蜜柚直播

Schools were closed. Workers were laid off or sent home. Major events were canceled, including the Fourth Avenue Street Fair, the 蜜柚直播 Festival of Books and postseason basketball for the Wildcats and everyone else.

Then on St. Patrick鈥檚 Day, just hours before the start of one of the busiest nights of the year for local bars, city officials closed down the rest of it. Every bar, restaurant, gym, museum, movie theater and other entertainment venue in 蜜柚直播 was ordered to shut its doors by 8 p.m.

Some of them still haven鈥檛 reopened. Some of them never will.

The city鈥檚 March 17 lockdown order came exactly one week after Pima County confirmed its first case of COVID-19. Less than two weeks after that, the virus claimed its first local victim 鈥� a 54-year-old wife and mother who worked as a receptionist at an east-side pediatric clinic.

Since then, more than 110,000 Pima County residents have contracted coronavirus. At least 2,270 of them died.

And it isn鈥檛 over yet. There are vaccine rollouts and falling infection rates to give us hope, but we鈥檙e still smack in the middle of this thing.

It鈥檚 already been a year. It鈥檚 only been a year. The before seems impossibly long ago. The after feels tantalizingly close.

Here is a look at where we started and where we are now:

Families mourn loved ones taken too soon

When Jaclyn Gallegos saw her father for the last time, she was saying goodbye through the small screen of her cell phone.

Less than 24 hours later in his 蜜柚直播 nursing home, 71-year-old Carlos Gallegos took his last breaths at 4:15 a.m. on July 14.

鈥淚 miss him every day. I think about him every day. I cry for him. I dream about him,鈥� Jaclyn said. 鈥淎nd that鈥檚 never going to go away.鈥�

Carlos Gallegos was one of many nursing home residents whose lives were cut short by COVID-19 over the last year. While coronavirus cases in long-term-care facilities have been on the decline in recent weeks, the virus has devastated nursing homes across the nation, spreading rapidly among residents and staff members early on in the pandemic.

As of March 1, Pima County had recorded more than 2,800 cases in long-term-care facilities, resulting in 447 hospitalizations and 446 deaths. While these facilities only make up 3% of the county鈥檚 total confirmed cases, they also make up nearly 20% of total deaths.

鈥淲hat kills me the most is that we could not be there by his side to say goodbye,鈥� Jaclyn said. 鈥淲hen you鈥檙e a little girl, you look at your parents and you think they鈥檙e never going to die and you dread that day. But when that day came, we couldn鈥檛 even be there to hold his hand.鈥�

Carlos was admitted to Casas Adobes Post Acute Rehabilitation Center in 2019. When the pandemic started, Jaclyn, her mom and siblings were immediately concerned about what this could mean for him. In addition to living with dementia, Carlos survived several strokes, two heart attacks and quadruple-bypass surgery.

鈥淗e always recovered from everything. That man was very strong and resilient,鈥� Jaclyn said. 鈥淎nd even with dementia, he still had a very sharp mind.鈥�

Carlos graduated from 蜜柚直播 High School in the late 1960s and was immediately drafted to join the Army, where he earned a Bronze Star for fighting in the Vietnam War. He was an avid businessman and a Tejano music enthusiast who loved to dance.

鈥淲e鈥檙e all very strong because of him,鈥� Jaclyn said. 鈥淗e was the leader of our family.鈥�

Just a few weeks after 蜜柚直播 lifted its stay-at-home order, Jaclyn received a call from the nursing home saying that her dad had spiked a fever.

鈥淢y heart just dropped,鈥� she said. 鈥淎nd the next few days, his health just deteriorated. It was really hard for him to breathe and he was nonresponsive most of the time.鈥�

Just a few days later, a test showed Carlos was positive for COVID-19. By Monday, July 13, Jaclyn knew it was time to say goodbye and asked the nurse if they could FaceTime her so she could see him.

鈥淗e perked up when he heard my voice,鈥� she said. 鈥淚 just told him how much I loved him and that we were sorry we couldn鈥檛 be there and that it was OK to let go. That was the last time I saw him alive. Because of his dementia, I don鈥檛 think he realized there was a pandemic going on in the outside world. And I think he was wondering, 鈥榃hy isn鈥檛 my family here with me?鈥欌��

Jaclyn said her family has struggled to adjust to life without him. She was recently diagnosed with stage 2 breast cancer, and she said she takes her father鈥檚 ashes with her to chemotherapy so she can 鈥渇eel dad鈥檚 strength鈥� around her. As the pandemic continues, she said the loss of her dad hasn鈥檛 gotten any easier.

