The last year of living could never have been imagined. The fear, the unknown, the isolation, the loss of routine, the dispensing of regular celebrations, the loss of human life, the anger, the lying, sickness like no one of us had ever really seen.
Apparently, my family on my Dad’s side is known for the ability to cry tears of joy. But this year, the year of the pandemic, I discovered another ability. I can cry in my sleep.
I wake up startled with that special brain, my gut, wrenched. It’s not just fear for me and mine. It is a primal fear for everyone.
I’m pretty sure each campground we have stayed in includes Republicans, Democrats, Independents and Greens. But out in the open air, we are completely united with our love of this piece of land that we call the United States of America.
I’ve been thinking: It’s been a great summer. Coffee on patios, conversation with friends, family, peers. But talks that usually would focus on the Minnesota art of “catching up” have routinely devolved into a review of what is happening in our country.
