.

When I eventually hit 35 in 2000, I don't remember imagining what life would be like when I would turn 55 in 2020. At that point in my life, I lived in Santa Cruz, was with my now wife, Amy. I had already been married once, but with no children, and kids were light years away with Amy (eight years to be precise). I was fairly healthy back then, but would become even healthier two years later after I quit smoking (although years later I'd have another health scare). I still struggled with my blue genes then, too. I wasn't exactly professionally successful either, but I was a writer and was happy.

No, in the year 2000 I never imagined that 20 years later we'd be raising a family in a global pandemic, another global recession (the first two were already on their way), chronic homelessness, global unrest due to systemic racial injustice and social inequity, and a world filled with uncertainty, shame and hate. I also never imagined our family, along with millions of other families and individuals, would be part of affecting positive change in communities around the world.

Time is always now again, its fluidity a constant. Suddenly I'm 55 and all of the above is here, today. But a moment later I'm swept away from mindfulness, and I briefly imagine what life will be like when I'm 75, in the year 2040. Where will our daughters live? Will they be married? Have their own families? Will they be healthy? Will we be healthy? Will we all be happy? Will I still be writing? Will the world be a better place?

My mental tides wash away those questions and it's now again. All I really know today is that I'm grateful for our daughters. I'm grateful for my wife. I'm grateful for my life. I'm grateful for my family and friends. I'm grateful for my community. I'm grateful for your impact on me, and my impact on you.

I'm also grateful each week to spend time on the beach in Natural Bridges State Park near where we live. We've been going there for years and we've taken our girls there since there were both babies. Whether it's walking with Amy and our dog Jenny to Natural Bridges and back again, boogie boarding in the ocean with our daughters, or doing my weekly beach workout by myself (usually listening to my favorite band Rush), Natural Bridges is a sacred place to me. It's about a mile from the beach where I met Amy (another sacred place), and only a quarter mile from where we were married. There's something about the one remaining Natural Bridge, the beach and the sea -- this place where I ask for God's grace and wisdom.

Tides will always come and go, and although my time will disappear into the sea someday, this is where I'll be forever, awash in love and hope.

"We still feel that relation

When the water takes us home

In the flying spray of the ocean

The water takes you home..."

–Rush, High Water

Sunday, August 16, 2020

This Hit-And-Run Thunderstorm

"Accidents will happen

They only hit and run

You used to be a victim now you're not the only one

Accidents will happen

They only hit and run

I don't want to hear it cause I know what I've done..."

–Elvis Costello and the Attractions, Accidents Will Happen

As we straddled part of the two-lane highway with our trailer in tow, all I could see in that moment was the car that rammed into the back end of my Fiat X-19 at 65 miles per hour.

That was nearly three decades ago. My ex-wife had been in that little car, her seatbelt on, and I was standing behind it trying to flag down traffic to help. We had broken down, had no power, the wheels had locked up and there was a light rain falling at dusk. We had broken down in the lane next to the fast lane on a multi-lane highway. Some cars had started to slow and pull over, and a trucker lit a flare, but it was too late. One car barreled down on us. I jumped clear. It struck the back of the Fiat and drove it over 100 yards down the highway. Amazingly my ex ended up with only minor injuries. One of the passengers in the other car had serious injuries.

That's what I kept seeing as we tried to turn around on the two-lane highway with our new camper rig. I knew in the moment my reaction was as irrational as reliving the memory from the past, but it was too late.

"What are you doing?" I yelled. "You cannot turn around here!"

"Yes, I can. There's plenty of room," my wife Amy said. I could tell she wasn't happy with my tone.

We had recently purchased our new trailer camper and this was only our second trip. Amy drove this leg of the trip and our two daughters were playing on their devices in the back seat. We had missed the turnoff to the campground and were now in a precarious place to try and turn around. Without the camper it would've been a quick flip around to head back the other way.

I kept seeing another vehicle hitting us, over and over again. I pounded violently on on the plastic molding between the front window and my passenger door.

"Stop now! We cannot turn around here! This is is a safety problem and we will get hit!"

I could feel Amy and the girls flinch at my actions and words. Again, I knew as it happened that I was overreacting. Sure, it was definitely a safety problem and we didn't have much room and there was a blind curve behind us. We ended up driving a little further to find a safer turn-around space, and shortly after that we were at the campground. We would've figured it out and we did.

I apologized to my family and we talked through it. Amy understand why I felt how I felt, just not my aggressive response, a recurring response for me at times (the blue genes strike back). We've been spending so much quality time together as a family during this pandemic, choosing eyes of love (most of the time) in the face of any adversity. We have so much to be grateful for -- a loving family, employment, being safe and healthy.

Accidents will happen, though. We both have gotten frustrated with our kids and snapped at them. We've gotten frustrated with each other and snapped back. The girls even asked if everything was okay between us when this happens, not understanding the difference between simple disagreements and the need for deeper dialogue. And now I realize that after these past six months of COVID-19, the deaths, the lockdowns, the economic devastation, the racial injustice, the protests, the cultural divide, the leadership failures and so much more around us that feels like it's all going to hell, that the road-straddle response referenced above was the beginning of my hitting a wall.

