Greetings from the second pandemic spring.

In case you haven't noticed, I've been gone for a while.  I was actually pleased to see that it had been less than two years since I've posted here, so it isn't THAT bad.  At least I'd already moved here to Everett and written about the house that burned down just across the highway.

They still haven't cleaned up the lot.  It's a mess.  I wonder what the story is behind it all.

The cherry trees have been blooming, and recent winds have started blowing the petals to the ground.  Last night while walking the dog we passed through a pink snowfall of petals at the condos-used-to-be-an-orphanage.  It was very pretty.  There's an artist who lives in one of the bottom floor units; I know this because I can see easels and what looks like it could be a printing press of some sort on their table.  I'm not spying - I can't help but see what's there while Rowland sniffs around the trees in front of the building.

Our world has become very small during the pandemic.  I'm so tired of it.  Today we were talking about how nice it would be to go to the Oregon coast for a couple of nights.  The problem is getting there, and all of the people we might come into contact with along the way.  I cannot trust that they've been taking precautions.

There is hope, however.  Both Michael and I got our first vaccinations this week.  He got Pfizer, I got Moderna.  I will get me second dose in a month, and then it takes two weeks to be fully protected (as good as it gets).  Six more weeks, and we can consider expanding our world a bit.

Maybe.

Opening things up too soon sends a bad message and many people make poor decisions.

I don't know when I'll feel comfortable around strangers again.