Reading a pretty amazing column from the New York Times columnist David Brooks this morning gave me some food for thought. Entitled "The Moral Meaning of the Plague," it's well worth reading. He quotes Viktor Frankl: "[Meaning in a crisis] comes from three things: the work we offer in times of crisis, the love we give and our ability to display courage in the face of suffering."
I keep reminding myself of how lucky we are: we have enough. As I work with colleagues to provide support for families whose loved ones live with mental illness, I do feel as though someone, somewhere, will benefit. As I worry about our children and their children, I remember to tell them often how much we love them and how much we admire their courage and commitment to their young families. I think that is at least a start on the first two things.
I'm not sure what qualifies as courage for this old lady who is in excellent health, blessed with strength and intellect and enough money to survive. I can't really think what I must do that might require courage. Actually, I (selfishly) hope to never find out.
Another point Brooks makes in his column as he talks about a new introspection coming into the world is that people are asking some fundamental questions: "Are you ready to die? If your lungs filled with fluid a week from Tuesday would you be content with the life you've lived? What would you do if a loved one died? Do you know where your most trusted spiritual and relational resources lie? What role do you play in this crisis? What is the specific way you are situated to serve?"
I believe that I will spend a few hours thinking about this. Time to quit pouting and make a plan.
Wednesday, April 1, 2020
Tuesday, March 31, 2020
Pandemic journal - Friday, March 27-Monday, March 30, 2020
No posts for the past several days - my heart just hasn't been in it. Given that I have almost nothing to complain about, since we have plenty to eat, a functioning air conditioning system, beautiful weather, almost unlimited TV, a very sweet fur baby, and each other - life still seems so disorienting that I function in kind of a perpetual semi-exhausted state.
And no, it's not the virus. I'm thinking I may understand just a little bit of what folks go through who live with depression. It wears you out.
SO - today, I have some calls and video meetings, and a little sliver of time to write a bit, so here I am.
It's finally sinking in that even when we pass our "surge" point (that is, when our hospitals begin to look like MASH units and are doing wartime triage to decide who lives and who dies), this virus is probably with us for the long haul. If heat kills it, that's okay for Florida in the summertime - but will it come roaring back in the winter? And more important, at least to me, is how long will it take for our distrust of each other's physical presence to wear off? I am getting accustomed to avoiding people. And, horror of horrors, video meetings and social events and family gatherings are sweeping the nation. It's the ultimate nightmare: a life lived entirely on screens.
I hate this. As a lifelong optimist, I'm having my nose rubbed in it. It's hard to see any light at the end of this tunnel, and I've always been able to see the light.
And no, it's not the virus. I'm thinking I may understand just a little bit of what folks go through who live with depression. It wears you out.
SO - today, I have some calls and video meetings, and a little sliver of time to write a bit, so here I am.
It's finally sinking in that even when we pass our "surge" point (that is, when our hospitals begin to look like MASH units and are doing wartime triage to decide who lives and who dies), this virus is probably with us for the long haul. If heat kills it, that's okay for Florida in the summertime - but will it come roaring back in the winter? And more important, at least to me, is how long will it take for our distrust of each other's physical presence to wear off? I am getting accustomed to avoiding people. And, horror of horrors, video meetings and social events and family gatherings are sweeping the nation. It's the ultimate nightmare: a life lived entirely on screens.
I hate this. As a lifelong optimist, I'm having my nose rubbed in it. It's hard to see any light at the end of this tunnel, and I've always been able to see the light.
Thursday, March 26, 2020
Pandemic journal, Tuesday-Thursday, March 24-26, 2020
Tuesday morning I didn't feel very well. I could see Wednesday coming up - the two-year anniversary of my dad's death. Lost in those memories, worrying about the virus, knowing that the very best plan for our country is probably a two-month stay-at-home, plus a little bit of sore throat: my breakfast wasn't too pleasant.
Additionally, Monday night our air conditioning stopped working. I spent most of the morning calling for help with that, finally got our reliable a.c. guy to promise to visit Tuesday afternoon, and of course it started working again as soon as he arrived. (This feels like calling the copier repair guy to come to the office and having the damn thing start working as soon as he comes through the door.)
