Covid-19: Operation Uplift II

I posted a little while back about writer Luis Alberto Urrea's "Operation Uplift" on Facebook, in which he invites followers to share a photo, maybe a little story, usually on a theme, but it's not necessary. Joining in and finding uplift is what matters.

Tonight he wrote, "Operation Uplift, Chapter 66. I haven’t done this before, but more. What you have been doing about your special place. I also had requests for more gardens. My personal request is: friends. Who what where are your pals? Human or not. You’re on a roll." In other words, just keep it coming—photos about what matters most to each and every one of us. It's really a lovely little operation he's got going.

Tonight I posted four photos, of five special friends, randomly selected—though I certainly could have kept on. But four photos is my limit in these challenges. Here they are:

My wacky, wonderful friend Tesi

Babar accompanies me on my travels. Here we are in Antarctica,
this February. He's an excellent travel companion
(and he takes good photos too).

My two best friends in the world: my husband of almost 40 years, David,
and our wonderdog Milo, 10 years old. We look forward to
traveling again together soon. (Here we are hiking near Sedona, AZ.)

I met Kathi in 1976, and we've been best friends ever since.
Here we are in Blois, France, in . . . oh, I don't know, 1990-ish?

Kathi has a friend, Norman Crump, who until just the other day had been on a ventilator for going on six weeks, due to Covid-19. I've met Norman, who's an artist with a studio in South Boston. He's a life force, a big guy full of joy. He is now in a rehab facility, with lots of work ahead of him to gain his strength back. But at least he's made it out of the ICU. That's huge.

Another friend, Mel, lost both her sister and her mother to this virus. She posted this today on FB:

It has been 74 days since I started self-isolation. There were 41 confirmed American deaths.
It has been 48 days since my sister died. There were 14,200 confirmed American deaths.
It has been 31 days since my mother died. There were more than 50,000 American deaths.
[As of today, we are nearing 100,000 American deaths.]
Do the math, wear a fucking mask.

I am fortunate not to have anyone in my own life who's been affected by this virus. I am fortunate to have plenty of uplift in my life—such challenges as Luis's, the occasional walk with a friend, take-out dinners, daily outings with the dog and the husband, good books to read. My needs are very simple, and I am very glad to recognize that: I am content in my life. And safe—in my corner of the world, anyway. I feel that people are respecting the "rules": masks; social distancing. We really are all in this together. But that doesn't seem to be true everywhere . . .

Today we went to a garden center and bought some pepper plants, some cucurbits (sweet pumpkin, cantaloupe, and zucchini), and a few butterfly-attracting flowers. This afternoon, I planted them, while David pulled out another couple of beds of spent California poppies. Yesterday, we planted a bunch of herbs, and a sixth tomato plant. We are filling our garden in. Given that we probably won't be traveling anytime soon, the garden will be our new stimulus. This year, with any luck (and some overpriced water), it might even thrive.

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Current cases 413, up 18 since two days ago; there are? have been? not sure what this number means, but anyway: 53 hospitalizations; and deaths hold steady at 8.

Stay healthy. Tell your loved ones that you love them. Be safe.