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Pixabay photo

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief

Vacations are wonderful. That’s stating the obvious. But vacationing now, in largely post-pandemic times, brings a special kind of joy. I felt it because I have just come back from vacation with a sense of happiness and peace that I wish I could bottle. And I just happened to read an article that speaks to this very subject, the “rush of a real vacation.” 

Now you might think it’s the result of breaking out after almost a year and a half of pandemic distancing, of masking and zooming and otherwise limiting and isolating ourselves. We did that, these last 10 days, driving up the New England coast slowly and spending quality time in Maine. We certainly enjoyed the freedom of the open road, stopping where we had a notion, taking back country routes on impulse, drinking in those picturesque harbor towns, eating lobster rolls, taking pictures of lighthouses. After relative confinement, that was exhilarating. 

But there was more to the experience than that. The article I read, “There’s a Specific Kind of Joy We’ve Been Missing,” by organizational psychologist Adam Grant in the July 10 issue of The New York Times, talks of collective effervescence. This is a concept introduced in the early 20th century by the sociologist Emile Durkheim describing “the sense of energy and harmony people feel when they come together in a group around a shared purpose.” 

So if you are participating in a brainstorming session with colleagues, enjoying a baseball game or a movie with new seatmates or even chatting with a stranger on a train, there is the joy of connection. That didn’t happen during the dark days of COVID-19, although there was some of that early in NYC when people were clapping and banging pots and pans with spoons at 7 p.m. every night to honor hospital workers. And it didn’t happen on Zoom, where the common response after several meetings was fatigue.

We stopped for dinner one night on the way up the seashore in Portland, where we met with an editor who had worked at The Village Times 30 years ago. She took the ferry over from one of the offshore islands and had a lobster roll with us in DiMillo’s restaurant. That eatery used to be the Martha Jefferson, a Mississippi River paddle cruiser for sightseeing and parties on Port Jefferson harbor more than 50 years ago. The present owners bought the old boat, tidied it up, anchored it permanently at the Portland docks and have over the years turned it into a seafood palace.

We spent three days in Camden, a charming fishing village with loads of tourist stores to wander in and out of, which we didn’t do but did enjoy a sailboat ride in a 36-foot schooner that we shared with a family from Alabama. There were a number of people visiting from the Deep South whom we met and chatted with, several owning summer homes in Maine. They drove the considerable distance, like us, enjoying the liberating journey. I want to salute an especially fine restaurant there, in Rockland, called Primo, started by a woman originally from Long Island, that serves farm-to-table food in delicious fashion. Diners can also tour her lush gardens in the rear. Ask for the Russian kale salad for an unusual treat. And if it’s your thing, enjoy the Farnsworth Art Museum, with its impressive collection of three generations of Wyeths.

We loved our time in Bar Harbor (or as they say, Bah Hahbba), and especially Acadia National Park on Mount Desert Island. If you go, know that you will need a ticket in advance if you wish to see a famed sunrise or a sunset from the summit of Cadillac Mountain.

I have always enjoyed chatting with strangers while waiting in lines or riding in elevators, among other conducive situations. I learn all sorts of information, usually useless but not always, this way. Friends I have been with will bear witness to this voluble habit. I hadn’t realized how much I had missed those casual conversations until this trip. I certainly agree with the theory of collective effervescence put forth by Durkheim a century ago. And we awarded the title of best lobster roll, after many samplings, to McLoons Lobster Shack of South Thomaston, in the friendly state of Maine.

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Media Origins captured the fireworks from the Village of Asharoken.

Fourth of July is a time meant to be spent with friends and family while barbecuing some of the best American meals.

It’s also the one holiday a year where lighting off fireworks from morning to night time is completely acceptable — even encouraged. 

This countrywide celebration of America may be enjoyable for most but for others, such as combat veterans and first responders suffering with post-traumatic stress disorder, it can be an extremely stressful day. And when fireworks are set off on other days, it can be even more unnerving for them and others. 

Is celebrating this national holiday at the cost of our own heroes? 

According to a National Health and Resilience in Veterans Study, 87% of veterans have been exposed to at least one potentially traumatic event and experience on average of 3.4 such events throughout their service. The National Institutes of Health also recorded that an estimate of 400,000 first responders in America have at least some symptoms of PTSD.

