I want to go back to the UK now.
A week ago I was trying to enjoy my last day in Oxford without wasting by fretting about traveling during a global pandemic.
It’s hard to explain certain things to people back home, like how cramped and close together people live in a place like Oxford. I had wanted to take this photo for some time—if you look through the picture window of the house across the street you can see through to my neighbor Wendy’s back garden. I wanted to get a shot early in the morning when—I hoped—she wouldn’t see me.
It seemed to matter at the time.
I took a walk. How had I never noticed that enormous Monkey Puzzle Tree, now laden with what looked like seed pods?
Were these juniper berries? If I filled my pockets with them could I make homemade gin? These were my pressing questions.
None of the things I had worried about happened. The bus to Heathrow had five passengers, all widely spaced and wearing masks except for That One Asshole. This was Heathrow.
Here’s the main shopping and dining atrium in T2. Usually my biggest concern is whether the Cath Kidston store will be open (it was not).
Almost everyone was wearing a mask and everyone practiced social distancing. The plane was about 25% full. This was going to be fine!
Obligatory farewell photo.
I played with the newfangled window dimmer button. There’s no window shade anymore. Is it the magic of nanoparticles, I wondered, having worked in a nanoparticle lab years ago.
I watched movies: Rocket Man, Witness for the Prosecution, Book Smart, and Jojo Rabbit.
Every time I removed my mask to sip some water my mask and ear bud cords got tangled up.
We were served food as usual but there were no alcoholic beverages or coffee on board.
Re-entry to the US was uneventful. Public Health Service officials collected my contact details, took my temp, and handed me this.
O’Hare seemed like Heathrow at first.
But here were the C gates, with flights headed for Mexico City, Indianapolis, Washington DC, and Minneapolis. I spent four hours here. It was impossible to social distance and only about half of the people wore masks.
My first views of Minnesota on a hot muggy evening.
I retrieved my bag and found my car, which my son had parked in an airport ramp the previous day. The next morning I would get a grocery delivery which I had set up while still in Oxford.
Phew! After almost five months in the UK, I was home, with no dramas!
As I was driving home, a man named George Floyd was being murdered in the street by Minneapolis police just a few miles away for the alleged crime of trying to pass a counterfeit bill.
Protests erupted the next day. The killer cops were fired but not arrested. The protests turned violent Wednesday night and escalated each night.
Those who wear badges that say, “To Protect and Serve” (the police) abandoned the people of the Twin Cities and let looters run wild. So far 255 businesses have been looted and/or burned. Post offices. Restaurants. Pharmacies. Gas stations. Barber shops. Liquor stores. Libraries, for god’s sake!
Nonprofit organizations like an Indian dance company, a Native American youth center, and an arts-funding foundation. The grocery that delivered my food four days ago is now closed indefinitely. We are living under a curfew. The national guard has now been called in, and Trump is even being consulted about sending federal troops.
The Minneapolis and St. Paul mayors did nothing but make polished, kumbaya speeches.
The cop who knelt on Floyd’s neck was charged with murder on Friday, but the ones who stood by and did nothing must be charged as well.
There have been rumors that the looters are all extremists—anarchists and/or white supremacists. There have been some people from other states among those arrested, but as of what we know now, most are Minnesotans.
I am in shock. I have to find a way to get involved and keep moving.
Meanwhile, Minnesota passed the milestone of 1,000 Covid-19 deaths.