Well, that went about as well as you might suspect. Whether you yell fire in a crowded theater or announce Covid just before a dinner party in this winter of our discontent, the results are predictable, and they are not pretty. First one set of dinner guests begged off, offering to Door Dash their potluck dish before the party. We took their hint and informed everyone that we would not be attending after all. Still afterwards, another couple piled on and voiced their discomfort. Our hostess suggested that we need not worry about the fruit salad dish that she had assigned us. More’s the pity, it was a beauty, persimmon and pomegranate salad, leavened with Harry & David pears. Alone, we supped, and it was grand.

I know that I sound bitter, but that is because I am. In truth, no one is to blame. There was no sin committed, but from this experience I keen how illness has been equated with sin in the past and why it was shunned. Since the pandemic, modern medicine has acquired a medieval aspect. At first, unable to grasp, let alone handle the coronavirus, medicine resorted to often bizarre and ineffective remedies. Then like a miracle the vaccines arrived. Like manna from heaven, they saved us. We have availed ourselves of every vaccine opportunity and are up to date. We feel fine and tested negative. Anne and I have never had Covid.