Some of us struggle still to live with the pandemic; others just have moved on. As a man in his 70’s with two respiratory and circulation diseases – diabetes and heart disease – I am very much at risk if the virus strikes me.

And I won’t be going to Walter Reed Hospital for emergency care, although I have excellent doctors and hospitals close by. I have been advised to stay out of crowded spaces and restaurants until I have a vaccine.

That could be six months away, at least. I still go shopping, and I do most of the cooking. And I continue my work with   Bishop Maginn High School and the Mansion but at a distance.

We don’t have many crowds in my town, but I do wear a mask, I do socially distance (I forget sometimes), and I stay away from people groups. I wipe my hands with sanitizer fluid whenever I get out of my car to go anywhere.

There are not many cases in my county, and most of those are in nursing homes. Maria is concerned about my health and risk and discourages most of the things we used to do together.

I realized early on that my risk-taking during the pandemic was especially frightening to her, so I stopped.  We visit friends once in a while, but we keep to ourselves a good deal.

I want to live a good while longer myself. I am also prepared to accept death when and if it comes.

Being creatives, we have found new things to do. Most museums have opened up, and the big ones are spacious and keep the crowds small.

We go to weekend farmers’ markets in Bennington and Cambridge, our town. And Maria has been looking for other rituals. One new one occurs on Saturday or Sunday.

We get up early, order take-out from Jean’s Place (Kelsie is no longer working there, I miss the place acutely). We both order egg n cheese sandwiches and coffee and tea. We pick up the order (Maria goes in, not me) and drive to the  Bennington Battlefield, just a few miles away from Jeans.

We drive up to the top of the hill where the battle between the American Army and the British raged for a couple of days. There’s a picnic table there.

We spread out the food and sit outside and have brunch together.

I love battlefields, and this one is small and funky.  And I never tire of talking with Maria. She is funny, wicked smart, and full of ideas. She reads one book after another, and I enjoy hearing about them ( except for the Beaver’s testicles.)

We eat, talk, and soak in the quiet. Almost all battlefields have an eerie silence about them, all that blood and dying. Hundreds of British soldiers were mowed down and killed right where we sit so peacefully and eat.

Then we go into Bennington to shop or see our friend Emily at the Bennington Farmer’s Market. Sometimes I’ll stop at the supermarket there or the pet store.

Then we go home, tend to the dogs and animals, and chores at the farm. I’m doing a lot more reading than before the pandemic, which I love, and working hard on my political pieces.

Maria is cleaning out the attack, trimming the apple trees, cleaning out the barn, hauling manure to the gardens, and has a list of 20 projects she is eager to get to. She is making a ton of potholders and hanging pieces and loving her work.

We are happy in our lives, pandemic or not, and although the election is a huge distraction, the coronavirus is a potent force in my life. I still can’t go to Bishop Maginn or the Mansion and may not be able to until Spring or the vaccine, whichever comes first.

I know a fair number of people now who have gotten sick from the virus or died in New York City and that area. A lot of them worked in newspapers or publishing or television with me.

It is very real, and for many, very painful. Our lives are different, but full and busy; creative people are called to find creative solutions to problems. We are on it.