The United States Presidential Election of 2020 is over. Mostly. It is both 1856 and 1918 all over again.
I work with some wicked smart people. We are watching our nation, our states, our friends, descend deeper and deeper into intolerance. Anger. Violence.
And while we work together, closer than ever, our opinions are just as polar. Stoked by our egos, our perception misconception of our mental superiority, we are even more susceptible to cerebral thermogenesis.
Some very travelled, very learned people, people I’ve worked side by side with for decades, are convinced that we are witnessing nothing more than Big Brother’s Big Top of Political Theatre. Others, just as intelligent, just as travelled, just as educated, take issue with that. Still others agree with either group, but for different reasons.
And then there are those, me among them, tight roping the middle ground. We try to steer clear of the echo chambers at either end. It’s almost as exhausting as following protocol.
Protocols. Masks. Social distancing. Covid cleaning schedules. We press on. As opposed as our opinions may be, we focus, united by the work at hand.
A vaccine is on the horizon. It can’t come soon enough. 10 million cases and a quarter of a million deaths in the United States and climbing. Italy is dying. Again. Europe locking down. Again.
We still have friends, extended family there. All over the world. Mexico, India, Brazil. We are one. Yet we seem hellbent determined to tear ourselves apart.
At home? Bacchus joins us at the table for any and every game, and even seems to welcome my Skyrim sessions. At least I’m not dragging him back into the street for yet another walkie. Yet.
Loki has taken up puzzles as an alternative to the daily, sometimes repeated, walkies.
Is that a Ficus? Weeping fig? Rubber tree? I need more pieces!”
The pieces are there, Loki. And they fit. We can put them back together again.