The degree of exposure varies from person to person, therefore affecting the magnitude of their illness.

The sounds of fireworks — loud, sudden and reminiscent of traumatic events — may trigger PTSD, making it difficult for some who experience symptoms to enjoy their holiday. Lighting off fireworks throughout the month or late at night could additionally put a veteran or first responder into a bad spot. 

Even weeks after the Fourth of July is over, sleeping troubles or nightmares may persist.  

Paws of War, located in Nesconset, rescues and trains shelter dogs to become service dogs for Long Island veterans and first responders. With the mental pressure of dealing with the holiday, a service dog can also serve as a calming aide to those coping through a PTSD episode.

One way to make sure a veteran doesn’t become triggered is to involve them in lighting the fireworks so the shock of hearing the fireworks won’t be unexpected. Many veterans choose to light fireworks for their family. 

There are many other ways to celebrate the Fourth of July and summer that don’t involve setting off fireworks. Fishing, boating, visiting historical parks, watching patriotic movies and barbecuing are just some of the alternate options that families can do together to celebrate. However, if you’re still itching for fireworks, sparklers are noise free and easy to bring anywhere you go.

So next Fourth of July, being sensitive to veterans and first responders could turn their nerve-racking holiday into a happy one. 

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Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

I recently spoke with several scientists about work they were doing for the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, or NASA. In chatting with them, it became clear that researchers love acronyms the way my dog loves anyone willing to toss him a few morsels of food.

I was just thinking about how much time I’d save in my life if I could start my own set of acronyms, all designed to create word efficiency and to develop the equivalent of an insider’s club.

For starters, how about OKWAM? As in, this place is definitely OK without a mask because they don’t mind if you walk around with your face uncovered.Then, perhaps, there’s MAPH as in masks are preferred here. You don’t necessarily have to wear a mask, as you might on, say, a commercial airliner, but you would make the owners of the establishment happy and feel safer if you did.

In the world of politics, President Joe Biden (D) merits his own set of acronyms. If you think he’s bringing back civility, you might appreciate the chance to tell someone that you believe BMAC, for Biden makes America civil.

Now, of course, Biden, as with his predecessor, has numerous detractors. The New York Post is as eager to capture his daily verbal stumbles as the left-leaning papers and news organizations were to seize on former President Donald Trump’s (R) “covfefe” and other scrambled words. In that case, you might see Biden as a PINOE, as in a president in need of an editor, or a PINOC, as in a president in need of a compass.

Trump deserves his own set of acronyms. Borrowing from the redundant wording of the movie “Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story” (2004), supporters of the 45th president might say TIARA, as in Trump is always right, always.

Those who find the former president slightly off kilter, however, might believe he has a FANTS problem, as in facts are not Trump’s strength.

TOSID seems appropriate for both sides. That one stands for the other side is deceptive. That applies to Democrats and Republicans, each of whom sometimes reflexively suggest that the other side can’t possibly be honest because, if they were, the argument they’d like to make isn’t as powerful.

In the wonderful world of summer weather, how about HEFY, as in hot enough for you, or perhaps, CIRN, as in can’t it rain now?

Yankee fans are probably bracing for another mediocre, at best, half of the baseball year. Sure, we have talent, and we get periodic glimpses of adequacy, but we wind up looking like a fourth-place team. I have the feeling it’s NOY or not our year.

Parents have spent almost two years struggling with child care, education and their sanity amid a pandemic that has caused their children to become more like home-based barnacles than school-based students. To that end, and you can pronounce this one however you’d like, how about FCTKSIS, for fingers crossed to keep school in session?

Children, of course, couldn’t control whether their schools opened, which left them even more powerless to act out against the rules, tests or social pressures that follow them around like Pigpen’s dust storm from the Charlie Brown comics. They are now struggling with the need to EFTEW, or to emerge from the electronic world.

Many of us made normal hygiene habits optional. These days, we should consider recommending a SMIYL to our friends, as in a shower might improve your life.

While disconnecting during a phone call, turning off our video momentarily or covering our computer camera were options from home, we sometimes find ourselves stuck in conversations or interactions that aren’t working for us. We might need to beg someone to SAM or stop annoying me.

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Photo from Three Village Central School District

This year’s graduation ceremonies were worthy of more celebration than ever before.

The Class of 2021 has been through an unbelievable two years of academics.

