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Yikes, I haven't written in more than a month. So, before the month of May expires...
Physically, I am fine, although on Sunday morning I ate breakfast with a Pennsic campmate whose father tested positive for covid-19 later in the day. I will test myself tomorrow or Thursday.
The breakfast (in the con suite) happened at Balticon, at which I stayed for the first time (except for crashing in CZ's room once when I was doped up on Benadryl). Mike, who is doing better with his Parkinson's medicine and exercise regimen than I'd expected, graciously let me share his room (platonically) because Phil had health issues and could not come down from Boston.
I enjoyed Balticon ... except for the time on Saturday evening when Patches and I phoned a dinner order in to Pizzaria Uno's across the street from the hotel, on the second floor of the Baltimore Harborplace. Practically as soon as we got there, I heard a bunch of distressed screaming from teenagers. We went on the balcony and saw three cops running toward something, and then the restaurant manager cleared the outdoor seating area. "Bring your food and find a table. We'll make it work," he said, with a facial expression that revealed he'd experienced this before. Even though Patches and I didn't hear the shots, we soon learned that two teenagers had been shot; one died and the other was rushed to the hospital. This happened with about 20 cops in the area. It still happened.
And of course this happened on top of all the other mass shootings this month, from Buffalo to Uvalde. Patches was visibly upset over the incident. I am just angry at how our society has made human life (well, after birth) so cheap and disposable.
My head is still spinning over tonight's church budget planning meeting. I don't want to go into details, but it just seems as if one problem is barely solved, another one pops up, like an ugly game of whack-a-mole. Except it's all with our physical plant. Ugh.
Physically, I am fine, although on Sunday morning I ate breakfast with a Pennsic campmate whose father tested positive for covid-19 later in the day. I will test myself tomorrow or Thursday.
The breakfast (in the con suite) happened at Balticon, at which I stayed for the first time (except for crashing in CZ's room once when I was doped up on Benadryl). Mike, who is doing better with his Parkinson's medicine and exercise regimen than I'd expected, graciously let me share his room (platonically) because Phil had health issues and could not come down from Boston.
I enjoyed Balticon ... except for the time on Saturday evening when Patches and I phoned a dinner order in to Pizzaria Uno's across the street from the hotel, on the second floor of the Baltimore Harborplace. Practically as soon as we got there, I heard a bunch of distressed screaming from teenagers. We went on the balcony and saw three cops running toward something, and then the restaurant manager cleared the outdoor seating area. "Bring your food and find a table. We'll make it work," he said, with a facial expression that revealed he'd experienced this before. Even though Patches and I didn't hear the shots, we soon learned that two teenagers had been shot; one died and the other was rushed to the hospital. This happened with about 20 cops in the area. It still happened.
And of course this happened on top of all the other mass shootings this month, from Buffalo to Uvalde. Patches was visibly upset over the incident. I am just angry at how our society has made human life (well, after birth) so cheap and disposable.
My head is still spinning over tonight's church budget planning meeting. I don't want to go into details, but it just seems as if one problem is barely solved, another one pops up, like an ugly game of whack-a-mole. Except it's all with our physical plant. Ugh.
