Pandemic Journal - Day 108

The July 4 holiday passed by uneventfully here at the ol' farmstead. We went up on top of one of the hills on the farm and watched the fireworks all around us.

The moon was full and a beautiful orange, highlighting the revelry of exploding colors. We turned our heads constantly, watching the fireworks explode first to our right, then to our left, then directly in front of us.  It was just my husband and me, and we held hands while we sat in the car. In the moments when the fireworks were silent, the fireflies paved the way as they danced through the hayfield. Each firework boomed or sizzled, sometimes sounding like cannons volleying, and other times sounding like bacon frying. The air soon smelled of sulfur even though we were, in some cases, miles away from the exploding celebrations. I could see the haze of gunpowder across the valleys, the smoke swirling in the moonlight.

Sunday, we spent the day inside for the most part. July has come in hot and humid, with temperatures hovering around 95 degrees. Last week, my husband worked on a septic installation job, and he came in with his hair and shirt both soaking wet every day. Not from rain, but from the humidity.

Tomorrow I go for a mammogram, a follow-up to a visit in November. Allegedly I have cysts, but they wanted me back in six months. That should have been May but they weren't doing things like that then.

When I made the appointment for this, we had few cases. Now we are climbing in numbers and frankly it is scarier going out now than it was back in April, when the cases were in the cities. While other parts of Virginia are decreasing in cases, southwest Virginia's numbers are climbing. We now have 134 cases in Botetourt alone. I remember when I thought 33 was a lot.

My husband is going with me tomorrow even though he can't go in and will have to wait in the car. The appointment should go quickly - I have to call and tell them when I'm in the parking lot before they will let me in the building. I doubt they will tarry. I have to wear a mask, which I would do anyway. I expect they will take my temperature and all of that. I appreciate the precautions. I still find it scary, though.

The temperature of the nation seems like the entire place has Covid-45. People are protesting, still. I think that's been going on for a month. They are still removing statues, and I say good riddance to most of those, although I would have preferred a more orderly removal and placement in a museum or something. It is time those reminders of a lost and loathsome cause are put out of the public sphere. They certainly don't belong in front of the capital building in Richmond.

Our fearless leader, #45, over the July 4 weekend gave doomsday speeches and called everyone who opposed him evil and someone who should be dealt with firmly. It was so Hitler-esque that I personally don't see how others can't see that, but people only hear what they want to hear, I suppose. I'm sure that includes me. I hear evil and others hear greatness. Sometimes I feel totally out of step with my neighbors and my family. But my morality insists I remain true to my heart.

I have been reading a book called The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck, by Mark Manson. It has interesting ideas in it, some of which I am trying to implement. I need to stop giving a fuck about a lot of things, but most especially things I have no control over. I wish it came with a workbook.

These remain strange times. At least the aliens didn't land on July 4, although frankly I think that would have been a cool thing to see.