It’s been two weeks since I received my second dose of COVID-19 vaccine. Time enough for my immune system to generate antibodies to the virus which means exposure to the virus probably won’t put me in the hospital or kill me.

A year ago I was still having lunch with friends in restaurants. And wiping down table tops with antiseptic wipes. (We hadn’t figured out the virus was air-borne.) Soon after Barb and I went into lockdown. We quarantined more diligently than anyone I know and maintained that diligence for a year. When Barb visited her sister they wore masks and did their brief chats outside, twenty feet apart. No birthdays, no Thanksgiving, no Christmas. Serious isolation. You know the drill.

Now that we’ve both been vaccinated, we’re venturing out. Barb going for walks with (vaccinated) friends; sitting in her sister’s (vaccinated) kitchen; going inside the supermarket instead of curbside pickup. We’re still masking in public and will do so until the scientists tell us it’s safe to stop.

Barb and her sister will spend a week at our place in Destin this spring. Just the two of them. They have a lot of catching up to do.

In recent weeks I’ve realized how much the year of near-isolation has affected me. The stress has started to show and I’m eager to get out of the house and be with some friends. “Have you been vaccinated yet?” has become a common refrain. I feel like I’m in a zombie movie. I don’t see any but I know they’re out there. But it’s time to rejoin the living. Wish us luck.