Again, I'm super grateful for everything in my life. But with us all home together all the time through work and play, the girls starting school from home again and us being bummed out for them, and then feeling like I don't have enough quality time with my wife even though we're together all the time, I hit a wall hard. Depressed. Lethargic. Hopeless, which is unusual for me of late. Everything feeling and looking like complete shit. The world going to hell in a big community handbasket.

According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) latest Morbidity and Mortality Weekly Report (MMWR), 40 percent of adults said they struggled with mental health challenges and substance abuse. Ugh. I haven't hit a wall like this in a long time, and thankfully Amy and I always talk through it all, walk through it all, love through it all. It's so important during weight of today that keeps bearing down on so many of us, too many of others disproportionately actually, that we talk about how we feel. Get help about why we feel this way. Don't be afraid to ask for help about when we feel this way.

We had severe thunderstorms last night that we usually don't get in Santa Cruz. Amy and the girls slept through most of it, although the thunder kept waking me and the lightning kept flashing and waking me (and Jenny our dog who barked at it a few times during the night). The past six months have felt like this hit-and-run thunderstorm that never seems to pass, leaving me exhausted for tomorrow.

So, I think I'll just be thankful for today instead by talking, walking and loving through it all.

Other "Days of Coronavirus" posts:

Sunday, July 19, 2020

Especially Our Kids

It's hard to imagine what it's been like for our children. Of course, as parents, we've all lived through the past few months with them, have done our best to guide them, to help them with school, to get them outside to play safely. Like us, maybe you have had a small cohort of friends and/or family whose kids and adults you feel safe around, knowing who else they hang out with, so at least there's some social distance contact-tracing space-sharing during this pandemic.

But if the worst of it for some of us is bored kids telling us how bored they are, and in our case, how resourceful they've had to become, keeping themselves entertained with art projects, reading (at least one of them) and other activities, and not always on their devices or watching television, then we're in better shape than we thought. Our two young daughters have been pretty resilient in the face of such disruptive changes to their "normal" everyday lives. And we've also been very grateful since we've been able to be home with them this whole time, while we work.

My wife Amy has also helped them try out various online virtual activities like an acting and drawing class for Beatrice and American Doll hair-braiding class for Bryce, and other joint online activities for both of them. We also do fun science experiments, play games, go outside for walks and ride our bikes sometimes, or go to local parks for the girls to play and for us to walk our sweet dog Jenny. And we'll be camping soon! Unfortunately the morning summer school work has become a little sparse, but we keep trying!

Yes, it's been summertime for many of us in the U.S., and even partial daycare won't happen again until August or September, depending on where you live and what your local healthcare restrictions are. Daycare meaning school, of course. Publicly-funded daycare unless your kids attend private schools, and then it's privately-funded daycare.

I'm not writing this to disparage our teachers and the schools we dispatch to our children. We love our school where the girls have gone and they have had amazing teachers. Teachers who had to quickly adapt to distance learning in a very short period of time and then sustain it over time while keeping our kids engaged this spring into early summer. I cannot imagine being a school administrator or a teacher these days.

However, it's been a lot more difficult for working parents who can't work from home. We have friends in this situation and it's been tough, will continue to be tough. What to do with the children, especially younger children. Maybe some had childcare options like family babysitters. Or maybe taking turns via the cohorts referenced above, something we're planning more of since school will be starting again in a few weeks for us. Not everyone can be home with their kids like we've been able to do, though.

Or maybe they just had to be left home for periods of time. We had already started that practice pre-coronavirus, and only for an hour at a time if we'd go for a walk or a short hike. The girls can contact us if there ever was an emergency, and thank goodness there have been none to date. But we haven't had to leave them for hours on end.

Now with school only a few weeks away for us, our school district was planning reopening with “medium restrictions” in place. This would mean that 50% of students are on campus at a time and would allow for social distancing in the classrooms. Students would then attend school two days a week and participate in distance learning three days a week. They'd have contact with their teachers daily whether they are participating in distance learning or in-class instruction. Or, parents can opt for homeschooling curriculum or other private online school programs, if they can do that and manage their jobs as well.

With COVID-19 surging though, and no vaccine for who knows how long, it's looking more and more like all distance learning this fall and maybe next spring as well. That means no publicly-funded child daycare for many working parents, some of whom may be single parents. So, opting for homeschooling or other private programs will not be an option for them.

Add to that so many people who have lost their jobs and lost their businesses due to coronavirus, hitting people of color much harder than white people. According to the Economic Policy Institute, “The disparate racial impact of the virus is deeply rooted in historic and ongoing social and economic injustices. Persistent racial disparities in health status, access to health care, wealth, employment, wages, housing, income, and poverty all contribute to greater susceptibility to the virus—both economically and physically.”

Also, according to the World Health Organization (WHO), there's been a rise in online bullying and violent behavior, as well as spikes in child abuse and intimate partner violence during this pandemic. Thankfully there are nonprofit organizations like Kidpower that offer emotional and physical safety resources and online classes for children, teens and adults.

