Dublin 6

March 12, 2020

One bit of news in the air everywhere. I think it not impossible that I will get the Covid-19 virus. And, statistically, anyway, I am rather likely to die of it. Still, I do not know what further precaution I can take till I’m home and can insulate myself. I could have it now, though it’s not rampant in Ireland, and it would be a bit of weird luck. The Internet is useless. If you don’t exhibit exactly the degree of panic or exactly the degree of skepticism as the writer of a particular post, you’re deluded. There must be some point of repose between PANIC and RELAX.

            

Waiting for Stephen to come home from the gym (he cannot miss a day) to have a farewell drink. The price for the AirB&B was not much less than a hotel room, and the inconvenience level much higher. I suspected this would be the case, but getting reacquainted with Stephen weighted the evidence.

            
Wandered north through the open air markets (selling flowers and tangerines, notable Irish produce of the season) to the Hugh Lane, getting reacquainted with old, old friends. The cycad in the garden that was a sprout when I first knew it is now nearly my height. The morning was bright and cold, though now, again, bitter rain slashes down. I wandered and looked, and drilled what I saw in my brain, it being by no means unlikely that this is the last time I shall look upon Dublin. I am old. The Covid-19 virus may kill me, or everybody. But of those times when I have been in singing bliss, Ireland has had more than its share, and Dublin her grand portion. Bless her, then, whatever betide. I have been happy here. Maybe the percentage of happy moments compared to the dull makes it the best place I have ever, for a moment, called home. Erin, hail and farewell forevermore.