Aviation

The cocktail of the evening

Photo by Kevin Kelly on Unsplash

The truth is, I know no other way of writing. And yet, I fight it.

I can’t really start to write with a grand idea. I must just fiddle. Fiddle around a bit, describing my world, letting my fingers do the walking, the talking.

I’m listening to my local, commercial-free jazz station while the world around me shakes on its pedestal. I’m informed via alerts on my phone that Mike Pence refuses to invoke the 25th amendment to remove the maniac at the helm in the White House.

Covid-19 rages on. My daughter is in Los Angeles, one of the world’s most severe hot spots.

In the bath last night, I read the New Yorker article on the pandemic: The Plague Year. I read that even in cases that are asymptomatic, damage is done to the insides of arteries, making them ragged, rough, which is why one of the scary effects of Covid is blood clots. Little bits of blood that gather on these rough arterial walls and gather layers like a snowball, only to eventually be released back into the bloodstream as a clot that can kill when it enters the brain or the lungs as surely as a bullet.

I texted my kids: “Guys. Don’t get Covid. It’s not trivial. Even if you have no symptoms, you can still have arterial damage.”