Tuesday, April 14

All day I thought it was Monday. Except for when I thought it was Wednesday. Really, I shouldn’t have had to think about what day it was, because my Tuesday meetings lineup has been consistent for much longer than I’ve been working from home. Still, I kept getting it wrong. I’d open my calendar to click on a meeting link and would have to then glance up at the right-hand corner of my computer to check the date. Tuesday.

The curve is beginning to flatten in a few places. This means our distancing is working. This does not mean we can let up.

Other things I’ve read in the past few days: One study reveals that as many as 30% of people surveyed think this virus was started in a lab. Science tells us otherwise. SCIENCE.

The president preached in a news conference yesterday that he holds absolute power.

The president declared today that he has pulled funding from the World Health Organization.

Cases in New York State have topped 200,000. More than half of these are in NYC, which has seen more than 10,000 deaths.

The city of Northampton today issued a mandatory face covering ruling for all workers and consumers.

Nearly 2 million cases worldwide. 14 in our local hospital.

I went for a very slow walk today. 4.3 miles in 76 minutes. It was in the 50s, sunny. There wasn’t a lot of activity on the bike path, and I was able to walk at a leisurely pace without having to be too vigilant of others around me. Yesterday, when I did yoga at lunch and didn’t walk at the end of the day, the afternoon and evening felt interminable. I watched far too much TV and essentially wallowed quietly until I finally gave in and went to bed.

Today I don’t feel quite as distraught, but I do miss people. This morning began with a driveway visit with a friend who stopped by to return a bunch of books and borrow some more. I have become a lending library, and I feel so useful for it. It’s weird to visit from afar, to stand at the end of the driveway and catch up briefly with someone I’d normally hug hello. Still, I’m grateful for the connection and the fact that my books are being shared and read. Maybe in a month she’ll be able to hand the books back to me instead of drop them near my car while I stand many feet away and wait for her to return to her car before I retrieve them (and then let them sit outside for several days before reshelving them).

I have to keep reminding myself that our current normal is a temporary normal. That it will end, even if we don’t know when. That things may not be the same when we are no longer living apart from everyone else, but that we will regain some of our freedoms, our choices, our connections with others. What will I do? I will go to my adult ballet class, the library, grocery shop without fear. I will visit my sister and my mom. I will plan a vacation for all of us to get together. “Not camping,” says one of my kids. “Camping,” say the other two. More than one vacation may be in order. It’s something to look forward to.

Stay safe, everyone.