As the school year of 2019 began, everything was the same as usual, and then March of 2020 saw drastic changes. One minute, students were studying in school, attending clubs, practicing for plays or out on the fields, the next they were home learning remotely with no extracurricular activities. 

Proms were canceled, graduation commencements were put on hold until July where seniors graduated with just a fraction of their class at a time, as ceremonies needed to be spread out over a few days.

The beginning of the 2020-21 school year varied depending on what school district a child attended. For some there was a hybrid schedule, others fully remote and for a few in-person instruction five days a week, if they chose to do so.

Then things began to change slowly but surely as the calendar flipped to 2021. Students were given the green light to return to their classrooms every day as the year progressed. Activities after studies resumed and the fields were filled once again with football, field hockey, baseball, lacrosse and so much more.

While masks were still worn and plastic dividers remained, students began to emerge from their cocoons like butterflies ready to take on the world. Proms were held and graduations were celebrated with the whole class.

Last year school administrators, faculty members, students and parents banded together to come up with resourceful ideas such as car parades and staggered ceremonies to commemorate the momentous occasion of completing high school. This year after weathering the storm, students witnessed that a light at the end of the tunnel can exist no matter how dark that tunnel may seem at times.

They have emerged strong and resilient which can be seen in the sports championship wins across the North Shore and the smiles on the graduates’ faces.

Education is a valuable resource but, in the last two years, teenagers have stepped away from their desks with more important lessons than any high school class can provide. Life has taught them that with some flexibility, resourcefulness, resilience and optimism they increase their odds of making it over any hurdle to achieve success.

Graduates, take the lessons you gained in your cocoon and take flight as a butterfly would. A whole new world awaits all of you, and we look forward to hearing all about the wonderful things you accomplish.

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Pixabay photo
Daniel Dunaief

This past week, I spent more time personally and professionally speaking with other people than I had in over a year.

I give myself mixed reviews. Two anecdotes capture the range of my experiences. During one meeting, my brain had its own mini dialog, even as I tried to stay focused on details about a story I was researching. Here’s a sample of that internal dialog:

Wait, why is he looking away? Should I not have had that salad earlier? Do I have something green in my teeth?

No, hold on, maybe it’s that you’re tired and your eyes are closing. Open your eyes wider to indicate that you’re paying attention. No. NO. NO! Too wide! Now, he’s wondering why you’re staring so intently at him.

Okay, he’s looking at you again. Oh, no, I have to scratch my face. What do I do? Ignore it. Yes, that’s working. No, it’s not. Now, my face itches even more. Come on face, suck it up. No, I have to scratch. Maybe I can coordinate the scratch with the moment when he looks away. Come on, look away!

Great, now he’s looking at me without blinking, like Jack Nicholson in “A Few Good Men.” Wait, I’m listening. Really, I am, but I’m a tad distracted. It’s not my fault. It’s my face’s fault. 

I’m focused. I have a good question ready, but I still need to scratch my face. Look away. LOOK a-WAY! It’s not working. Instead of scratching, I’m twitching. Now he’s staring at the part of my face that itches and twitches.

I’m going to lean on my hand and scratch subtly, while listening intently and making solid, but not scary eye contact.

Okay, so, maybe that was a slight exaggeration, but it was an imperfect and slightly distracted moment in the real world.

Later in the week, I had another opportunity to multitask. Just as I started walking across a courtyard to a meeting, it started pouring.

I walked quickly. Running didn’t seem like a great choice because panting, dripping and sweating is never a good look for me.

When I arrived, an incredibly supportive executive assistant asked me if I wanted a hot tea, coffee, towel or water. I said I’d be fine.

Once I got in the office, I immediately realized, dripping onto, into and around the chair of one of my favorite sources, that his air conditioning was among the strongest in the area. In addition to the cool air in the room, I felt a slight breeze, which made me feel as if each droplet of water clinging to me might soon turn to ice.

As I spoke to him, rocking slightly back and forth, putting my hands under my legs to keep them warm, I was well aware of how ridiculous I must have looked. At the same time, I appreciated the in-person nature of the experience, which wasn’t an option six months earlier.

I enjoyed how the multitasking necessary to stay on track was so much different than the challenges of Zoom, where my primary concerns were whether the background in the screen included messy clothing, whether I was looking at the right place on the screen, and whether my dog would decide to bark at the five-year-old learning to ride a bike in front of our house.

