I am a New Mexican. Michelle Lujan Grisham has inspired me to drop my Minnesotan-label for awhile and simply bask in the prideful glow of having a governor who appears to be doing it all right. Or at least controlling the aspects of this coronavirus horror that are controllable. Of course nothing is absolutely foreseeable in this situation so no matter what any one of us, leader or otherwise, does the world could be headed for one gigantic train wreck of a health crisis.
However, to have someone in a position of leadership speak in a clear and strong and articulate voice, sharing facts (you remember facts don’t you?) and making decisions for our benefit is so damn comforting. Think of Lujan Grisham as Wonder Woman saving our little corner of the world from the demented Joker in Washington who…and I defy anyone to actually deep-down believe otherwise…has not an iota of concern for anyone or thing but himself.
It has been a trying week for the world…me too. Not bad exactly for me personally, no cases of the virus in my personal or work sphere yet. Cancelling travel plans is never fun but it’s not dangerous. I will not go to California for my birthday, Teresa and I will not go to Cuba, Scott and Sandra will not go to Barcelona for Scott’s birthday—but we’ll do all that later.
We’ve (North Fourth, along with similar community-based programs) been advised/ordered by the State Health Department to close the Art Center for three weeks, syncing our activities with the public schools. Staff will remain active to some degree, helping out at our clients’ group homes and doing a big spring cleaning at our building…but it is not business as usual. I cannot remember the last time I did not have a job to go to next Monday morning. That’s not exactly true because I do have a job and I will be there Monday morning…but it somehow seems unreal, like a play without the major actors and with the audience/world waiting to see what any of us achieves with our various and sundry small efforts at containment.
So here we are…it’s a whole new world in a way. One of those defining times like 9-11. And it’s irrevocably exposed the soft and disease-ridden underbelly of the governing cult in DC in an ever clearer light…a light so illuminating as to make it undeniable that anyone still professing adoration for the Joker is certifiably delusional. The man who denies science and fact, vomits lies every time he opens his mouth, knows little about anyone and anything besides himself and cares less—the mad man who incoherently stumbles ahead of a mass of shouting frightened angry stupid people. Wow. Remember those closing scenes!
But let me close with hope and possibility. I’m in that coronavirus category of the most susceptible, 22% percent chance, one chart said, of the virus killing me if I get it. Which makes it 78% likely that I’ll survive. Not really such bad odds. I’m healthy, taking care, maybe I’ll work my way up to a three-minute plank during this time of semi-isolation. I have lots of Costco shrimp and cases of Oregon blueberries in my kitchen. I’m not panicked about toilet paper (yeah, I’m old—and we were poor enough—so I remember catalogues in the outhouse—I really hate to admit that). AND I have Wonder Woman as my governor. It could be much worse.