Not Yet

So we're still looking for land.  Or, probably more precisely, we're looking for solid land where we can wade ashore and plant the flag, and pose for the obligatory picture. 

That's not always guaranteed.  The Jamestown colony was famously founded on extensive marshes, and the Pilgrims, who did land first on the firm sand bordering Provincetown Bay, could just as easily have wandered into the Nauset Marsh or Pleasant Bay or any of the swampy inlets around what is now Chatham.   Imagine if they had drifted too far south, instead of too far north, and come up against the barrier islands of North Carolina, or South Carolina's extensive coastal marshes.  History might have been different.

That's what it feels like, right now.  We've got land in sight, but we're not sure if we can actually land there - if we can find a place to stand on and say, "Here we are!  Aqui!  En el continente! The journey is over!"   

Abbey and I have had our first Moderna shot, and are scheduled for the second (with or without a day of miserable side-effects) a week from now.  But, as it turns out, that will not be our ticket to the new world.  Nothing will change.  As time goes on, we'll learn how others have fared after being fully vaccinated, and perhaps we'll adjust a little, let go a little - maybe, maybe not. 

We're running up and down the coast, looking for safe harbor.  Some sure sign that we've made it at last.  

Not yet.