Anyway, by Tuesday evening we were all cooled off, I felt better, and after all, what else did I have to do all day but fret about the a.c.? Nothing.
Yesterday, Wednesday, was a better day. We ventured out to Tallahassee Nurseries where the young people (invincible all) are cheerfully keeping their distance but are palpably NOT worried. Whatever. We purchased our plants and made a quick getaway. They aren't much, but just getting them planted felt like progress.
Also activity is stirring again in the nonprofit to which I generally devote my spare time. We are working statewide to offer at least our support groups to families and their loved ones who are struggling to cope with mental illnesses that are difficult to manage even in the best of times. Speaking with colleagues even on Zoom feels like human contact, and that cheers me.
So today I am listing the elements of my "normal" life which are most important to me and contemplating how COVID-19 has affected them:
1. Sleep. No question that I am getting more of this. One of life's miseries is getting up in the dark. So far, my fur baby is cooperating, and we sleep until the sun is up. I'm not even tempted to nap during the day - a miracle!
2. Time in the morning. Morning is the best time of day for me, always has been. As the days get longer, I'll probably get up earlier (see above about getting up in the dark.) It's not the clock time, it's the daylight. When the sun comes up earlier, I will be up earlier. And I can have my breakfast, drink coffee, read the paper (in print, always), check my email, etc., etc. I don't care if it takes me until noon. This is a luxury, no question.
3. Time to read. Never enough. Now there's enough. And that's enough said.
4. Gazing out my window. Daydreaming.
5. TV. I admit it - we are addicts.
What I miss: Going out to lunch with friends. Figuring out which nights in a week I don't have to cook (cooking is not my thing). Feeling free to just grab a protein bar when I'm between meetings and don't have time for lunch. Having the house to MYSELF while the hubs is out doing his thing. (I know this is a problem many people who live alone would love to have - but I still miss a little bit of alone time.) Listening to NPR on my radio as I flit about town (I know I could listen at home, but I just don't seem to. This is weird. I MISS NPR.) OLLI classes - for learning, for socializing, for walking around the beautiful FSU campus. Calling for pizza every once in a while and not being afraid of touching the box (so we just don't do it). Haircuts. Pedicures. Seeing the grandchildren.
What I hate: Worrying about my adult children, several of whom are in high-risk jobs. Worrying that someone will get laid off. Worrying that someone will get sick. Worrying that I will get sick, and worrying how on earth the hubs would manage if that happened. Worrying that I will contract the virus while grocery shopping, but not really trusting the delivery service. Waiting for the inevitable day where I will learn that someone I know and value, or that I don't know very well, has tested positive. It's that other shoe ....
Additionally, Monday night our air conditioning stopped working. I spent most of the morning calling for help with that, finally got our reliable a.c. guy to promise to visit Tuesday afternoon, and of course it started working again as soon as he arrived. (This feels like calling the copier repair guy to come to the office and having the damn thing start working as soon as he comes through the door.)
Anyway, by Tuesday evening we were all cooled off, I felt better, and after all, what else did I have to do all day but fret about the a.c.? Nothing.
Yesterday, Wednesday, was a better day. We ventured out to Tallahassee Nurseries where the young people (invincible all) are cheerfully keeping their distance but are palpably NOT worried. Whatever. We purchased our plants and made a quick getaway. They aren't much, but just getting them planted felt like progress.
Also activity is stirring again in the nonprofit to which I generally devote my spare time. We are working statewide to offer at least our support groups to families and their loved ones who are struggling to cope with mental illnesses that are difficult to manage even in the best of times. Speaking with colleagues even on Zoom feels like human contact, and that cheers me.
So today I am listing the elements of my "normal" life which are most important to me and contemplating how COVID-19 has affected them:
1. Sleep. No question that I am getting more of this. One of life's miseries is getting up in the dark. So far, my fur baby is cooperating, and we sleep until the sun is up. I'm not even tempted to nap during the day - a miracle!
