During the Vietnam War, Walter Cronkite and other anchormen* for the major networks would make weekly reports on the number of Americans killed in that tragic conflict. A similar ritual has unfolded in connection with the ongoing — and intensifying — crisis with the coronavirus. Now Nora O’Donnell and Lester Holt give us daily updates on the number of people who have contracted and died from COVID-19 both worldwide and in the United States. Governor DeWine provides comparable figures for Ohio. And right now, there is no sign the pandemic is abating; on the contrary, in most places, each day brings an increase in the number of new cases along with a growing chorus of pleas for more ventilators, more protective masks, more testing kits. Compounding the problem is the large number of medical professionals who have come down with the virus themselves. Meanwhile, the economic impact has been devastating. The number of people filing for unemployment has skyrocketed with workers being laid off by the hundreds of thousands.

Ohio and many other states have issued stay-at-home orders. Such orders require most people to remain in their homes except for “common sense” purposes. These include leaving for health and safety, for necessary supplies and services, and for outdoor activity, although in Ohio, at least, playgrounds are closed. When approaching others, one is expected to maintain a “social distance” of at least six feet. Only “essential” businesses remain open, a designation that encompasses food and beverage retailers, farmers and those who support them, transportation workers, bankers, fuel center operators, and truck drivers who haul hazardous and waste materials.

My own life has certainly felt the impact of the COVID-19 pandemic. In my last blog, I mentioned the cancellation of two promising book fairs which had accepted me as a participant. Now the Columbus Arts Festival, which gave me a unique opportunity to read my work to a live audience, has followed suit. My tutoring duties at Columbus State continue, but in a format that eliminates face-to-face contact. Now, instead of meeting students on campus in the Communication Center, I meet them online through the Comm Center’s e-mail address. The students still set up appointments, but now they e-mail their outlines to me and I view their speeches through a link to YouTube.

What strikes me most of all is how the pandemic has altered the daily flow of events in my life and the lives of others. On Sunday, we didn’t go to church. Instead, we listened to Deacon Keith Fournier give readings from the Bible. On Tuesday, I won’t go to babysit my grandchildren at their home. Instead, I’ll read them stories while seated in front of a Skype camera. This Wednesday, we won’t walk through the local Kroger and select our groceries from the shelves. Instead, I’ll stop  outside the store and groceries we selected earlier online will be loaded into my car. There are no trips to the library, to local restaurants, to our dog’s canine daycare facility, or even to the homes of friends. There’s too much risk. As a result, both my wife’s Pilot and my Malibu sit unused in our garage day after day. In fact, in the last two weeks, I’ve made only two short trips in my car — one to the bank and one to the local CVS pharmacy.

I should note there is a silver lining to the coronavirus pandemic. With so much incentive to go no farther than their front yard, people have devoted themselves to home improvement projects that otherwise would have been neglected for months or years. My wife and I have already cleaned out all our kitchen cabinets, and I’m in the midst of completely organizing all the various toys, games, dolls, and books we have in the basement. Next door, my neighbor Rob (a human dynamo even under normal conditions) is building a complex drainage device in his backyard, and from around the neighborhood, the sound of buzzing saws and whining drills fills the air. But the additional time people have gained from the pandemic has been more than offset by the fear, danger, and loss it has inflicted.  And there is nothing that creates more fear than the daily updates in the disease’s death toll and the words that are heard again and again: The worst is yet to come.

• Back then, all news anchors were men.