Too many people continue breaking under the weight of today, and too many children may fall farther behind and struggle to learn during the coming school year. This is why we've all got to help each other help our kids -- parents, teachers, school districts, communities, government on all levels.

Employers must also be a part of this equation -- according to the latest coronavirus at work survey my organization Talent Board has been running since mid-March, 30% of employers say they'll provide more childcare benefits for working parents (more remote working when possible, onsite childcare, childcare stipends, etc.). That's important since tax revenue will be dramatically lower in the years to come because of the COVID-19 economic devastation, and the impact on our public schools more traumatic than even the great recession over 10 years ago.

Community cohorts of parents, families and friends willing to help each other with childcare and learning will also become invaluable for all working parents. Health safety must also be a top priority for teachers if and when they go back to the classrooms, the same protocols that will keep parents, grandparents, other family and friends safe as well.

Never in our collective lifetimes have we been where we're at today. Never before have we needed each other more, especially our kids.

All of you are loved. Be safe and well.

Other "Days of Coronavirus" posts:

Sunday, July 12, 2020

This Old "No" Guy Jedi

“You're off to Great Places!

Today is your day!

Your mountain is waiting,

So... get on your way!”

―Dr. Seuss, Oh, the Places You'll Go!

I swore I would never drive one. Never in a million years. Nearly two decades ago, when my parents owned a motorhome, and way before we had the girls, I remember my wife Amy saying, "I'd love to have one of those someday and see the rest of America."

"I'm not driving that bus," I said. "You are."

"We'll both drive it," she said.

"Nope. Let's just go tent camping," I said.

"Nope," she said.

And for good reason for her. The year after we met, Amy and one of her best friends took a safari trip to Africa and camped in tents. It was an amazing trip until they all got dysentery for days. And that was the end of tent camping for Amy.

However, my sister's kids had a blast traveling with Nana and Poppa, my parents, in that motorhome. I mean, I always thought it was cool that they had one, but no, ain't never gonna drive one.

But with Amy, the love of my life I've traveled the world with, I've learned to expand my horizons, and be more open to doing. I've always been that "no" guy. Where my pragmatic cynicism (oh, ego) kicks in when a new idea is kicked around, or when the reality of the moment kicks me in the groin. Yep, the "no" guy. Both our daughters know that if they want a "yes" then don't ask Dad.

Before we had the girls, when we were fortunate enough to go to Belize back in 2006, we had rented a little jeep, a Suzuki Sidekick, not really thinking about whether or not it would have automatic transmission. We just assumed it would. So, as we stood in the little rental kiosk off the airport getting the jeep checked out to us, we had no idea it had a standard transmission.

Until we loaded our stuff and sat in the seats, with me in the driver seat.

"Wait a minute. This is a stick," I said.

"It's all right," Amy said. "You can do it."

"But neither of us have driven a stick in years," I said.

"It'll come back. Muscle memory," she said.

"No way. I can't do it," I said.

"Yes, you can. Now just drive. You can do it."

The "no" guy stalled out a few times, and so did Amy when she drove it, but it all came back up pretty quickly.

Then there was the "no" time when we were prepping to travel to Australia with our daughters, neither of us sure we wanted to brave driving in Australia, where everything is on the "wrong" side of the car and the road. It wasn't just me this time, and ironically Amy had trained me well, because I convinced her we should rent cars and drive during parts of the trip.

And that's exactly what we did. To say it was awkward at first would be quite the understatement, but after getting lost shortly after leaving the Sydney airport, we got plenty of driving practice in. After the first day, we both were driving in Australia without a hitch.

But no motorhomes! Ever! And while that is true, COVID-19 struck. Everything ground to a halt, including leisure travel. With coronavirus now surging again, especially in America, even if we wanted to go on a trip (which we did and it had to be canceled), our choices are pretty limited in order to be as safe as possible.

We had already thought about renting a camper pre-coronavirus, to try it out, but never did. Then we had friends who bought a trailer camper and hit the road. In fact, RV sales are soaring now! I was conflicted, because while it's not a motorhome, we still have to learn all the things -- all the hoses and the hookups and how to tow and drive the frickin' thing. And back the frickin' thing up into tight places. Again, all the things. Of course, we're grateful that can actually consider getting one in the first place, but to know all the things and drive it safely -- no!

But hey, a camper is a self-contained mini-hotel room where only we'll be, so there's that. Thankfully we both now embody the Yoda philosophy of "do or do not -- there is no try." A long time coming for me, we're both open to all the doing, failing, learning and doing again and again. And if this is the beginning of the zombie apocalypse, then dammit, we're going to be ready to go!

Yes, we like Star Wars and end-of-world stories.

But that's not the point. Self-doubt and fear diminish the do, and even with the vestige of my pragmatic cynicism hanging on, this old "no" guy Jedi is a doer. We researched, we shopped and we did it! The girls are super excited, as are we. We've been getting such valuable advice from friends and family, and I've also been up at night working out the physics of all the things in my head. So much to learn including how to back the frickin' thing up! That's why we're going to a parking lot first and placing orange cones down to navigate around.

And then after the practice -- oh, the places we’ll go...

Other "Days of Coronavirus" posts: