Stasis. Transformation. Magic.


When little can be done, do little. *

Magic comes from change—even change you don’t choose. *

As part of a recent guided meditation I was instructed to create a mini movie of any problem I wished to address. Then I was to continue watching as the step by step resolution of the problem unfolded on screen.

The problem: Several months after my return from Tokyo I remain largely cut off from easy-going, social interactions I value. I am unable to partake of what was once a vibrant cultural scene in the city.  As self-isolation restrictions ease somewhat, I’m not tempted to dine out, travel locally or endure tedious line ups for every mundane transaction. I’m not opting for risks that don’t offer commensurate rewards. Of course I realize that such inconveniences are not as catastrophic as the deprivations experienced by others. However, they chafe all the same.

The circumscribed life I am living mid global pandemic—one I might imagine as appropriate in my late 8th and early 9th decades—is not quite what I’d anticipated in late February as I embarked on what I thought would be two rapturous months studying in Tokyo followed by a summer of leisurely and stimulating idylls.

I shouldn’t have been surprised that the meditation didn’t quite work out as expected either. The mini movie offered no resolution. Before me I saw a pristine white cocoon suspended by silky white threads from a branch. Serene. Elegant. Motionless.

Of course, the symbolism is quite obvious and nothing I didn’t already know. A global pandemic has put my life on hold in a crisis which changes from day to day but also remains static, suspended and mind-numbingly the same.

However, as I considered the imagery I began to wonder whether the recent aborted journey to Tokyo was never meant to be the culmination of my ikebana aspirations as I had planned. Perhaps I had failed to recognize the venture as the caterpillar stage.

Though I did not see a resolution to my state of stasis in the meditation, there’s a well-known outcome to the cocoon stage. A transformed creature emerges from the chrysalis and engages with the world anew. As if to underscore the reminder of change they did not choose, swallow tail butterflies flit among the leaves outside my window. Magic!

Everything changes. Everything appears and disappears. There is perfect tranquility when one transcends both life and extinction.        The Buddha


*Attributions unknown

Cocoon Image Credit Megan McCarty

Butterfly Image Credit By Calibas at en.wikipedia – Own work, Public Domain,




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Boredom. Bother. Beauty.

After sixty days which include the two-week Federal Quarantine Order before self-isolation, I hold two states of mind simultaneously: gratitude to have landed blessedly well and lethargy due to this serene limbo-life. I’ve been forced into a routine I imagined for myself in my 8th or 9th decade—quietly sitting at home albeit minus aches and pains for late-in-life companions.

Even though I have successfully skirted the temptation to avoid pajama days 95 percent of the time and joyfully accomplished a great deal, occasionally as the evening wears on I get an acute case of corona fatigue. Sometimes after days of nothing much to do and nowhere to go except for brief in-out shopping trips to replenish basic groceries and necessities, it all seems tedious.

I’ve completed the large projects I undertook in the first few weeks, and none of the domestic chores ever occupy an entire day.

Though the results look great and cost much less, home-based spa time lacks any luxurious atmosphere or cachet.

Yawn. YouTube and Netflix (even the educational and enriching options) offer little enticement anymore. The same holds true for scholastic pursuits as those mean more sitting in front of a computer.  And music via speakers—even good ones—sounds hollow compared to the real deal.

Last week shops, restaurants and services not deemed essential began to open under carefully controlled conditions. Even though I am behind the idea of supporting local businesses to recoup their losses in principle; the reality is I’m not the least bit helpful. I have few needs other than groceries and am not particularly motivated to stand in lines and follow arrows or don a mask to peruse items I don’t need in the off chance of an impulse purchase.

Happily, we are now allowed to expand our “social bubbles.” However, we are advised to use caution, maintain good hygiene habits and continue distancing. Though I’m not fearful of people per se, I’m not particularly eager to engage with those I don’t care about deeply. The risk reward payoff is no temptation.

Last week I visited an aunt and uncle whom I hadn’t seen since February. The week before, I walked with a friend through the gardens of The University of Victoria campus. In both instances I was smacked with the incredible uplifting energy which imbues human connection. The various devices we use to create reasonable facsimiles of such links are somewhat deficient in conveying its essence. It’s not unlike the difference between icing made with hydrogenated oil instead of butter. You still get a dope dose of sugar, but.

Of course, ennui will not help me amuse, motivate or improve myself over the remaining days, weeks, months or years that cocooning through this pandemic and its various levels of fallout might last.  I wonder whether pupae fret and chafe in their silken cages.

Realizing I need to regain a Buddha mind, I turn to ikebana which I haven’t touched since my last class in Tokyo two months ago. I choose a container, cut pieces of weeping eucalyptus bark [Eucalyptus sepulcralis, Latin for belonging to a tomb] set them into a kenzan and cover it with beach stones. When I finish my hands are fragrant.

My photos fail to capture the depth or subtleties, the rich harmony of the grays and browns in the bark, container and stones. Removed from its natural state and transformed, the bark conveys dynamic movement upward in spite of its static state. Might that expression be symbolic? Perhaps. The Sogetsu tagline is: The flower becomes me. Perchance by some unconscious, beautiful accident it’s true.



I wish to make clear that I merely describe and reflect on my circumstances after two months in covid confinement. I am fully aware that my bit of boredom and bother are not even close to suffering.  At the same time, psychologists underscore the way that all people suffer in various ways through this current crisis, even the ones whose circumstances are favorable or whose natures may find isolation easier to bear.

Alas, as has ever been the case during calamities, through no fault of their own many people have been and will continue to be devastated by this contagion in multiple heartbreaking ways.

All my empathy and compassion for their plight can do nothing to alleviate it.

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Painting 101: 5 Things to Consider

Over the past 10 days I made use of the self-isolation period to get rid of the murky gray/brown paint on my kitchen walls and trim. I would have preferred to change the countertop for something less ho-hum and not at war with the floor. However, a liter of paint is less costly and doesn’t require the hassles of scheduling sub-trades. The goal was to unify everything by matching the trim and wall colour to the cabinets.

  1. Adequate preparation is everything.
    1. Having everything in place before starting eliminates delays caused by additional trips to the store.
    2. I’ve learned not to rush the filling and sanding or skip the priming of spots needing repair. The reward for the patience required to do it properly is joy. Any short cut will inevitably show up as a wince-inducing reminder of how much nicer it could have been.
  2. Everything will take more time than anticipated.
    1. This is true with almost any project.
    2. Increase that exponentially when working on DIY projects during a pandemic. Had I been able to enter the store to fully discuss the project with experienced and knowledgeable staff, I may have avoided having to repaint a section.
    3. When that happened I chose to chill and be grateful that it filled more time.
  3. Colour matching is tricky.
    1.  I wanted the walls and trim to match the cabinets. However, I did not know (and could not be advised) that due to the differences in the chemical composition of paints, they would look different. Note the bluish wall tint compared to the trim colour below.
    2. Therefore, I repainted the area with the alkyd paint I’d bought for the trim.
    3. Even having done that, the eye will read a colour—even one matched by computer—differently from one surface to another or in different places of the same room. This depends on how nearby elements reflect from the surfaces or how shadows play in a space.
    4. All the care in gauging colour samples on chips or sample-paint boards in various light conditions and numerous spots in a room won’t guarantee that the end result won’t present as a slight miss-match.
  4. Any imperfect end result is usually better than the original starting point.
    1. Though the perfection imagined at the outset did not quite match the eventual result, the new look is clean and fresh and harmonious.
  5. Never point out the imperfections in a job.
    1. Others don’t need to know the flaws in the job–ones left behind by previous trades or ones I made myself. As I didn’t notice many of them until I got my nose deep into the work, most likely no one else will notice either. Why invite it?
    2. Though I still don’t fancy the countertop, I’m more than happy with the final result.
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Musings on Mother’s Day

2003 Mom and I with the quilt she made from the remnants of our 1960s home-sewn clothing.

Life began with waking up and loving my mother’s face. ~ George Elliot

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Happy 2020 Birthday to Me!

I decided to make it a great one and go all out for my birthday this year. Why not?

Most happiness is created–whatever else may be going on. It doesn’t often land on you unexpectedly (though it’s more than wonderful when it does). Since I can’t dine under Michelin stars, I opted for Philippsen stars and planned a splendid meal.

All day the house is full of fantastic smells. Yesterday I baked a lemon cake. This morning I made lemon cream frosting, iced the portion of cake I’d set aside for dessert, and put a sparkler in it.

Resisting a week-long glut of way-way-way too much happiness, I sliced and froze the rest along with 6 additional muffin-sized ones. Who says you can’t make happiness last?

That done I prepped the leek & bacon quiche tarts I plan to have as an appetizer with the 1/2 bottle of Veuve Clicquot I put by. After that I plated a salad of cabbage, Brussels sprouts, radishes and micro greens which I popped into the fridge ready to pull out, dress with a light yuzu, mayo and white balsamic vinegar dressing and serve.

For the main course I enjoyed rolled chicken thighs stuffed with pesto, prosciutto and provolone cheese, breaded in Panko bread crumbs. I finished that with Brussels sprouts caramelized in butter and minced garlic as a side.

For this course I kept a bottle of Meiomi Pinot Noir in reserve in order to stretch the bubbly to the dessert course. Insurance. Just in case.

Gochisosama deshita There are subtleties within that meaning as well, because gochiso means “luxurious food” or “feast,” even when the meal has been simple. Gratitude is an interesting sentiment.  (With my thanks to Edible Communities: Eat Your Words.)

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5.3 Arrangements on a Table

The object of this lesson is to create arrangements suitable for those occasions when people gather around a table, often a dinner table but not always. Normally the arrangement is placed in the center and should suit the size of the table. If people are seated around the table, the maximum height should be about the distance between one’s elbow and fingertips. (Lanky people get more leeway.)

The various elements of the arrangement and the table setting ought to be in harmony and attractive from all angles. However, heavily scented flowers are best avoided. Ideally, if successful, the arrangement should spark conversation. Although, if you’re Japanese or a student of ikebana, you’ll understand that it’s necessary–good manners–to offer comments.

In this instance Sensei wasn’t keen on my choice of container. Still, I saw the opportunity for creating something that was asymmetrical from each point of view with this beautiful ball and its multiple throats.

Each day I was given a packet of branches and flowers ordered for the lesson without any input from me.  Though normally quite fragrant, these sweet peas had no scent, and the number of spirea branches used so few as to have no negative affect on the viewer.

In English, Sogetsu School’s tagline reads: The flower becomes me. Google Translate renders the Japanese as Flowers become me.  A difference of some significance if one is inclined to dance on the head of a pin.

However, I often wonder whether that’s freighted with cryptic nuances dependent on  oblique references to ancient poems.

In English, the flower might turn into me, grow into me, or convert to me. Or it could suit me, fit me, and flatter me. Or does it express me; revealing something of my being and what I am becoming?

The longer I study the art of ikebana, the more frequently I consider these questions.

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Loss & Change

Part way through my quarantine my friend A and I chat via Skype. I tell her I know that returning a month ahead of schedule without achieving any of the goals I’d set for my Tokyo sojourn was necessary and that I acquiesce to that reality; however, I also feel deep disappointment and loss. Even so, thinking that my loss doesn’t compare to the loss of a loved one or a job due to the virus, I acknowledge that others suffer much more than I do.

A says: There is no hierarchy of loss. A loss is a loss. To think that others have it worse is pointless.

It’s one of the most validating and consoling things anyone has said to me. It’s true. My loss is a loss. Although I won’t be constantly moaning about it, that doesn’t mean that I won’t feel it deeply. A is right. Belittling a loss (whatever it might be) is not helpful.

Shortly after my conversation with A, D asks via email whether I’m “settled in” to the “new routines” yet. Oh no. Every day still contains some level of surprise. I haven’t experienced several weeks of self-isolation, learned the new protocols at every place of business or acclimatized to the “new routines.”

Photo Credit:×400.jpg on

I uprooted from my normal life in Victoria two weeks before isolation was implemented in BC. While concerns in Japan had risen to the point where the government closed schools and cultural venues for the month of March, in Tokyo business carried on much as usual.

The main difference was the absence of tourists during peak season. However, temples, shrines, parks, shops and restaurants were open, although the ones I frequented were doing about one third of their usual business and struggling to hang on. It was relatively easy to keep distances and manage risks as I didn’t have to commute in packed trains.