鈥淢y mom and I both work in health care, so we understand the logistics and how everything works. We鈥檙e not pointing fingers or blaming anybody, but it鈥檚 just hard,鈥� she said. 鈥淟ooking back and seeing that we have vaccines now is just heartbreaking. It could have saved his life. He was only 71. He had a lot of longevity left in him.鈥�

鈥� Jasmine Demers

Fatigue, frustration for medical workers

Front-line health-care workers will always remember this past year, even if they would rather forget it.

鈥淭he virus came out of nowhere and caught everyone by surprise,鈥� said Dr. Christian Bime, medical director for the intensive care unit at Banner-University Medical Center. 鈥淭here were a lot of unknowns initially. We did not know at first how this virus spread.鈥�

So in addition to the stress inherent to working in a busy ICU, medical staffers had to worry about getting sick themselves and possibly infecting their loved ones at home.

Bime said his worst day on the job came about a month after Pima County recorded its first coronavirus cases.

鈥淓arly on in the pandemic, we struggled with how to protect ourselves and care for patients with COVID-19,鈥� he said.

The hospital initially tried to limit staffing in the ICU to avoid exposing too many caregivers to the virus. For weeks at a time, Bime was one of just two doctors assigned to see COVID patients on the day shift, 鈥渂ut the patients just kept coming and coming and coming nonstop,鈥� he said.

By mid-April, they had reached the breaking point. Bime told the hospital鈥檚 administration that they needed more help.

Over the past 12 months, Bime said, he has intubated roughly 100 times more patients than at any other point in his 20-year career. He has also seen a lot more people die.

The onslaught has taken a toll on people in his line of work.

鈥淭here is a high rate of burnout among front-line professionals,鈥� he said. 鈥淧eople are tired. Work becomes a burden instead of a joy. We鈥檝e used up all our energy.鈥�

The pressure only grew late last year, when the number of cases shot up again and 蜜柚直播 briefly became 鈥渢he COVID-19 capital of the world,鈥� Bime said.

This time, though, the surge came with an added emotion: frustration.

By October, he said, it was abundantly clear what we all needed to do to slow the spread of the virus, but some people still refused to take even basic precautions. A few of those stubborn individuals ended up in the ICU with tubes down their throats to help them breathe, but Bime said just as many of his patients were innocent victims of other people鈥檚 carelessness.

鈥淲e see people die. We don鈥檛 have the luxury of calling it a hoax,鈥� he said.

That鈥檚 one of the key lessons to be learned from the pandemic: 鈥淒isinformation can be very, very dangerous,鈥� Bime said. 鈥淚f we are honest with ourselves and seek the truth, then we will always be in a better place.鈥�

So what was Bime鈥檚 best day on the job since the pandemic started? That one鈥檚 easy: Dec. 17, the day he got vaccinated.

鈥淏ecause there was hope finally,鈥� he said.

If you had told Bime a year ago that there would be three different vaccines already in widespread distribution by March of 2021, he wouldn鈥檛 have believed you.

鈥淚t鈥檚 a tremendous victory for science,鈥� he said.

鈥� Henry Brean

Learning to cope with what they鈥檝e lost

Schools closed a year ago. The announcement came on a Sunday, as most 蜜柚直播 students headed into spring break.

鈥淲e were told that we were going to get an extra week of spring break, which was exciting,鈥� said Angel Medina Garcia, a senior at Sunnyside High. 鈥淎nd then another two weeks became a month and then the whole year was canceled.鈥�

Teenagers have missed out on quincea帽eras and sweet-16s, football games, proms and graduations. And while many would rather be in school, whether they think it鈥檚 worth the risk to their families or themselves often depends on their situation at home or what part of town they live in.

The neighborhoods within the Sunnyside School District have had some of the highest COVID case numbers in 蜜柚直播, along with 蜜柚直播 Unified, which has kept classrooms closed for a year.

Minority students and those from low-income families are more likely to live in multigenerational households, with grandparents or adults who have health conditions that put them at higher risk.

Medina Garcia moved out of his grandmother鈥檚 house and in with his aunt and cousins when the pandemic began for fear of putting his nana at risk.

