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                Living Through COVID-19
By Kathryn Pettus Bayleigh Chase
I believe that at the age of 72 I could have more easily hiked across the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, all 22,789 feet, than I
It’s mine!
~ Jack Fancher,  Heron Point
fantasy, of course, but it provides a framework for describing how little I understood about the
novel coronavirus in January and February of 2020 from my perspective as a person who lives in the United States of America.
I have come to realize that hearing or
reading or even speaking coherently about an event does not mean that one is aware of
or comprehends what is occurring. With an event of grave importance, I like to think of clear awareness as that moment of knowing that defines the weight of a risky circumstance and
determines what you must do to live through it.
For me, awareness came slowly. Even in early March when I had lunch with friends in Chestertown and became concerned when the men greeted each other so robustly, skin
could have developed a functional understanding of the COVID-19 pandemic. The hiking idea is
 rubbing against skin several times over to create a firm handshake, I had not gained clear awareness. Nor had I done so when I sat in a salon and observed a disheveled man who slipped in for a haircut and requested the stylist whose workstation was on the other side of the small shop. I had not quite gotten there when I realized that I was down to the last two rolls of toilet paper and acknowledged that having an adequate amount of this product really is important, almost essential. I desperately searched the internet until I found
a store in Easton that had some in stock, and I arrived in time to claim one of the last packs of Ultra-Soft-24-Count Mega Rolls. This was a defining moment for me not because of my successful
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