Thursday, April 16

I wake up in the morning expecting loss. Who will die today?

What kind of reality is that?

I keep reading lists that people are posting on social media. “Things I’ve learned during this quarantine.” I’m tempted to make my own. Who doesn’t like a list? But I can’t authentically write things like, “I genuinely like my own company.” or “Having more time to be in nature has been restorative.” Can’t do it. My list would say something like, “My tolerance for messes is exactly as high as it’s always been.” or “Damn, my kids are loud.”

So, scratch the list idea.

Today was another work day of Zoom meetings with a short break in the late morning when I went to pick up the flour I ordered from a local coffee roaster, who has been selling flour at wholesale prices. I ordered 20 pounds the other day. I drove a few miles up the road today. J came with me. It was like a very brief, very weird, car date! I donned my mask as I got out of the car in the parking lot, announced my name, waited while my order was brought to a table outside. When the coast was clear, I picked up the flour (and sugar, too), and brought it back to my car. It was so civilized. I have quite possibly never been happier to acquire dry goods. But it was also very weird. Very, very weird. There’s just no other way to say it. Standing in a parking lot, wearing a mask over my face, announcing my name so that my order could be brought to a just-sanitized table. Gloves, masks, no touch.

How many times did I wash my hands today? When I got home. Before I transferred the flour to our flour canister. After I put it away. And countless times during the day, not to mention before, during and after making dinner.

And we were a hand-washing family before all of this!

I went on a shorter walk today. A little over 3 miles. I felt good. The other day – Tuesday — was such a slog. I was tired. My legs felt heavy. I had to really engage in self talk to get myself through. I was glad I did. And I knew I’d feel that way. But for much of the walk I was fully engaged in thinking about how I was walking. Telling myself to keep going. It was not peaceful.

Today I walked quickly and lightly. It was chilly, and I wanted to come home and have time before I started dinner to find some fabric. I’m going to (try to) make some fabric masks. I’m grateful to have a medical-grade one, but on my walks I feel confident that a cloth one would be sufficient. And more comfortable. I’ve been wearing a scarf, ready to pull it over my mouth and nose if I need to. But I need another option, and it’s clear I will need it for a while.

There are nearly 2.2 million cases worldwide.

We are approaching 150,000 deaths worldwide.

What are these numbers? The higher they go the harder it is to envision the people behind the numbers. I read the obituaries — I have always read obituaries — and spend more time with the ones that tell the stories of people who have died due to this virus. I need the news to be more than news. I need it to be real. I need to feel this reality within me. To not push it all away, even though on some days it’s all I can do to face it.

One of my son’s birthday gifts arrived yesterday. I’m pretty sure he saw the delivery. And the box is clearly labeled. But if he saw it he is pretending he didn’t. This both breaks my heart and makes me feel proud of him.

There is no normal right now. I don’t want to say that we are experiencing a new normal. Maybe a temporary one, but not new. Not something that will take the place permanently of the normal we all were accustomed to. The normal where you are home in the middle of a school day when your birthday gift is delivered because your parent couldn’t just walk into a store and purchase it and hide it in the car until you were in bed.

I just want him to have a good day.

I want all of my kids to be able to return to their lives. To spend time with their friends. To dance and play and goof around. To not have to be with their parents all of the time.

I want to wake up in the morning and run through the schedule of the day before I get out of bed.

I want to return to the world of tactical conversations about who needs a ride where at what time and how we are going to squeeze in dinner or when we aren’t.

I want to be able to pick up a pizza on the way home from work. Or to run into CVS to pick up allergy medicine or vitamins or shampoo without first calculating how essential each item is and what risk I’m putting myself at by doing so.

Maybe that was my list.

I hope I will come out of the other side of this with less annoyance with the little things, with my own perceived inadequacies. I tend to get overwhelmed with the intricacies of my very busy life. I feel overwhelmed now, too, of course. But it is not the same feeling — the usual feeling stems from being overextended and not having enough time to do all of the things that need doing in a finite amount of time. Writing the check, acquiring a birthday gift for a party, getting an oil change. working late, carpooling, attending a game, squeezing in a phone call, and all of the other things that kept my life so full and fast-paced before that I can barely recollect now, here, from my bed at 10:00 on a Thursday night that is not significantly different in any way from any other day of the week or any other of the 33 days and nights immediately previous to today.

As I write I am listening to Gillian Welch, currently (Time’s a) Revelator. What a perfect accidental song for the soundtrack of these days.

Stay safe, everyone.