Sunday blog. Well, I wrote it on Sunday–late. So I’m posting today. Life’s crazy these days.

In 1918, Hazel was pregnant. The family had just moved to Webster County; and she got Spanish flu. Then George got sick—and their children, Cecil, two-years-and-a-few-months, and Nina, just one. Both sets of grandparents had it too. The only person who could breathe clearly was George’s sister, my Aunt Anna. She nursed the sick with cold compresses on foreheads, teas and broths to drink, and maybe some chicken soup as they recovered, gathering cobs from the hog lots, then heating and cooking on a cob-burning cookstove. She took care of the babies—changed diapers, rocked them to sleep, and comforted them when they cried—and washed the laundry on a washboard in the washhouse out by the well. And managed the livestock—gathering eggs, milking, and separating cream, not to mention feeding and watering, the pigs and chickens by hand in buckets. Fortunately, the cows had a tank fed directly from the well by a windmill. Anna was just 16 that year.

As our hospitals become overwhelmed, we will probably need more Annas, because there simply aren’t enough beds or enough medical professionals. We’ll have to “shelter in place.” And with global warming continuing to worsen, this isn’t the only crisis we’re likely to face.

So do any of you have stories from the last global pandemic. Please share. We might need them now.