Since early Tuesday morning when I got an appointment get a vaccine at 6 pm tonight, I’ve known that today was going to be meaningful. ,

Getting the shot would be meaningful enough, of course. But just to add a meaningful cherry on top, tonight is the night I was going to say Kaddish at services for my mother, who passed away on March 31, 2019. I even knew that my mother would not be upset if I didn’t say Kaddish because I was too drained or it took too long to get the shot and wait to make sure I wasn’t having an allergic reaction.

And then, looking at my notes about possible upcoming #stampoftheday offerings, it especially appropriate that one (perhaps the only) option for today was a revised, 5-cent airmail stamp issued on March 26, 1947, that has an iconic image of a DC-4 propeller plane.

Looking at the stamp, I immediately thought of “I’ll Fly Away,” the wonderful hymn that, among things, is sung by Alison Kraus in “O Brother, Where Art Thou.” I’m well aware that the song is about death. But the image of flight and the yearning to be free expressed how I have been feeling as I’ve looked forward to my getting my first shot.

Some bright morning when this life is over
I’ll fly away
To that home on God’s celestial shore
I’ll fly away

I’ll fly away, oh glory
I’ll fly away, in the morning
When I die, Hallelujah by and by
I’ll fly away…

In short, I was prepared for the experience to somehow be meaningful, transformative, perhaps even transcendent. But when I went to get my shot, I quickly realized my imagination had failed me. The problem: I hadn’t fully processed that I was going to get my shot in a small, suburban CVS.

Don’t get me wrong. The people were nice. The process was efficient. And there were only six or eight people ahead of me in the line.

The line was the thing I hadn’t taken into account. Not the line itself, mind you. Rather, it was the fact that we were lined up in the aisle for seasonal goods, which right now means Easter candy and toys. So there I stood, trying to process the idea that I would soon be able to “fly away.”

But it’s hard to have deep and meaningful thoughts when large overstuffed, multicolored rabbits are peering over your shoulder from the top shelves, which apparently is the native habitat for blue, yellow, and rainbow-colored rabbits. Somewhere in the middle of this, I also realized that getting your shot in a chain drug store means that you will be listening to drug store music while you wait to have your life transformed. When I first noticed it, the music was ok because it was Paul Simon singing something from Graceland. But that song ended and soon the “music” was the kind of pablum that I expect to hear in a chain drugstore.

I wondered if this was a metaphor for this being a Mickey Mouse operation, particularly when I realized I was now standing next to matching Minnie and Mickey Pez dispensers. Indeed, I started to wonder if I have a guardian angel, and, if so, was it a cheap stuffed rabbit.

But then I crossed into a new aisle, closer to where I would get the shots, and discovered new absurdities. Now I was standing in front of a display for three or four different CPAC masks, each on a bodyless mannequin head. I, of course, had my COVID mask so I fit right in. That too passed, and then I was standing in front of a much less amusing section – one with the variety of devices that will be helpful as I age and a few, like knee braces, that I’ve sometimes already had to use.

Finally it was time to get a shot, which was pretty much like getting a shot. I asked the young woman giving the shots if the music bothered her or she just tuned it out. She said it didn’t bother her and reported her main problem was the constant standing up and sitting down, which was making her knees hurt.

I went off to the waiting area where I was pleased to discover that nametag worn by the young woman staffing that area said her name was “Renee,” which was my mother’s name. And I wasn’t surrounded by any odd objects. So I sat, read my email, etc. and, after 15 minutes, started to leave.

On my way out the door, near the cash registers, I saw two more stuffed rabbits. One of them, dressed in a purple checked vest, was waving goodbye. I imagined that he said, “see you soon (actually in a month).” And, writing about it now, I wonder if he also might have been singing:

I’ll fly away, oh glory
I’ll fly away, in the morning…

Like a bird from these prison walls I’ll fly
I’ll fly away

Just a few more weary days and then
I’ll fly away
To a land where joys will never end
I’ll fly away

I’ll fly away, fly away, oh glory
I’ll fly away, in the morning
When I die, Hallelujah by and by
I’ll fly away

I’ll fly away

Be well, stay safe, “fly away” to a land where joy will never end,” fight for justice and work for peace.

PS: I got back a bit late so I missed the beginning of services while we ate some dinner. But I did sign on in time to hear a terrific talk and, more important, say Kaddish for my mother Renee.