The newspapers are full of reflections on the year that covid knocked us off our feet - March 11th was the day WHO officially declared the world was in pandemic - and reports from when "people knew" that something bad was starting. On March 11th last year, I had my last in-person class, although I'd told the students to stay home (I had a visitor who was willing to talk to an empty room). We'd learned the day before that our classes after Spring break would be online for at least a few weeks. It was still a few days before the last in-person service at Holy Apostles. My last trip to school was still six days away. And yet already on March 11th last year I had intimations, and some crocuses in Washington Square Park, which in any other year would have delighted me, instead made me think of coronaviruses...