He began going to school two days a week when Sunnyside opened for limited in-person learning in October. As COVID-19 numbers rose during the second spike, many students in the district began staying home again. But Medina Garcia stuck with it.

When the district went back to remote learning over the holidays, he noticed more students kept their cameras off during class. They interacted less with one another, and teachers struggled to keep them engaged.

Halfway through the school year, thousands of 蜜柚直播 students were failing classes while dealing with remote learning and the many challenges of the pandemic. Sunnyside and most other 蜜柚直播 school districts plan on spending millions in COVID-19 relief funding on remediation efforts to help get kids back on track.

But nothing can replace the pivotal year teenagers lost.

School was Jordan Good鈥檚 social outlet. The Ironwood Ridge senior worked on the student newspaper, and that was her escape.

鈥淚 lost the sense of community at my school,鈥� she said. 鈥淚 can鈥檛 get it back because it鈥檚 going to end.鈥�

With that loss came a sense of loneliness that wasn鈥檛 there before. Good has coping mechanisms. She swims at a local pool, walks in nature and explores new places in her car.

Other kids have struggled to find their own ways to cope. Referrals to mental health agencies that treat children and teens have gone up over the last year, and Pima County saw a 67% increase in suicides among children ages 12 to 17 in 2020.

Medina Garcia stays pretty positive with the support of his friends and family, and he tries to share that positivity with others. As Sunnyside鈥檚 student body president, a post he splits with his best friend Paola Mendivil, he鈥檚 helped arrange some online contests and other remote activities to try to engage students.

But Medina Garcia鈥檚 true inspiration lies ahead in college and adulthood. He turns 18 next month, and he鈥檚 excited to see what the future holds for him.

鈥淚鈥檓 hopeful that this pandemic will end soon, hopefully sooner than expected,鈥� he said. 鈥淚鈥檓 just excited to go back to some normalcy,鈥� whatever that looks like now.

鈥� Danyelle Khmara

Early diagnosis and a year without fear

Doug Couchman caught one of Pima County鈥檚 earliest confirmed cases of COVID-19. He was also one of the first local residents to go public about it.

The 54-year-old semiprofessional bridge player believes he was infected during a weeklong tournament at the 蜜柚直播 Expo Center. The event drew more than 800 players, including some from Colorado Springs, where a woman in her 80s died from the virus after playing in a bridge tourney there.

Couchman said he chose to speak out a year ago to warn his fellow bridge players and push back against the belief at the time that the virus was not spreading in 蜜柚直播.

When his symptoms came on, he checked himself into a motel to keep from exposing his family.

Tests were hard to come by at the time, so his physician brother swabbed his nose and sent it off to a lab. The result came back positive on March 16. Three days later, his story was featured in the Star.

Couchman ended up spending 17 days at the motel, including about a week of being 鈥減retty damned sick.鈥�

鈥淚 had my route to the hospital mapped out, but I never went,鈥� he said.

Not long after he went public, Couchman said he began getting calls multiple times a day from commercial companies that wanted to buy his blood for research purposes. Some of those offers felt 鈥渟limy鈥� to him, he said, so he ended up donating his plasma to the Red Cross about a dozen times and providing samples to researchers at the University of 蜜柚直播. He said some of his blood was used in the development of a campus coronavirus test.

鈥淎s it turned out, I was really good at making antibodies, so I gave them every chance I could,鈥� Couchman said.

All told, it took about six weeks for his breathing to return to normal. He feels mostly fine now, though he wonders about some long-term effects.

He鈥檚 not complaining, though. He knows he is much better off than a lot of people, including the more than half a million Americans who have died from COVID-19.

In some ways, contracting it as early as he did was a blessing. Couchman considered himself immune after that, so he spent much of the past year free from the sort of anxiety most people have been feeling. He could do the grocery shopping for his family and even travel a bit without worrying about what might happen 鈥� though he still wore a mask and washed his hands, just in case.

鈥淭he world has sucked, but my world has not sucked as much as it has for almost everyone I know, because I had nothing to be afraid of,鈥� Couchman said.

As for that difficult decision a year ago to make his private life public, he said he feels vindicated by everything that has happened since then.

鈥淟ive bridge is essentially played nowhere, and it won鈥檛 be until our members are vaccinated,鈥� Couchman said. 鈥淚 wasn鈥檛 initially sure (about speaking out), but I was right. It sure felt like the normal human thing to do, once I got over the fear.鈥�

鈥� Henry Brean

A risky move Or a genius move?

