Photo courtesy of Paul Doherty
Letter from the Vineyard, January 10, 2022
Huddled and cuddled…
The island is huddled down these January days, snow fell last Thursday, mixed with rain, made a mess of the day, stores didn’t open as shoppers weren’t shopping, though the bookstore was open for the five people who came in, looking for books and such.
Covid cases are at an all-time high, more people reporting positive in the last month than in all the time since Covid began, right here in River City.
The anniversary of January 6th is now in the rearview mirror. I listened to President Biden when I went to the post office, staying in my car to listen. My ears couldn’t believe what they were hearing – Biden denouncing Trump while never saying the name. Good on you, Joe. Good on you.
Thank you for calling out your predecessor for his unprecedented actions. His refusal to accept his defeat has tainted democracy at home and abroad.
The storming of the Capitol will be remembered in the history books of the distant future as an important moment in the story of our country, a moment from which our country will move in one direction or another.
Here on the ground of the history being made we don’t know what direction it is going to take. We are watching it unfold and it’s not looking terribly promising from where I am sitting.
Despite all those “audits” not one substantive shred of evidence of mass manipulation of votes has been found though we have discovered a couple of instances of voters in The Villages in Florida who double voted for Trump.
How is it that Donald Trump, fodder for the tabloids, reality TV star [the proceeds from which, by the way, probably kept the House of Trump from falling in on itself] has managed to be the person to almost break American democracy? That, in itself, says some not very good things about where we are.
In the meantime, I am here, huddled and cuddled on the Vineyard, doing my best not to become a Covid statistic, writing with my laptop on my lap, sipping a martini and relishing the joys of island life.
While I write I am listening to Big Band Jazz, the glow of my Christmas tree, soon to be gone, shines.
It was not the Christmas I imagined as I had planned to be in D.C. with my nephew of choice, Kevin, his wife, and his mother, who is my oldest friend, her husband, etc.
But I chickened out, looking at photos of Logan airport, which I would have had to traverse, was too much. I canceled, hid out at home, alone, made a wonderful pot roast in my new Dutch oven [thank you Joe and Deb], watched some video, held the world at bay.
It’s what we’re doing these days, holding the world at bay while attempting to live our lives, best we can. I had a five-minute panic attack [thank you, God, only five minutes] over the holidays because every day I am in the store, interacting with people.
But then think of all the people in the medical profession, many of whom have reached a breaking point after two years of this. Several friends in the medical profession vibrate with anger at the unvaccinated. I understand.
Part of what our former president wrought. And, apparently, can’t undo. When he told a crowd at an event with Bill O’Reilly he had been vaccinated and boosted, they booed.
My god, what a different story it would have been if Trump had acted presidential when Covid marched onto our shores. But that is not what happened. Instead, we have more recorded deaths than any other country on earth.
And that, too, will be covered in those history books in the distant future when most of us will be distant memories, if remembered at all.
In the meantime, in the lovely third act of my life, I run a bookstore in Edgartown on Martha’s Vineyard. Not a bad third act at all.
Letter from the Vineyard 
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