It’s early March. Our friends emailed that they’d cancelled their flight to Toronto scheduled for April.
I stood behind someone in the pharmacy who had bought about twenty bottles of hand sanitizer.
Christian went out and bought us masks (expensive ones) and disinfecting wipes.
We didn’t use the masks; hardly anyone in the airport had them on. But the minute we reached our seats in the airplane, we pulled out the wipes and started wiping down the arm rests, the tray table (open and shut), the seat belts, the seat fabric, and the head rest. Everyone was doing it. Eagerly. Joking began a few rows ahead—a guy was offering to sell toilet paper, wipes, masks. We all laughed to dispel our fears.
This morning, from afar, I read that our archbishop has cancelled sharing of the common cup—now only the priest will partake of the wine. The collection plate will not be passed around or along, but left in a central place for people to take their offerings to. And there will be no gathering for coffee after.
Soon they will cancel gathering for church! We’ll check in via Zoom. From home.
I picked up a paperback to read while we’re away. I bought it in the secondhand store in the mall for a dollar. I cooked it in the microwave when I got home. It smelled of glue and its pages wrinkled.
Now that I’m reading it, I find it’s timely. Even though it was published in 2008, it begins by describing the many millions who died of the 1918 ‘flu. A sobering thought.