People thought Juan Almanza was crazy for opening a new restaurant 24 hours after all food establishments were ordered to close their dining rooms last March.

And for the first few months, he couldn鈥檛 disagree with them.

Business at El Rustico Mexican restaurant started slow 鈥� a couple hundred bucks a day on the weekends, less than that on weekdays. He had made that much in an hour or two with his taco cart at the Tohono O鈥檕dham swap meet, where he was a regular vendor every weekend for five years before COVID-19 shut it down last March.

He joined other 蜜柚直播 restaurateurs in online marketing campaigns. He did his own social media outreach, advertising his signature queso birria tacos.

On Cinco de Mayo, the tide turned. He made enough on that day to pay the month鈥檚 rent. And for the first time since opening on March 21, 2020, he and his wife, the only employees at the time, felt comfortable taking a paycheck from the restaurant at 2281 N. Oracle Road.

From that busy day in May through last week, Almanza鈥檚 little taco shop has been hopping. From June through December, he estimates he sold 50,000 tacos.

Many of the state鈥檚 restaurants did not have Almanza鈥檚 luck. The 蜜柚直播 Restaurant Association, which represents 2,500 of the state鈥檚 9,000 restaurants, estimates 10% to 12% of them closed during the pandemic. That鈥檚 about 1,000 restaurants, including 蜜柚直播鈥檚 iconic Caf茅 Poca Cosa and Janos Wilder鈥檚 Downtown Kitchen + Cocktails, Rigo鈥檚 on South Fourth Avenue, El Indio on the south side and Athens on 4th, a Greek restaurant that had been on North Fourth Avenue for nearly 30 years.

鈥淪ome have had prior challenges and COVID was the last straw,鈥� said Steve Chucri, the restaurant association鈥檚 president and CEO. 鈥淚 think a lot of them would have been able to (succeed), but COVID-19 treats its friends and enemies the same.鈥�

Chucri said that at the height of the pandemic last spring and summer, 80% of the state鈥檚 restaurant workers were unemployed. That number has improved as COVID-19 restrictions have been lifted, including Gov. Doug Ducey鈥檚 move last week to increase restaurant capacities. Chucri estimates the unemployment rate at restaurants is down to about 20%, and most of those displaced workers are involved in catering, which has yet to rebound.

鈥淲e are not out of the woods, but as more people get vaccinated, we certainly are seeing a light at the end of the tunnel,鈥� said Michael Guymon, vice president of the 蜜柚直播 Metro Chamber of Commerce, who oversees the chamber鈥檚 蜜柚直播 Restaurant Advisory Council.

The council, working with local operators including Ray Flores of Si Charro restaurants, helped businesses secure state, city and county grants to help pay employees and keep the lights on.

鈥淏ecause of the work that we鈥檝e done and the programs we have been able to introduce, we have helped a lot of restaurants get through this period,鈥� said Guymon.

Last week the council rolled out , a new public service initiative that promotes local restaurants and educates diners about safety protocols.

鈥� Cathalena E. Burch

Peddling pedals in a pandemic

A lot of local businesses have struggled or even failed during the pandemic. Others have never been busier.

Elliot DuMont owns Roadrunner Bicycles, a shop on Broadway near Wilmot Road that has been in his family for 16 years. He said the past 12 months have been crazy.

With gyms locked down and people stuck at home, many have turned to cycling for exercise and to get outside with their kids. The sudden surge in demand 鈥� both in bike-friendly 蜜柚直播 and across the globe 鈥� has overwhelmed manufacturers, leaving retailers with lots of customers and little to sell.

鈥淚t鈥檚 truly been industry-changing,鈥� DuMont said. 鈥淭he supply chain just stopped.鈥�

Much of the demand is for entry- and midlevel bikes, which range in price from about $450 to as much as $1,200.

鈥淎 lot of people are getting into cycling for the first time,鈥� DuMont said, 鈥渁nd 蜜柚直播 is a pretty great place to ride a bike.鈥�

In a few days, DuMont will be getting his largest shipment since the pandemic began: 11 bicycles, some of them already pre-sold. He expects the rest to be gone in a week or two. Roadrunner鈥檚 waiting list for new bikes is two pages long.

