This morning pedaled my undersized bike up Sheridan Road past the Baha’i Temple to the Wilmette beach, where families paced and frolicked anxiously in the sand—some masked, some not, some distanced, some not. Fresh breeze and sunshine just warm enough to sit in watching two little boys in facemasks dumping sand by their dump masked parents, cello and piano trading gentle complaints in my ears: Rachmaninoff’s cello sonata in G minor. An old woman smoking a cigarette strides up the beach in blocky high heels. Normalcy is on its way without ever quite arriving. Drawing is an aid to memory.