Venturing further out than I have in over a year from the turtle-shell life felt like stepping back into a familiar but altered role. Despite the momentary and awkward setbacks, it was a welcome return to a three-dimensional world.

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Stock photo

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief

A number of small local businesses applied for and received, in the course of the pandemic, money to pay their employees as their customers and revenues dwindled. Some $800 billion was made available by the federal government through the Paycheck Protection Program, or PPP as it was known for short, and overseen by the Small Business Administration. The actual lenders were banks, 5,200 of them, and they made a small percentage on what they loaned.

But according to an analysis in The New York Times, that was nothing compared to what two newcomers made as they rushed to the scene. These two companies pocketed more than $3 billion in fees, and they weren’t even lenders. It was all legal. Here’s how they did it.

Since the banks were getting a percentage of what they loaned, for each set of paperwork processed, they logically favored making larger loans for their efforts. These invariably went to larger companies. The result was that the smallest companies, asking for the smallest amounts of money, who were perhaps the ones most needing the help, were overlooked. Blueacorn was founded last year to help companies get PPPs. “Tiny businesses, self-employed individuals and minority communities are left out in the cold,” explained the CEO to The NYT.

The federal government realized this discrepancy and, last December, raised the fees for small loans, later encouraging even unprofitable solo businesses to ask for help. Both Blueacorn and the second company, Womply, which already existed but in a different niche, rushed to advertise their processing services with the PPP on behalf of these tiny businesses. Their ads were on New York City subways, billboards and Facebook, according to NYT reporters Stacy Cowley and Ella Koeze, offering “free money for those who qualify.” During that time, from late February to May 31, the companies processed 2.3 million loans, with most less than $17,000, and then turned them over to banks. 

Those interested banks, now promised by the government 50% of loans valued at less than $50,000, with fees up to a maximum of $2,500, could find making small-dollar loans more profitable. At least that was the intent of Congress in December of last year when it made the change.

For Blueacorn, in Scottsdale, Arizona, and Womply, in San Francisco, finding the banks, putting them together with the borrowers and doing their paperwork in a standardized way, proved more profitable than for each of the banks to do the work themselves on behalf of the smallest businesses. Now all the lenders had to do was pass the paperwork to the government and fund the loans.

Largely as a result of these two companies, lenders made 5.8 million loans this year as opposed to 3.6 million in 2020. The average loan size dropped from over $100,000 dollars last year to $41,560 in 2021. The six most active lenders this year partnered with one or both of those companies. 

Blueacorn worked with just two lenders: Prestamos CDFI, a non-profit, and Capital Plus Financial. Just for contrast, Prestamos made 935 PPP loans last year, totaling $27 million and 494,415 loans for $7.7 billion in 2021, according to The NYT, until applications halted.

Womply used 17 lenders and processed 1.4 million loans, totaling more than $20 billion dollars, some 7% of PPP money loaned this year.

Here is the payoff for the two companies. Because Congress wanted to make smaller loans more lucrative, Prestamos made $1.3 million for its lending last year and $1.2 billion this year, but will keep “only a fraction of its earnings.” Blueacorn, because if its agreement with Prestamos, will get a “significant” portion of the $1.2 billion Prestamos is collecting. Capital One Financial, a public company and thus more transparent, earned $464 million in fees for its PPP loans during the quarter but only kept about a third or $150 million.

So Blueacorn gets some $1 billion this year and Womply anywhere from $1.7 billion to $3 billion. That dwarfs any other PPP loans or fees. Thank You, Uncle Sam! 

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The Greenway Trail in Port Jefferson Station. Photo by Heidi Sutton

After sitting home for over a year, people are finally emerging from their living rooms. The world has opened back up, restaurants and venues allow 100% capacity again. Things are starting to look like they’re coming back to normal. 

Remember before COVID-19 how many murders, shootings and disputes there were — not only on Long Island but across the country? 

For almost a year, there was little news of a gunman entering places of business. Schools weren’t open, so there were no high school shootings — something that happened relatively  often in 2019.

It was nice, wasn’t it?

But now, we’re seeing a lot of instances again where we need to remember to be safe. 

Last week, there was a stabbing in the early morning on the Greenway Trail in Port Jefferson Station. Barely two days later, a shooting occurred outside a bar in Port Jeff village. 

