Looking out my Backdoor: On the merry-go-round

Here we go again, ’round and ’round the merry-go-round, twirling so fast we dare not jump off.

Leo was just here with the daily death report from town.

Last night the governor of Jalisco spoke to the people. He basically locked us down again. Don’t go anywhere. Don’t congregate in bunches. Wear masks. No travel unless absolutely necessary.

Now that the holidays have passed, tourists and Mexican-Americans here to visit family have gone back home, the latest COVID variant is on the rampage. Leo said, once again, the streets are empty, stores locked, and people who are out are masked.

Heck ’n’ dang, when I walk my Lola The Dog in the morning, I mask up, knowing I’ll not likely see a soul on my stroll. Does that make me feel righteous? No. I’ve simply developed the habit. I grab a mask automatically when I leave the house. Do you have any idea how long it took to get that habit?

It’s not an imposition. Took me longer to automatically buckle my seat belt. There is another sure way to die if you are of a mind. And if you don’t die, you can have the gift of long-term pain and/or disabilities. I’m living proof of the seat belt law gone unfastened.

Last week, we oldies in Etzatlan finally got to line up for our booster shots. I was beginning to despair that we’d ever get the booster. The nurse, as I was getting my paperwork stamped upon leaving the courtyard of the hospital, told me I was lucky to get there the first day. The government was not able to send enough vaccine.

That’s the difference between here and there. We have people who cannot get vaccinated simply for lack of supplies. How would you feel standing in line, to be told, sorry, we just plunged the last shot?

Sure, some people are superstitious. But too many people have died in our little community for the majority to ignore the gift of vaccine.

The morning I was in town for my booster, the blocked off street quickly filled with we elders and with great numbers of young people. It was also the week for those ages 15 through 19 to get their first shots. A lot of youngsters accompanied their grandparents, helping them in line before stepping across the way for their own jabs. It was heartening to watch those dynamics.

Personally, too many people whom I know have died, both here and in the States. Yesterday I got word of another friend who died two days ago. COVID with pneumonia.

We rode the school bus together for all those school years. He was younger than me but was one of those rare persons who saw no barriers. He would sit with anyone, with everyone, and talk and laugh and just be the friendly person whom he was.

For some reason, word of his death took me out at my emotional knees. Why him, I’ve no idea. I’d only seen him once since I graduated high school. In 1974 I was working in Salt Lake City, walking through one of the big malls, and heard my name. I turned to look and was so surprised to see it really was someone I knew. We talked a while but I never saw him again.

One of my other friends said to me, “Now that you are boosted, you can go anywhere and do anything.”

I had no words to reply. She may be invincible but I am not.

I don’t want to get sick, even a milder breakthrough case. But more than that, I don’t want you to get sick.

I’ve lived a long and interesting and full life. I’ll go when I go. Please, please, stay well for me. I need you. Even if I haven’t spoken with you since 1974.

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Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at http://montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com/. Email [email protected].