2. Time in the morning. Morning is the best time of day for me, always has been. As the days get longer, I'll probably get up earlier (see above about getting up in the dark.) It's not the clock time, it's the daylight. When the sun comes up earlier, I will be up earlier. And I can have my breakfast, drink coffee, read the paper (in print, always), check my email, etc., etc. I don't care if it takes me until noon. This is a luxury, no question.
3. Time to read. Never enough. Now there's enough. And that's enough said.
4. Gazing out my window. Daydreaming.
5. TV. I admit it - we are addicts.
What I miss: Going out to lunch with friends. Figuring out which nights in a week I don't have to cook (cooking is not my thing). Feeling free to just grab a protein bar when I'm between meetings and don't have time for lunch. Having the house to MYSELF while the hubs is out doing his thing. (I know this is a problem many people who live alone would love to have - but I still miss a little bit of alone time.) Listening to NPR on my radio as I flit about town (I know I could listen at home, but I just don't seem to. This is weird. I MISS NPR.) OLLI classes - for learning, for socializing, for walking around the beautiful FSU campus. Calling for pizza every once in a while and not being afraid of touching the box (so we just don't do it). Haircuts. Pedicures. Seeing the grandchildren.
What I hate: Worrying about my adult children, several of whom are in high-risk jobs. Worrying that someone will get laid off. Worrying that someone will get sick. Worrying that I will get sick, and worrying how on earth the hubs would manage if that happened. Worrying that I will contract the virus while grocery shopping, but not really trusting the delivery service. Waiting for the inevitable day where I will learn that someone I know and value, or that I don't know very well, has tested positive. It's that other shoe ....
Monday, March 23, 2020
Pandemic journal, Monday, March 23, 2020
I woke up today in a somewhat better frame of mind. It's just the habit of my old self; I have always enjoyed Monday, a nice fresh day in a nice new week. So after a dog walk and breakfast, I filled the hummingbird feeder for the first time this year. An actual accomplishment!
Then I made myself sit at the computer and look at emails that have accumulated for several days, There are some requests for information, one promising volunteer submission for the nonprofit I am involved with, and am invitation to an online support group meeting on Wednesday and a videoconference meeting on Friday. I have finished reading my current book, made lunch, plan to venture out to a still-open plant nursery to buy some plants, and maybe even plant something, if not today, then certainly tomorrow. I have started reading a new book, and have resumed writing in this journal. The day seems fuller.
As a very busy retiree, I have had days when I would think, what would happen if I just quit all of this and walked away, spent my days here at home, reading, watching TV, puttering around? Now I think I know. Here is my thought: what if life as we knew it doesn't really up where it left off? What if this experience changes us (for the better, hopefully)? What if I am finally able to let go, relax, pull away, sleep more, exercise more, read more? And then I think - nope, probably not.
Then I made myself sit at the computer and look at emails that have accumulated for several days, There are some requests for information, one promising volunteer submission for the nonprofit I am involved with, and am invitation to an online support group meeting on Wednesday and a videoconference meeting on Friday. I have finished reading my current book, made lunch, plan to venture out to a still-open plant nursery to buy some plants, and maybe even plant something, if not today, then certainly tomorrow. I have started reading a new book, and have resumed writing in this journal. The day seems fuller.
As a very busy retiree, I have had days when I would think, what would happen if I just quit all of this and walked away, spent my days here at home, reading, watching TV, puttering around? Now I think I know. Here is my thought: what if life as we knew it doesn't really up where it left off? What if this experience changes us (for the better, hopefully)? What if I am finally able to let go, relax, pull away, sleep more, exercise more, read more? And then I think - nope, probably not.
Pandemic journal, the first weekend of self-seclusion, March 21-22, 2020
I was hit by a severe attack of ennui this weekend. Suddenly the days (empty ones) ahead seemed like an eternity, so why do anything? Restless, bored, itching from bug bites acquired in last week's yard work frenzy, I couldn't do much but bark at the hubs and just be a general Debbie Downer.
In addition to the fact that just sitting around gives me a backache, that kind of doing nothing causes some depression on my part, and I know myself well enough to recognize it and try to do something about it.
So here I am, writing again.