The repair business is booming, too, as people haul their old bicycles out of the garage and bring them in for tuneups. DuMont said his repair shop is booked solid for the next month, and getting replacement parts 鈥� once available for overnight shipment 鈥� poses an additional challenge. 鈥淪ome stuff I can鈥檛 get until 2022,鈥� he said.

Before the pandemic, Roadrunner also operated a healthy bike rental operation. But as demand for new bicycles rose and uncertainty about possible lockdowns grew, DuMont decided to sell off his rental fleet as a hedge against what could be a rough road ahead.

Now he鈥檚 looking to get back into the rental game, maybe by this fall, as life slowly returns to normal.

All he needs are a couple dozen extra bicycles.

鈥� Henry Brean

New mom found help in hard year

Carolina Flores was newly single, and newly a mother, when COVID-19 started upending lives.

Flores had no idea how much the pandemic would complicate her situation, or how one decision she made back in March 2020 would help her and her son, Leonardo, make it through a tremendously difficult year.

Hardship first arrived before the pandemic, when her relationship with Leonardo鈥檚 father ended a month before the baby was born on Feb. 25.

A nurse at 蜜柚直播 Medical Center recognized Flores could use some extra support, so she urged the young mother to sign up for a program called Healthy Families 蜜柚直播.

In simplest terms, Healthy Families links new parents or caregivers with a caseworker who supports the family and provides education about child development.

Flores hesitated, but after a hard week home alone with a newborn 鈥� and with the pandemic beginning to dominate the news 鈥� Flores called for help.

That decision saved her, she said.

鈥淚f not for them, I don鈥檛 know what would have happened. It鈥檚 been such a blessing. So many things happened this last year, and they were there.鈥�

Usually, Healthy Families caseworkers visit with parents in person, but in the past year they鈥檝e had to rely mostly on phone calls.

For Flores, 29, the calls helped her understand Leonardo鈥檚 behavior and patterns and taught her things she could do to foster his development.

Flores said she also received advice about jobs. She needed income, but regular work was hard to come by. With support from her caseworker, Maria Maldonado, Flores was able to figure out how to work at home while also caring for Leonardo.

鈥淪he was really understanding and gave me tips to help me be there for my baby through those difficult hours,鈥� said Flores, whose job in online video surveillance started at 2 a.m.

Steady work was a blessing, but by the fall it meant giving up her Medicaid benefits and food stamps. Maldonado helped her figure out her bills, and where to get extra food when she needed it.

鈥淭hey got me hooked up to a bunch of resources where they could help me,鈥� Flores said.

Maldonado was also there to help her cope with grief: Flores lost both of her grandmothers to COVID-19.

It was in mid-December when Flores鈥� maternal grandmother died from the virus, forcing her mother 鈥� who helps by watching the baby so Flores can sleep 鈥� to leave for Mexico to settle her own mother鈥檚 affairs.

The timing was horrible. Flores and the baby both woke up with fevers a few days later.

鈥淲e鈥檇 seen his dad two days before we started feeling really bad,鈥� she said. She called Leonardo鈥檚 father and learned he was also very sick.

Flores and the baby spent Christmas alone, sick with COVID-19.

鈥淢aria dropped food on our porch for Christmas dinner,鈥� Flores said. 鈥淪he dropped off diapers. She saved us.鈥�

Now, as the one-year anniversary of COVID-19 arrives and vaccinations are increasing, Flores said she is starting to feel a bit more optimistic about the future. But she鈥檚 still sticking close to home with Leonardo, comforted by the fact Maldonado is just a phone call away.

鈥淗ealthy Families,鈥� she said, 鈥渋s the best thing that could have happened to me this year.鈥�

鈥� Patty Machelor

Wrestling with the future

Candice Pocase鈥檚 spring competition season didn鈥檛 turn out the way she鈥檇 planned.

The Santa Rita High School multisport athlete qualified for state in the pole vault her freshman and sophomore years, and she expected to do the same as a junior.

But the pandemic had other plans, and Pocase鈥檚 season ended early. So did the seasons of thousands of other Southern 蜜柚直播 high school athletes.

The bad news didn鈥檛 stop there: A few months later, Pocase received a late concussion diagnosis from a wrestling match the previous winter.

She stopped training altogether for the next several months.

By July, however, she was able to start working out for her senior cross country season. However, with state- and county-mandated safety protocols, that training looked quite a bit different.