Then in the midst of that uncertainty as Tokyo’s numbers began to rise day by day, the Olympic Games were postponed. Talk of lockdown became more frequent. As I had no desire to hole up in a 300 square foot apartment only to serve a second quarantine the moment I landed in Canada, I made the wrenching decision to return.

Though I made every effort to use the quarantine period wisely and enjoy it, those conditions are hardly conducive to “settling in.” Then, after my confinement ended mere days ago, I faced the new constrictions governing every action I need to take in order to meet my most basic needs. It’s as if I have returned to a foreign country.

Worse, and perhaps most shocking is the behavior of people.  If they pass closer than 2 meters (for all of 2 seconds), they no longer stop to engage in conversation, but hold their breath and scurry past.  Sometimes they cringe and draw away. Some even gasp and cry out. Overworked and distressed checkout clerks who must sanitize the conveyor belt between each customer no longer engage in the pleasantries that were once a cheery aspect of Victoria life.

After a few days of that sort of freedom, I’m definitely not settled. While my home is comfortable and comforting, the isolation and changes at every level are additional losses I’ve yet to integrate into the whole. It will take time.

Inscription: I learn only to be contented.

Never mind. Many times I have counted blessings through my tears. I’ve always chosen to do my best and make the best of grim situations. Eventually I adjust. I can do it again. That doesn’t mean it is easy.

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Federal Quarantine Order: Week Two

This afternoon, about an hour after I finished the old-fashioned, Mennonite-style spring cleaning I gave my home during week two of my quarantine period; I received an email from the Government of Canada informing me that it was over.

As I consider what was different about my life during 14 days of Federally Ordered Quarantine and days prior to C-19, at first it seems not much.

  • I couldn’t hop in the car and drive anywhere.
  • I wasn’t allowed to walk outside.
  • I haven’t had a hug since 2 April (when I parted from A in Omotesando and we said if this kills us it kills us—which it did).

Though I will be able to drive, shop for myself and go for walks, the news is not a Get Out of Jail Free card.

Self-isolation remains necessary. Major changes will be part of the new normal:

  • I won’t shop multiple times a week.
  • I won’t visit people or flit around various neighborhood venues in my city for diversion.
  • Events I normally attend monthly or weekly are cancelled indefinitely.
  • There are no live concerts.
  • I won’t enjoy restaurants or non-essential shops as none are open.
  • I can’t schedule non-emergency appointments for health care or self-care.
  • It will be harder to find people to make service calls for in home repairs.
  • There will be no relaxed face to face moments for coffee, happy hour, dinner with anyone.
  • The select few I may meet must remain 2 or more meters distant.
  • There’s still no safe way to hug (except perhaps this one).

Anything else I might get into is what I usually do and maintained while under quarantine.

  • After meditation and breakfast I shower, style my hair and dress. If I’m planning a grubby job I’ll shower afterwards.
  • As needed, I undertake the usual domestic routines–making the bed, preparing meals, doing laundry and cleaning.
  • I enjoy any number of on-going projects and keep up online connections with friends.
  • I set an elegant table with the china, silver and crystal.

However, what I noticed (even before I left Tokyo where I was taking extra precautions) is how much more energy I consume as I use strategies to minimize the risk of contracting or spreading the virus.

  • I wash and microwave cloths used to sanitize countertops, sinks, computers, phones and other hard plastic much more frequently and in hot water.
  • I use more paper towels, hand sanitizing wipes, bleach wipes, liquid bleach and peroxide (chemicals I generally avoid) than I normally would.
  • I no longer save plastic bags from the grocery store which I repeatedly repurposed prior to C-19 as the virus lives a long time on plastic. I’m not prepared to scrub and dry them all, and I don’t have a suitable space to let them decontaminate on their own.
  • C-19 is airborne and by compressing a bag that might contain it, the virus could be released into the air. Therefore, the garbage I create is also less compact and double bagged to better protect others from ruptured bags.

However, all of these are minor moves in a long game. As it seems we are going to be stuck in isolation limbo for some time to come, we have the time to realize the multiple levels on which this invisible threat changes—even devastates—everything. Despite all the “virtual togetherness” and stories of human kindness which emerge in the flood of negative news, eventual outcomes remain uncertain for us all.