Saturday we tried to help out a favorite restaurant by picking up lunch. Getting in the car and driving a mile or so was nice, lunch was nice, and it did break up the day. In the late afternoon/early evening, a long phone chat with No. 2 son was a treat, as was his assurance that he and his wife are practicing safe practices in their jobs as radiology techs. Worry about them is constant, and I try to keep it on simmer.
Sunday the lethargy was worse. I could see the clock approaching noon and I was still reading the (pretty slim) newspaper. In the afternoon, our neighbor had a gathering in her back yard for the ladies on the block, and that was a welcome break in the monotony. The good news is that all of us are still healthy. Not surprisingly, no one had any great suggestions for fun quarantine activities. I've got to get cracking on this and figure out how to stop whining and get on with it.
A phone conversation with No. 1 son was a help. At least we don't have small children to manage; he and our grandchildren's mom are doing what they can, but it's a slog. Another worry: Allison, his ex, begins a new job on Monday as an LPN in a cancer treatment center. Threats abound. Our children and their loved ones are at heightened risk.
Here's the hard thing: we can't do anything. In fact, we are told that what we should do is exactly that - nothing. This is so not-me.
I will put this idea down in this space as I'm not sure anyone would be willing to entertain it, so haven't even tried to talk about it. Wouldn't a good response to this emergency be to sequester the high-risk folks (elderly, immuno-compromised, pregnant, whoever) and perhaps allow the rest of the country to attempt to keep the economy afloat? I worry that once people run out of money, things are going to get really ugly. You will do a lot of awful things when you are hungry, or when your children are. I don't have much confidence in the heroic tendencies of the desperate. A high death toll might not be the worst fate we could suffer. And I say this as an old person, with an older person living in my home. People need to work. People need money to live. People who produce food for us need a market to sell it in and customers to buy it. Is this just too dystopian to contemplate?
In addition to the fact that just sitting around gives me a backache, that kind of doing nothing causes some depression on my part, and I know myself well enough to recognize it and try to do something about it.
So here I am, writing again.
Saturday we tried to help out a favorite restaurant by picking up lunch. Getting in the car and driving a mile or so was nice, lunch was nice, and it did break up the day. In the late afternoon/early evening, a long phone chat with No. 2 son was a treat, as was his assurance that he and his wife are practicing safe practices in their jobs as radiology techs. Worry about them is constant, and I try to keep it on simmer.
Sunday the lethargy was worse. I could see the clock approaching noon and I was still reading the (pretty slim) newspaper. In the afternoon, our neighbor had a gathering in her back yard for the ladies on the block, and that was a welcome break in the monotony. The good news is that all of us are still healthy. Not surprisingly, no one had any great suggestions for fun quarantine activities. I've got to get cracking on this and figure out how to stop whining and get on with it.
A phone conversation with No. 1 son was a help. At least we don't have small children to manage; he and our grandchildren's mom are doing what they can, but it's a slog. Another worry: Allison, his ex, begins a new job on Monday as an LPN in a cancer treatment center. Threats abound. Our children and their loved ones are at heightened risk.
Here's the hard thing: we can't do anything. In fact, we are told that what we should do is exactly that - nothing. This is so not-me.
I will put this idea down in this space as I'm not sure anyone would be willing to entertain it, so haven't even tried to talk about it. Wouldn't a good response to this emergency be to sequester the high-risk folks (elderly, immuno-compromised, pregnant, whoever) and perhaps allow the rest of the country to attempt to keep the economy afloat? I worry that once people run out of money, things are going to get really ugly. You will do a lot of awful things when you are hungry, or when your children are. I don't have much confidence in the heroic tendencies of the desperate. A high death toll might not be the worst fate we could suffer. And I say this as an old person, with an older person living in my home. People need to work. People need money to live. People who produce food for us need a market to sell it in and customers to buy it. Is this just too dystopian to contemplate?
Friday, March 20, 2020
Pandemic journal, March 20, 2020
I had an odd feeling this morning as I was walking the dog - what if this very necessary social distancing begins to tear the social fabric of our country?
