By Roman Dial Dear COVID, You are simply so random that I don’t know where to start. Maybe at the beginning in December ‘19 when I got deathly ill after the American Geophysical Union conference in San Francisco with its 25,000 attendees mixing and breathing all that recycled air where it seemed that one in ten conference-goers came from China? That sickness put me and Peggy in bed for a week. Or when you spoiled my book release hopes and dreams? How about when you threatened to crash my field-work plans? Or forced me to teach online? Which I hoped I’d never have to do over my 30-year career. Since…

By Annette Rearden Dear COVID- 2020 gave me something much scarier than you. Funny thing this is, I manage to beat you both. Signed,Vaccinated AND in remission

By Deb Codding Dear Covid, The news calls you a PANDEMIC – I call you a PAN-DAMN-IC. I had just started to recover from a heart attack on Christmas Eve, December 2019 when you reared your ugly head. Well nanny-nanny-boo-boo — try as you might you DID NOT catch me and I DID NOT catch you! Of course, that didn’t stop you from wreaking havoc in my life. My 40-year-old daughter got sick just about the time the doctors went to virtual appointments. You know the kind you caused where the doctors don’t want to see you in person and you just talk into the computer describe your symptoms. She…

By Joe Sarcone Dear Covid, You’re on us like a bad rash. Go scratch yourself. Sincerely, joe

By Rosanne Pagano Dear Covid – As if. As if there’s anything dear about a plague. Unless you mean “dear” as in purchased at great price, “dear” as in the un-totalable toll in hours of lives lost, days of playground laughter stolen, weeks of paychecks delayed then smithereened by seething politics. Dear indeed. Once when I was new to journalism, eager to succeed but too green to strategize ambition, a convicted murderer serving a couple of life sentences in a federal prison happened to call the newsroom where I worked. I didn’t know then but it seems that this particular killer called the paper regularly, always on a Saturday afternoon:…

By Kat O’Brian You wouldn’t expect the end of the world to come with blue skies. There should be chaos, not a chill in the air. But right now as it all comes crashing, crashing down. There are no clouds, just sunshine. And you wouldn’t think that your routine would be the same at the end of the world. A 9 to 5 doldrum. The same commute, but quicker now. Radio silence, followed by the same news of dead bodies and closed cities. Yet, it’s the end of the world and NPR keeps playing, Back and to that office building. Turning key after key, because doors are still locked during…