Now that life is seemingly regular, the people who have pent-up energy, anger or who are emotionally disturbed are back out in the public. 

It’s time to be aware of our surroundings again. 

People might have forgotten to look over their shoulders while walking in a parking lot in the dark. They might not realize it’s not safe to be alone during a walk at night. If a customer looks unstable at a business, it might be good to alert someone and stay away.

Things are back to normal and, unfortunately, that means the bad stuff is back, too. 

Keep your phone handy, bring a friend to places infrequently visited so you’re not alone and maybe invest in a whistle for your keyring to deter someone coming at you. If someone is walking toward you, look them in the eyes, so they know you can identify them if needed. Also, it never hurts to let someone know where you are going, especially when it’s late at night or you are traveling in an unfamiliar area.

Nowadays there are also apps for your phone that can help you stay safe, from ones that you can check before you venture out to see if any crimes have been reported in the area, to others that will send a message to your contacts you predetermine if you scream or don’t respond to a text message from the service by a certain time.

It’s important to stay safe. Look out for yourself and look out for others. 

We’re all in this together.

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A scene from Broadway's 'Dear Evan Hanson'

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

With my fingers crossed, I am excited about the return of shows on Broadway, which is scheduled to reopen in September.

Something magical happens when a curtain rises, taking an excited audience on a musical journey to other places and other times.

Decades ago, I attended a production of “The King and I.” While the famous Yule Brenner played the title role, I found the experience utterly meaningless.

I remember asking my mother what those small people were doing so far away from me, as we watched that production in the third balcony.

“Next time,” my mother said through gritted teeth to my father, “I’m getting the tickets.”

Sure enough, my parents took my brothers and me to “A Chorus Line.” The experience was as different as standing across the street, looking through the fog at a candy store and sitting at the counter, reading through a menu and enjoying the smell of warm waffles and ice cream and the sight of tantalizing delicacies akin to what I imagined Turkish delights from the Narnia series would taste like.

The live performance so completely captivated me that I left the auditorium humming some of the songs and hoping everything would work out for characters who came from broken homes and broken dreams. Each of the actors was taking his or her shot, hoping for approval, and a job, doing what he or she loved.

I have found numerous shows that have been as moving and as thrilling, including more modern performances, like “Dear Evan Hansen.”

The combination of sights and sounds, the emotional range from humor to tragedy and the riveting live voices that cause seats to vibrate and artwork to come alive provide a completely immersive artistic experience.

I don’t always love every moment in a show, and I don’t always understand what a director or actor is conveying, but that doesn’t stop me from trying or from appreciating the effort.

When I was in high school, I joined the pit orchestra of the musicals “The Wizard of Oz” and “West Side Story.” I far preferred the latter, with its more complicated and intricate music, although participating in each performance provided artistic highlights for my high school career.

On one of my first dates with my wife, we attended “A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum,” starring Nathan Lane. The show, which I had seen once or twice before, was a familiar pleasure, while Lane’s periodic breaking of character and hamming up the role tickled the audience, sharing the equivalent of a modern-day wink with an appreciative crowd.

After the show, I was thrilled to find that my wife shared my love and appreciation for the Great White Way. We repeated lines that amused us, commented on the sets, and appreciated the spectacular stage presence of an acting legend who, somehow, show after show, seemed to be completely in the moment.

As we continue to emerge from a pandemic in which we discussed books we’d read and Netflix shows we’d seen, I am eagerly looking forward to returning to the cushioned seats, the brightly-colored programs, the friendly ushers, and the hard-working cast members who inspire and elevate my life with their dedication, talent and hard work.

Who knows? This year, I might even go back to dressing up for the occasion, tying a tie, finding matching dark socks, and wearing dress shoes as the lights return to live performances, the orchestra holds up its instruments, and the actors take deep breaths, preparing to serenade those lucky enough to score tickets to a transformative ride.

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Pixabay photo

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief

A three-year-old golden retriever, missing for two weeks, was pulled out of Barnegat Bay Wednesday by two blessed souls. I know how that golden feels. I was pulled out of Port Jefferson Harbor Sunday and was I ever grateful.

I’ll tell you the whole story.