I was contemplating my weekly trip to Publix and thinking a little negatively - do I really want to be around all those people? - and it came to me that my usual extroverted personality is taking on a bit of a paranoid tinge. And maybe that's a problem. How hard will it be to get back to whatever passes for normal in 21st century America?
I see notices on Facebook asking for volunteers to help with food distribution to school kids, and I wonder about programs like Meals on Wheels. In our community, a large number of the Meals on Wheels volunteers are retirees. Selfishly, I am not willing to step up to help these people, and this is so not-me it makes me blush. I see calls from nursing homes who are desperate for temporary employees; what will happen to those residents, all of whom are loved by their families?
This issue is far more complex than just a simple directive to stay at home. We may be keeping the curve flattened, but by flattening it we are lengthening it also - that's just simple physics. How long will we have to stay put?
SO - the trip to Publix proved to be just what I needed. I got such a kick out of talking to people - the produce guy, the bakery clerk, the cashier - and exchanged many a head-shake with fellow shoppers, particularly on the paper goods aisle. Why would people hoard tissues? I'm figuring we can all use up that toilet paper stash to blow our noses.
I also learned something about how Publix is shifting their algorithm a bit. I had minced garlic on my shopping list - you know, the stuff that comes in a little jar, made for lazy cooks like me. Absolutely no garlic of any kind was to be had. So I asked the produce guy, and he told me that they have shifted their deliveries to reflect what seems to be in highest demand (and I guess garlic didn't make the cut) and they have cleared the shelves to make room for more of these items. He also said they have a truck coming in every other day, so I can check back on Sunday.
And that's my big outing for today. I'll chat with colleagues in an afternoon video conference about issues surrounding our nonprofit programs, and I will (in complete defiance of everything) get a pedicure this afternoon. Tomorrow the mobile dog groomer will come. And Sunday the ladies on our block are getting together for an outside gathering just to chat - bring your own wine.
It's just a sign of the times to reflect on how much I look forward to these contacts with others!
I was contemplating my weekly trip to Publix and thinking a little negatively - do I really want to be around all those people? - and it came to me that my usual extroverted personality is taking on a bit of a paranoid tinge. And maybe that's a problem. How hard will it be to get back to whatever passes for normal in 21st century America?
I see notices on Facebook asking for volunteers to help with food distribution to school kids, and I wonder about programs like Meals on Wheels. In our community, a large number of the Meals on Wheels volunteers are retirees. Selfishly, I am not willing to step up to help these people, and this is so not-me it makes me blush. I see calls from nursing homes who are desperate for temporary employees; what will happen to those residents, all of whom are loved by their families?
This issue is far more complex than just a simple directive to stay at home. We may be keeping the curve flattened, but by flattening it we are lengthening it also - that's just simple physics. How long will we have to stay put?
SO - the trip to Publix proved to be just what I needed. I got such a kick out of talking to people - the produce guy, the bakery clerk, the cashier - and exchanged many a head-shake with fellow shoppers, particularly on the paper goods aisle. Why would people hoard tissues? I'm figuring we can all use up that toilet paper stash to blow our noses.
I also learned something about how Publix is shifting their algorithm a bit. I had minced garlic on my shopping list - you know, the stuff that comes in a little jar, made for lazy cooks like me. Absolutely no garlic of any kind was to be had. So I asked the produce guy, and he told me that they have shifted their deliveries to reflect what seems to be in highest demand (and I guess garlic didn't make the cut) and they have cleared the shelves to make room for more of these items. He also said they have a truck coming in every other day, so I can check back on Sunday.
And that's my big outing for today. I'll chat with colleagues in an afternoon video conference about issues surrounding our nonprofit programs, and I will (in complete defiance of everything) get a pedicure this afternoon. Tomorrow the mobile dog groomer will come. And Sunday the ladies on our block are getting together for an outside gathering just to chat - bring your own wine.
It's just a sign of the times to reflect on how much I look forward to these contacts with others!
Thursday, March 19, 2020
Pandemic 2020 Daily Journal - Days 1 through 5, March 14-19, 2020
Having recently read a suggestion for schoolchildren that they journal during the pandemic quarantine, primarily so they would have a record of this experience that might amuse them in later years, I decided that the idea of a day-by-day record might not be a bad one for us old folks, too. So I will endeavor to record some thoughts every day going forward.