鈥淲earing a mask all the time, and sometimes having to run in a mask 鈥� it didn鈥檛 prevent me from practicing, but it made it a bit tougher,鈥� Pocase said.

She also had a new coach for the first time in three years and competitions were hard to come by, but Pocase still nearly made it to the state meet.

Once the 蜜柚直播 Interscholastic Association gave the all-clear for winter sports to proceed, Pocase turned her attention to wrestling. But practicing for that sport proved even more of a challenge than cross country.

鈥淪ome days, we couldn鈥檛 be close and had to stay separate,鈥� Pocase said. 鈥淏ut it didn鈥檛 really hinder it so much to the point that it was the worst thing ever.鈥�

Just like with cross country, she also had to get used to a new wrestling coach. But Richard Sanchez wasn鈥檛 new to Santa Rita, Pocase or the sport, having signed on as the school鈥檚 football coach and athletic director two years earlier after a stellar career as a coach and administrator at Sunnyside.

Pocase went 5-0 on the season and traveled to Gilbert for the state championships last weekend. She finished third in the 126-pound weight class, attributing much of her success to Sanchez, who she called a 鈥減henomenal coach.鈥�

鈥淭he best part of this year was that it鈥檚 given me the chance to work with him,鈥� Pocase said. 鈥�(Sanchez) has been helping me out through everything.鈥�

That 鈥渆verything鈥� includes narrowing down her plans for college. Pocase initially wasn鈥檛 sure which of her many athletic endeavors to pursue; she鈥檚 also been a member of Santa Rita鈥檚 football and volleyball teams.

With Sanchez鈥檚 help, Pocase has decided to focus on wrestling.

鈥淚t鈥檚 a big decision,鈥� Pocase said of which college she鈥檇 like to attend. 鈥淐oach Sanchez is helping me identify good schools and good opportunities.鈥�

Sanchez said Santa Rita has been lucky to have Pocase, calling her a great student-athlete.

鈥淐andice is very positive, coachable and really fun to be around. She鈥檚 pretty strong, she鈥檚 quick and she鈥檚 a quick learner,鈥� Sanchez said. 鈥淚 think she has a lot of potential (in college wrestling.) Whoever gets her will definitely be able to mold her into the type of wrestler that they want.鈥�

But before she heads off to college, Pocase hopes to make up what she lost out on last year, and return to state for one more run at pole-vault champion.

鈥淚鈥檓 really wanting to work harder this year,鈥� she said. 鈥淚鈥檓 ready to move on from COVID, ready for that to pass over. But I鈥檓 not ready for school to pass over. I鈥檓 going to miss school.鈥�

鈥� Caitlin Schmidt

Ringing stopped, but neighborly spirit lasts

One year ago this week, northeast-side resident Caryn Stedman started ringing bells each night in front of her house at Houghton Road and Catalina Highway as a way to connect during the lockdown with the people living around her.

The gesture soon spread, carried to other parts of town by the Nextdoor app, a social networking platform for neighborhoods.

Within days, hundreds of people had joined the 8 p.m. ritual, including a family with a train whistle on Bear Canyon Road and someone with a ship鈥檚 bell near Broadway and Houghton.

Stedman said she kept the bells ringing well into June, but the whole thing died out over the summer, when online comments on the Nextdoor app and elsewhere filled with nasty political rhetoric about the pandemic being a hoax. Stedman didn鈥檛 feel very connected to her community after that.

Then something wonderful happened around the holidays: Her neighborhood lit up with Christmas lights, more than she ever remembers seeing there before. Houses that had never decorated were suddenly aglow.

Stedman couldn鈥檛 help herself. 鈥淚 went completely nuts with the Christmas lights,鈥� she said.

She even invited some of her neighbors over for a socially distanced champagne toast when she threw the switch on her display for the first time on the Saturday after Thanksgiving.

She has decorated the front of her house for every holiday since 鈥� first Valentine鈥檚 Day, now St. Patrick鈥檚 Day, and next up, Easter.

鈥淚鈥檓 mainly doing it to cheer up the neighborhood,鈥� she said.

Of course, Stedman and her neighbors have something else to feel warm and hopeful about these days. As it turns out, the shot in the arm has been a real shot in the arm.

鈥淎s more of my neighbors are getting vaccinated, we鈥檙e starting to make plans to get together,鈥� Stedman said.

Hopefully by then, she said, any distancing will be entirely optional.

鈥� Henry Brean