My family is visiting, finally, as the pandemic fades. That includes three sons, three daughters-in-law, one granddaughter, two grandsons, (the third was working), one dog and two cats. Sunday late afternoon we noted the arrival of what sailors call “the cocktail breeze,” and to enjoy it, three of us went out in the harbor on a 16-foot Hobie Cat. The catamaran is little more than two pontoons connected by a sturdy webbing on which passengers sit. There is a mainsail and a jib, and the light craft really flies across the water. But there is no motor, only an oar in case the wind dies down, and we have to row ourselves back to shore-hardly a desirable state of affairs, as you can imagine.

So, there we were, happily zipping along, when the breeze turned into a sudden gust, caught us off guard, and lifted one pontoon out of the water. I was sitting above the other, and I saw the colorful mainsail rising up like a wall and coming toward me. The abrupt knot in the pit of my stomach confirmed that we were about to capsize. That had never before happened with this boat. I braced for a shock.

To my pleasant surprise, the water temperature, while not warm, was more comfortable than I expected for so early in the season. And while I was wearing a life vest, I had casually closed only the top couple of toggles, so the vest rode up to the level of my chin, pinning the edge of my broad-brimmed hat that had come askew in front of my eyes. While I knew I was in the water, I couldn’t see a thing.

It took us several minutes to sort ourselves out, my son, daughter-law and myself. We worked to untangle ourselves as we clung to the side of one of the overturned pontoons. Then the boat became caught in a mooring into which the wind had blown us. We hoped one of the two motor boats that came along would stop to help. They passed us by, but one slowed down to take a video of us struggling in the water.

It is hard to right a catamaran, and in the sudden heavy wind, it proved impossible.

“Maybe we should call for help,” my daughter-in-law suggested, and proceeded to do just that.

Fortunately Evelyn and Greg Haegele, in their sailboat aptly named “Necessity” heard us and slowly approached. My children were most concerned with getting me to safety and up the swim ladder that Greg had thrown over the side, my daughter-law helping me swim over to their boat. My son calling out my age with concern in his voice.

It was not easy to climb the six steps in my sopping wet clothes, but as they say at NASA, failure was not an option.

Then Greg passed his sunglasses to his wife and made a beautiful dive to swim over and help right the Hobie. Together they were successful despite the strong wind.

As my children clambered back aboard and sailed off, a police boat, followed by a fire boat dashed after them, checking to see if all was well. It seems some alert person in a waterfront home in Belle Terre, witnessed the mishap and called 911.

Meanwhile the Haegeles took me back to Port Jefferson via the launch service and then drove me home, a drenched dog.

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On June 12, Suffolk County Legislator Bridget Fleming led a memorial event for public transit workers who lost their lives to COVID-19. Photo by Rita J. Egan

This past Saturday at a memorial honoring the Suffolk and Nassau transportation workers who lost their lives to COVID-19, speakers touched on the idea that our definition of what makes a worker essential has evolved over the past 15 months.

We have always recognized the heroic acts of people such as firefighters and police officers who save and protect us when we are in danger. We respect the work that health professionals and EMT workers and volunteers provide when we or loved ones are sick or injured. However, the pandemic brought to the forefront many we have overlooked previously in our everyday lives.

To think, for more than a year, truckers and grocery store employees have gone out every workday, taking the chance that they may be exposed to a virus that could hospitalize or even kill them or their loved ones, just to make sure we had food on our tables.

Then there were the home health care professionals, who continued to care for their patients inside their homes, despite the risks, and our utility workers who kept the lights on and the water flowing.

Journalists continued to be there to keep everybody abreast of what was going on in the world, whether about the virus, restrictions, politics and so much more, some even standing in the middle of protests.

And of course, the public transportation workers were there to make sure that those professionals and so many others who were unable to work from home were able to get to their offices and stores every day. When one doesn’t have a car, a train or bus can make the difference between getting a paycheck or not.

How many people in their everyday lives can remember on occasion rushing around and maybe not showing such workers the respect they deserve. Maybe it was being short tempered with a cashier because the line was long or an item was missing a price tag or driving too fast as workers were repairing a road thereby putting them in danger.

Adversity can bring with it many lessons, appreciating those who make our day a bit easier is one we hope all will remember as our country continues on the road to normalcy. It’s essential for everyone to have some sort of income to afford the necessities of life, but there are some whose work is essential in keeping us alive and healthy beyond the roles we once recognized.

We salute them all.

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