For today, I will look back a few days, beginning with Saturday, March 14, which marks the first day that we felt as though we should retreat a bit into our home and possibly stay here.
On Saturdays, Mike and I typically go out for lunch. We did this when we were working full-time and the habit has just hung on. Being creatures of habit, we mostly go to Sonny's barbecue restaurant, and don't vary our meal choices much. (Probably the best way to describe us is extreme creatures of habit.) So we did just that, discovering that Sonny's seemed pretty normal. We swung by Ace Hardware afterward, picked up a pair of pruning shears, and headed home. Then we did something very unusual - we actually went out into the backyard and used the pruning shears. It was hot, and normally we wouldn't have done anything after lunch but sit, but these are weird times. The shocker: no sports on TV. Mike is reduced to watching a replay of the TPC golf championship from 2019.
Sunday, March 15: Mike plays golf, as usual. I read. I nap. Mike comes home, watches last year's final round of the TPC (spoiler alert: Rory McElroy still won). We love our Sunday night TV schedule, and found ourselves glued to "60 Minutes" with its fascinating Covid-19 story. (For future readers, this is the official name of the virus that is sweeping the world and finally - finally - causing some panic in the U.S.)
Monday, March 16: Things are getting serious. My calendar for the week has emptied. Meetings and appointments are canceled; my inbox is full of emails canceling events and meetings throughout the remainder of the month, all of April, and some in May. Last Friday, the 13th, was the final school day before spring break; now we learn that schools are closed for spring break and beyond, with colleges facing no more classes this academic year. We begin to worry about our adult children and their school-age children; how will they cope? And with a son and daughter-in-law in the healthcare field, that worry is on overtime.
Tuesday, March 17: St. Patrick's Day. Primary election day in Florida. We voted early, a week and a half ago, and are concerned that those who didn't take that opportunity might decide against voting altogether. Results in the evening seem to bear this out - turnout is down 15 percent from four years ago. I put corned beef and cabbage in the crockpot. Our yard guy shows up and we have a long conference - suddenly I have thoughts about things to do in the yard and spend the afternoon trying to keep Trudy from having a coronary from so much barking at Yard Guy in the back yard and on the deck.
Wednesday, March 18: This morning I go into the yard, determined to clean up some things. These are nuisance invaders in the azaleas (little oak trees with nowhere else to go) and entirely too much leaf and straw buildup around the foundations of our home. I work for an hour and am exhausted - and sweaty. The irony of the best weather for spring break in at least ten years while everyone is staying home and trying to "flatten the curve" is not lost on me. (Future reader: "flattening the curve" means staying home and trying to lessen the inevitable spike in infections. We read the news from Italy with horror as their death toll approaches that of China. The difference in size of population of those two countries is stark. We note also that Italy has the oldest population in Europe and almost everyone smokes. This is small comfort.) A delight: phone calls from two of the grandchildren, courtesy of their thoughtful mom. We miss them.
And that brings us to today, Thursday, March 19, when we will experience the equinox at 11:50 p.m., the earliest equinox is 150 years or so. Another beautiful, sunny day, pretty hot, actually, but a nice breeze. I have made a visit to the eye doctor for a pressure check that I really needed to have (good results), and finally found someone to groom Trudy (her groomer has gone to ground, being immuno-compromised, which I understand - but dammit, my dog is a mess and needs her nails trimmed.) I have an invitation to a picnic with two friends next week, an invitation to join some neighbor ladies in a neighbor's back yard on Sunday, and a trip to Publix to look forward to tomorrow. I have laid a jigsaw puzzle out on the card table set up in the living room. I will eventually wander back to the bathroom and wash my face (no, I didn't wash my face before my eye appointment. It was at 8:00 a.m. and the doc is lucky I brushed my teeth.)
So go our lives. Going to the eye doc this morning felt weird. There are notices everywhere about not coming in if one is ill, and hand sanitizers at every corner. I couldn't wait to get home to wash my hands. I am getting grumpy. I am a social extrovert with high energy. I will survive this.