In the meantime, as we wait for the sword to fall I’ve decided to paint the main bathroom, kitchen and trim. Before I moved in to my present home in 2019, I replaced the carpets and painted the rest of the walls. However, I left the remainder for a time when I had less to do. That time is now.

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Federal Quarantine Order: Week One

A week ago I arrived at my “place of quarantine” in the early evening (about the same time I left Tokyo on the same day).

Immediately I place my luggage on the enclosed balcony outside my condominium.

There the bags and their contents sit. I wait for the period of time that it can be presumed (according to the best knowledge we have) that any COVID-19 which may have attached during the handling process has perished.

Then, standing in front of the machine, I carefully remove my clothing without shaking it and put it into the washer. Afterwards I sanitize the lid and any areas I have touched on arrival. That done, I step into the shower and scrub the way people are instructed to do before day surgery.

Once I put on my pajamas I establish clear red and green zones in my home. Only then, wearing gloves, do I remove any items from my bags that I need to use immediately. I thoroughly sanitize those and scrub my rubber gloves the way you’re supposed to scrub hands after I am done. Why? The virus lives longest on rubber gloves and hard plastic surfaces.

After that, I relax with a splendid single-malt while answering email and checking the news of the past 36 hours.

A neighbour who’s been keeping an eye on my place for insurance purposes has put a carton of milk in the fridge before my arrival (which also gets sanitized). I have coffee and oatmeal on hand, so I am okay until breakfast. After that I need to solve the problem of an empty fridge.

The restrictions expressly forbid getting my own groceries even though the person getting them for me might very well be one of the 25% who spread the disease without having symptoms, or be in the stage of the disease before symptoms show. But rules never cover everything.

Or coughs from other shoppers may have deposited the virus on anything in the store. The Finns have put a very creepy cough cloud animation on the web showing how far and how long the droplets travel. Normally, a healthy immune system takes that invisible stuff in and makes short shrift of it; however, we’re way beyond “normal” now. Without testing, we are wise to presume that everyone and everything is contaminated and behave accordingly. This is how people with compromised immune systems live all the time. The rest of us are waking up.

Saturday morning I call Thrifty’s home delivery service and explain my situation. The cheerful woman on the phone says: Oh yes. We can help. Do you have an account with us? No? Well, you go online, open an account and then early Tuesday—as early as possible—you put in your order. We only take orders on Tuesdays. We don’t, however, guarantee delivery before Thursday.

Yikes! Houston we have a problem. That’s six days without groceries.

Plan B: Before I left Tokyo a few people had offered to help with groceries and such on my return.  However, for various reasons when I contact them, they are not able to fill and deliver a list of groceries for me. I begin to consider how I might create a disguise with my old eyeglasses, a baseball cap and mask, go out after dark when my neighbours are not likely to be out and about, and shop at a store not in my neighbourhood.  Of course, I risk being caught and fined. But when weighed against 2 liters of milk, 500 grams of coffee and 500 grams of oatmeal to tide me over for 6 days, it seems my only option.

Of course, I would leave my phone at home as it could be tracked—and I had considered providing my Japanese phone number on arrival for exactly that reason. It’s possible that the officers scanning my information might not hone in on the 080 prefix as foreign, but in the end I thought better of it. I don’t want people in uniform on my case for any reason at any time. If noticed, they’d suspect I had something to hide and then things get even more complicated. However, my wicked plan has another hiccough. The transaction will show up on my credit card.

However, I have one person left on the list of those who have offered help. My last resort before undertaking my desperate clandestine operation. Fortunately L comes through. On Sunday she arrives with three bags of groceries and 4 liters of milk. I pass her a cheque in a Ziploc bag (which she can sterilize before removing the cheque which has not been in a red zone at any time).

Then the groceries go straight to the red zone. I sanitize each item before storing it. This is why I have ordered only items which can be properly scrubbed in soapy water.

In the following days I get myself sorted. I leisurely prepare and store the food I’ve received in single portions and for later use in various recipes. Usually I purchase smaller quantities, but I need to adapt to less frequent trips to the grocery store. Might as well start now.

