One Year Later: I began my COVID journal on March 24th. The intent was to write down things that were catching my attention due to the pandemic. For my entries prior to March 24th, I wrote about what I recalled.
“February 22, I drove down to get Tara and we went to an Ani DiFranco concert in Eugene. No concern whatsoever about travel or interaction. People were talking about the rate of infection, and comparing it to the regular seasonal flu. On the 26th there was a headline that the rate of infection was 3% instead of 2%. Our mutual friend Liz, who had been planning a trip to Italy to visit Manja, said she was having reservations about her trip to Italy, not because she was worried about the virus, but because she was afraid that she would have to quarantine when she came back. Italy was making the news for having so many cases.”
It’s hard to put myself back into that headspace of giving so little thought to the Ani DiFranco concert. Tara and I had a fun night. We jammed into the concert hall with all those other bodies. We watched happily, shoulder to shoulder. Ani herself was sick that night, drinking copious amounts of tea between songs, singing in a raspy voice and coughing now and then. We didn’t have a moment of worry. Imagine that.
I’ve reflected back on it, that concert. Using it as a measure of one of the last moments when life was normal.