Comfort of fog horns

On the first day of time, a freezing fog descended over the sea near Dublin.  It settled on the surface of the water for just a moment, then the clouds gathered it back into themselves before they drifted out of sight.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” said a woman I didn’t know.

“Me neither,” I replied, and we smiled at the mystery, and at one another.

The horizon was a mix between the colours of peachy-salmon, indigo and the grey of the evaporating fog.  Later, the sound of fog horns accompanied me home across the city, and it’s how I fell asleep on Sunday night:  to the comforting sound of the fog horns.

I wish I could feel more comfort from the news about the vaccines this week. 

On Tuesday, the first woman and the first man received their Covid19 vaccinations, but I wonder why this doesn’t fill me with more excitement?  I was concerned that the vaccinators who vaccinated the first man and the first woman were vaccinated, and then the obvious next question needed to be answered:  who vaccinated them?

Another concern I have is about the freezers. 

The live vaccines need to be kept in super freezers and Ireland has bought nine of them.  I don’t know if nine is enough.  I might have ordered fifteen to twenty super freezers, just to be on the safe side if one malfunctions, but nine was the decision, and nine have been bought.

Many countries won’t be able to buy the super freezers to store the vaccines.  Some regions of the world don’t have access to reliable electricity or have extra money in their health budgets to vaccinate a population for a disease we didn’t even know about this time last year.

If only we’d developed a vaccine for inequality instead.

Here in Ireland the plan is to get us all done.  The government published a list of the demographic groupings, in the order they will be vaccinated and listed people into fifteen different categories.  I’m in group fourteen.  I’m just ahead of children, teenagers and pregnant people, but below everyone else in the country.  Seeing my lack of essentiality written in a list like that was a little harsh, I don’t mind telling you.  I knew I wasn’t a key worker in society, but fourteen out of fifteen!  Nevertheless, all going well, I should get my injections before next summer.

Probably not before spring.

In the meantime, we have to continue living as we have been because even the vaccinated can pick the virus up, and possibly pass it on.  Maybe that’s why I’m not on Tick Tock singing “Forget your troubles, come on get happy”.  The vaccine is good news, and perhaps we’re half-way through this thing, but it’s not all over yet. 

We’re back at Level Three here in the Republic of Ireland, which is a bit more manageable than Level Five, and somehow it feels easier.  Although, to be honest, the whole level thing is giving me déjà vu. Sometimes, when I’m half-way through a particularly intense sensation of déjà vu, I feel like I’m looping into another one.  I call these déjà two, and they are all so familiar yet stranger than before.  Perhaps I already mentioned that in last week’s blog?

I feel like we’ve done it all before? 

Didn’t we?  Haven’t we?  Didn’t I write about it already?

Didn’t we close everything down once, and open back up? 

Then we closed it all down again, and opened back up? 

It’s a macabre game where winners get to go onto another level and the losers die on ventilators in ICU.  Still, at least we have Christmas, hey?

I’m finding our attachment to Christmas and the complete denial that it’s our first Pandemic Christmas completely hilarious.  I’m not sure if our insistence that Christmas will go ahead makes us the most ridiculous species on earth, or the most endearing.  Possibly a mixture of the two.  It’s as if we’re all pretending that Christmas can be normal for some younger member of our family who hasn’t heard about the virus yet? 

Or are we doing it for ourselves? 

Are we treating ourselves to a midwinter-mini-break where for one day, we celebrate our lives and give thanks for those things we are grateful for?  Maybe we deserve a day off from a no-deal Brexit, Trumpism, the disease and all the other crap.  I’ll start us off, but feel free to jump in at any time with the things you are thankful for. 

I’m grateful for my health and the health of those I love. 

I’m grateful for my warm, safe shelter and that I have reliable work. 

I’m grateful for my friends who make me laugh daily, and the love I feel around me.

I’m grateful for all the fog horns that keep us safe, and I’m very grateful for you.

You who read these musings weekly, I’m so very grateful for you.