For today, I will look back a few days, beginning with Saturday, March 14, which marks the first day that we felt as though we should retreat a bit into our home and possibly stay here.
On Saturdays, Mike and I typically go out for lunch. We did this when we were working full-time and the habit has just hung on. Being creatures of habit, we mostly go to Sonny's barbecue restaurant, and don't vary our meal choices much. (Probably the best way to describe us is extreme creatures of habit.) So we did just that, discovering that Sonny's seemed pretty normal. We swung by Ace Hardware afterward, picked up a pair of pruning shears, and headed home. Then we did something very unusual - we actually went out into the backyard and used the pruning shears. It was hot, and normally we wouldn't have done anything after lunch but sit, but these are weird times. The shocker: no sports on TV. Mike is reduced to watching a replay of the TPC golf championship from 2019.
Sunday, March 15: Mike plays golf, as usual. I read. I nap. Mike comes home, watches last year's final round of the TPC (spoiler alert: Rory McElroy still won). We love our Sunday night TV schedule, and found ourselves glued to "60 Minutes" with its fascinating Covid-19 story. (For future readers, this is the official name of the virus that is sweeping the world and finally - finally - causing some panic in the U.S.)
Monday, March 16: Things are getting serious. My calendar for the week has emptied. Meetings and appointments are canceled; my inbox is full of emails canceling events and meetings throughout the remainder of the month, all of April, and some in May. Last Friday, the 13th, was the final school day before spring break; now we learn that schools are closed for spring break and beyond, with colleges facing no more classes this academic year. We begin to worry about our adult children and their school-age children; how will they cope? And with a son and daughter-in-law in the healthcare field, that worry is on overtime.
Tuesday, March 17: St. Patrick's Day. Primary election day in Florida. We voted early, a week and a half ago, and are concerned that those who didn't take that opportunity might decide against voting altogether. Results in the evening seem to bear this out - turnout is down 15 percent from four years ago. I put corned beef and cabbage in the crockpot. Our yard guy shows up and we have a long conference - suddenly I have thoughts about things to do in the yard and spend the afternoon trying to keep Trudy from having a coronary from so much barking at Yard Guy in the back yard and on the deck.
Wednesday, March 18: This morning I go into the yard, determined to clean up some things. These are nuisance invaders in the azaleas (little oak trees with nowhere else to go) and entirely too much leaf and straw buildup around the foundations of our home. I work for an hour and am exhausted - and sweaty. The irony of the best weather for spring break in at least ten years while everyone is staying home and trying to "flatten the curve" is not lost on me. (Future reader: "flattening the curve" means staying home and trying to lessen the inevitable spike in infections. We read the news from Italy with horror as their death toll approaches that of China. The difference in size of population of those two countries is stark. We note also that Italy has the oldest population in Europe and almost everyone smokes. This is small comfort.) A delight: phone calls from two of the grandchildren, courtesy of their thoughtful mom. We miss them.
And that brings us to today, Thursday, March 19, when we will experience the equinox at 11:50 p.m., the earliest equinox is 150 years or so. Another beautiful, sunny day, pretty hot, actually, but a nice breeze. I have made a visit to the eye doctor for a pressure check that I really needed to have (good results), and finally found someone to groom Trudy (her groomer has gone to ground, being immuno-compromised, which I understand - but dammit, my dog is a mess and needs her nails trimmed.) I have an invitation to a picnic with two friends next week, an invitation to join some neighbor ladies in a neighbor's back yard on Sunday, and a trip to Publix to look forward to tomorrow. I have laid a jigsaw puzzle out on the card table set up in the living room. I will eventually wander back to the bathroom and wash my face (no, I didn't wash my face before my eye appointment. It was at 8:00 a.m. and the doc is lucky I brushed my teeth.)
So go our lives. Going to the eye doc this morning felt weird. There are notices everywhere about not coming in if one is ill, and hand sanitizers at every corner. I couldn't wait to get home to wash my hands. I am getting grumpy. I am a social extrovert with high energy. I will survive this.
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