Chronicles of the Virus Day 57. Time to Slowly Re-open.
Tomorrow we're supposed to start Phase One in the four provinces of Galicia. Other places, like Madrid or Barcelona, however, are staying in Phase Zero at least another week. We're being let out of our cages slowly. We will be able to move around the province, but not cross over into others, not at the moment.
It shouldn't matter, unless you live next door to another province. My husband talked about going to a green grocer's he frequents during watermelon season over in Catoira. He thought he would go Monday after work. I reminded him it's in another province. He didn't like it.
We are in A Coruña, but just across the river Ulla, is Pontevedra. It's no hardship to cross the bridge whenever we wish. In fact, we are equidistant from Santiago and from the city of Pontevedra. Both are around a half hour's drive away. But we can't visit Pontevedra until probably next month.
The good thing is that our daughter can come home. She was doing a three month course and getting driving lessons before this blew up. She knows nothing about the course, and assumes the driving lessons will resume at the end of the month. So she might be at home for a while before going back up. Her lease finishes at the end of June, when we'll have to cart everything home. Her future is up in the air, as well.
But experts are warning that a second wave will come, and it might be worse than this first one, just like in 1918. The only way to avoid it would be to continue in strict lockdown, as they did in Wuhan. But, it's simply not socially possible here. In China, the state controls just about all employment. In the West, the open market spells death for businesses that must remain closed for two months, especially small businesses. And our nation states can't handle all the fall out; our laws wouldn't allow it, nor the income they have from taxes.
So, the majority of us will probably get infected. But the most important point is to get infected more slowly, so the health system can attend to everyone. One of the things that will let a region go from one phase to another, is the number of ICU beds and equipment available per health area. There is a minimum number that must be guaranteed, so that, as rules are relaxed and people move around more, health care workers don't have to make decisions again about who lives and who dies. Which should mean that less people die in a second wave.
One thing I learned this morning is that the American in me is still there. I crossed with a runner and later a cyclist on my walk. Both said, "Hello" as is perfectly normal in this part of the world. I replied in kind, but into my head popped the question, "Who the hell are you?" After twenty-nine years living here, come July, I am still not used to the habit of saluting perfect strangers. Yup, you can take the girl out of Boston, but you can't take Boston out of the girl.
I'll leave this video here, of a sanitation worker singing to two girls who were on their lawn, "celebrating" their graduation. It's a bit heart-tugging, the reason behind his singing, but it's a good example of turning pain into love, and not bitterness.
Life continues.
It shouldn't matter, unless you live next door to another province. My husband talked about going to a green grocer's he frequents during watermelon season over in Catoira. He thought he would go Monday after work. I reminded him it's in another province. He didn't like it.
We are in A Coruña, but just across the river Ulla, is Pontevedra. It's no hardship to cross the bridge whenever we wish. In fact, we are equidistant from Santiago and from the city of Pontevedra. Both are around a half hour's drive away. But we can't visit Pontevedra until probably next month.
The good thing is that our daughter can come home. She was doing a three month course and getting driving lessons before this blew up. She knows nothing about the course, and assumes the driving lessons will resume at the end of the month. So she might be at home for a while before going back up. Her lease finishes at the end of June, when we'll have to cart everything home. Her future is up in the air, as well.
But experts are warning that a second wave will come, and it might be worse than this first one, just like in 1918. The only way to avoid it would be to continue in strict lockdown, as they did in Wuhan. But, it's simply not socially possible here. In China, the state controls just about all employment. In the West, the open market spells death for businesses that must remain closed for two months, especially small businesses. And our nation states can't handle all the fall out; our laws wouldn't allow it, nor the income they have from taxes.
So, the majority of us will probably get infected. But the most important point is to get infected more slowly, so the health system can attend to everyone. One of the things that will let a region go from one phase to another, is the number of ICU beds and equipment available per health area. There is a minimum number that must be guaranteed, so that, as rules are relaxed and people move around more, health care workers don't have to make decisions again about who lives and who dies. Which should mean that less people die in a second wave.
One thing I learned this morning is that the American in me is still there. I crossed with a runner and later a cyclist on my walk. Both said, "Hello" as is perfectly normal in this part of the world. I replied in kind, but into my head popped the question, "Who the hell are you?" After twenty-nine years living here, come July, I am still not used to the habit of saluting perfect strangers. Yup, you can take the girl out of Boston, but you can't take Boston out of the girl.
I'll leave this video here, of a sanitation worker singing to two girls who were on their lawn, "celebrating" their graduation. It's a bit heart-tugging, the reason behind his singing, but it's a good example of turning pain into love, and not bitterness.
Life continues.
What a lovely expression - turning pain into love. I got teary this morning when I saw that a fellow Californian had held a private ceremony in her garden to "graduate" her son from High School, since there was no school. It felt like love too. And I could also feel her pain. For her, her son, and your family, I hope that somehow we find a way to create a future from this. Take care, Maria!
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