We are back to our daily routine, and Rossini’s *Cinderella* is our opera. With a twist on the classic story, the evil stepmother becomes an evil stepfather, and the fairy godmother transforms into a fairy godfather sporting gold wings over his white suit. The rest of the story unfolds as we know it—the tale of someone longing to belong after being told they could not. Cinderella finds her place, but many still struggle, unsure if and where they truly belong. This struggle existed before COVID, but the pandemic has amplified it, leaving people frozen in place, some in foreign countries, in unfamiliar settings, and near-empty cities. It will take time for people to feel they truly “belong”—out in public, at restaurant tables, at concerts, or in movie theaters—without the distance or masks.
Reflecting on this reminds me of my friends and the times we could simply stop by and chat. I miss human interaction; I even miss handshakes. As for COVID, *Remdesivir* has reemerged as a promising treatment, despite premature reports of its ineffectiveness. This is good news, restoring some faith in my instincts. I was humbled for a while, but the encouraging results have nearly restored my confidence—perhaps too much, as my ego can sometimes get in the way. All joking aside, the drug offers hope, and trial results are expected soon—within a week. The world should keep its fingers crossed that *Remdesivir* proves to be the bullet that defeats COVID.
On the political front, our national “evil godfather” is treating some states as Cinderellas, balking at the necessity of footing their COVID-related bills. He echoes the bankruptcy mantra trumpeted by a senator whose state receives a generous share of federal funds. Ironically, the states that prop up his are now pleading for help, seemingly to deaf ears. Unsurprisingly, his state remains one of the poorest, with its constituents unable to rise above poverty after decades of his tenure. “Let them eat cake,” his actions seem to declare.
In *Cinderella,* forgiveness and hope prevail—she forgives her stepfamily and marries the prince. Perhaps our battered states will find their prince in a new administration. Meanwhile, our master of fake news has decided to skip daily briefings. Not that anyone cares—the “covfefe” is overwhelming, the scientific message muddied by his looming presence. Daily briefings resemble a Punch and Judy show with a mean twist, leaving viewers battered. Am I bitter? I am only a small voice in a chorus of indignation. My hope for a better world lies in being heard at the next election.
Three million people have been infected globally. One country, New Zealand, stands out, with only one active case. Led by a decisive female prime minister, they acted swiftly to contain the virus. Despite its isolation, COVID had arrived there through travelers. Her humanity shone through—reassuring children that the tooth fairy is an essential worker—while her decisiveness and the citizens’ civic responsibility made the difference. These qualities are glaringly absent in our government’s potluck measures.
Routines die hard. Though the president claimed he would stop attending briefings, he was back the next day. Yet the news that commands our attention involves the human misery wrought by this administration’s chaotic response. Most tragic was the suicide of a young ER doctor who had seen too much death and suffering to cope any longer. Ironically, the president once warned that a lockdown would lead to suicides due to financial loss.
In our small town, we lead Connecticut in COVID-related deaths: 14.3 per 10,000 residents, compared to the runner-up’s 10.8. Nationwide, infections have surpassed one million, with testing hindered by mismanagement and shortages. Yesterday, gloom descended as we watched Donizetti’s *Mary Stuart,* part of his Tudor series of operas—another day, another beheading. Today, it’s *Roberto Devereux.* Let’s hope he keeps his head, though it’s hard for us to keep ours amidst the bleak news.
Meanwhile, the White House and conservative governors push for reopening states against scientific advice, prioritizing corporate bottom lines over human lives. Meatpacking plants, rife with COVID cases, have been ordered to stay open. Could this be because the president loves hamburgers? The low-wage workers in these plants are treated as expendable—collateral damage. The same disregard is evident in the sacking of a naval commander who raised concerns about COVID on his vessel. Though reinstated, his case underscores the administration’s lack of understanding: an army must be healthy to defend the nation.
The weather does its part to keep spirits low, with gray, rainy days confining us further. To combat boredom, Carolle has begun a long-anticipated project: creating a hooked leather rug from old garments she has collected over the years. I’ve volunteered to cut strips of leather—half an inch by four inches—keeping myself occupied in the process.
In other news, a French newspaper I read online tackled an unusual but important question: Can COVID spread through fellatio? The answer was reassuring: sperm does not transmit the virus. Usual precautions apply, and condoms are recommended. Oddly, mouthwash was not mentioned.
Meanwhile, my trip to France remains indefinitely postponed. Airlines, unsurprisingly, have yet to refund canceled tickets. These small inconveniences pale in comparison to the suffering of others, but they remind me of the collective uncertainty we all face.