I make comforting meals in quantities that I can enjoy immediately as well as freeze for later.

Frankly, though some say it gets harder with age, this has been the easiest bout of jetlag in the more than 22 years I’ve been traveling between Canada and Japan. Thankfully, I get to spend the quarantine order in my serene home and can enjoy online connections with friends. I can’t imagine a quarantine confined to a cruise ship cabin, military barracks or third-rate hotel as others have endured.

Except for a digestive system that resists the transition to the new time zone, my energy is great. I miss walking most. I would love to hop in the car and visit a park or beach during these glorious spring days.

However there’s always something to occupy my time. Whatever it is always takes longer now because I need to be mindful of whether my hands are red or green at any given time.

I know, I know. It’s early days but so far so good.

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A Small Test of the Buddha Mind

Nothing, absolutely nothing went as meticulously planned. Almost every aspect of my Tokyo experience was a disappointment or challenge of an order that tested every ounce of grace I could muster while trying to maintain a Buddha mind.

Even so I had an amazing experience. It was not unlike going to a restaurant wishing to eat a certain dish and the chef sends out something else. It was not what I ordered and not what I really, really, really was dying to eat; however, it was beyond delicious.

When I disembarked from Air Canada flight 004 I was well rested. I’d had a great sleep, I was in wonderful spirits, and I had a deep level of serenity (good thing) in spite of facing a 6-hour layover in an empty airport with only a Starbucks, a couple of junk food joints and one newsstand open. I got through Customs without any difficulty after which I was directed to the Quarantine Officer to my right.

Wishing to fully understand what I would face on my return (which was significantly different from what I could enjoy in Tokyo), I’d read the Federal Quarantine Order. It contained comprehensive pointers, but not everything I might or might not be permitted to do was clearly spelled out.

I approached the officer with a smile and a cheery good morning. He handed me a piece of paper and sternly told me that I was now under a federally ordered quarantine, to go straight home and follow the instructions on the sheet.

Thinking I’d get Brownie points for my thoughtfulness I said: Thank you. I read the quarantine order online before I left Tokyo. However, I have a couple of questions.

Yes, go ahead.

Am I permitted to be alone in my car and go for a drive?

No. Stay at home means stay at home. What if you had an accident? What if you ran out of gas?

This was delivered in a tone that said: What part of stay at home do you not understand?

First, though I refrained from saying so, the document does not say to stay at home. The sheet he handed me read: Go directly to your place of quarantine without delay and stay there for 14 days from the date you arrive in Canada. Do not go into community settings.

Second, there are many types of places where one might be quarantined which are not addressed in the instructions. Parts of the order deal with what to do if more than one person lives in that place; however, the directions make numerous assumptions and are somewhat vague.

Third, the document spells out how to fill up with gas if you are driving yourself to your “place of quarantine.” That “what if” is covered. As for accidents, those can happen in any “place of quarantine” as easily as on the road. The logic of his answer didn’t fly.

My lips were Buddha’s lips, but in that moment I was not quite of Buddha mind.

There is nothing like a uniformed toad with a particular presumption of his own privilege and demigod, daddy-o mindset whose most vigorous form of exercise in the past 40 years has been wagging his finger at others to test the Buddha mind.

I had other legitimate questions but refrained from asking any of them. He’d only think me an impertinent smart ass. It was safer to plead ignorance after the fact should I ever need to do so. Instead, I said with much more sweetness than was in my heart: Sir, please understand that I am not challenging you. I am merely clarifying what the rules are—exactly—so that I can be sure to obey them and not make mistakes.

Even though the intel on this particular virus, it’s character and measures we should take to minimize risks to ourselves and others changes by the hour, I understand the protocols of establishing and maintaining red and green zones in my home as well as minimizing the risks  to all concerned very well. I’d been practicing them in my Tokyo home for weeks. This dude probably leaves the seat up—but I digress.

If he were less steeped in ignorance and puffed up by his costume he should have operated under the assumption that his breath may well have contaminated the very paper he had just given me with COVID-19.  Frankly, we must assume everything we touch needs to be sanitized. But that’s not quite the level of consciousness we’re at. We’re getting there. The question is: Are we getting there fast enough?

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