Day 109
A reminder
It’s impossible to “catch up” on all that I have not recorded here in the past several weeks of near silence. But the responsibility to do so nags at me. Not only are we living in a pandemic, with death tolls rising faster than I want to record, but it is an election year. Our president is no one I want to give any space to, and yet to write of any daily happenings right now without mentioning all that is at stake, feels incomplete. I am overwhelmed when I look at the news. Protests for Black Lives Matter. Curiosity about Joe Biden’s running mate. Economic destruction. A president who doesn’t read his daily briefings.
How does it all fit together?
I arrive here today from my bed in my very messy bedroom within my very messy house. We are on day four (I think?) of at least partially rain-soaked days. Our small, cluttered home is closing in around me. The floors are sticky and sandy. The dishes are never-ending, with glasses and cups perched on seemingly every bookshelf and end table. Leaving behind rings of condensation. Everywhere I look there are dusty surfaces, cobwebs, dirty laundry, piles of books and papers and art materials and sports equipment and mail that needs to be gone through. In this very moment, the girls are making raspberry buttercream frosting to frost the chocolate cupcakes they made that are cooling on the counter. The boy and his father are watching “Inception” on the TV in the living room, which shares a wall with my bedroom. The whirring noise of the KitchenAid mixer and the pumped up volume of Leo DiCaprio’s voice, and the rain falling on the tin roof directly above me, all fill my ears and threaten to take my focus away from words on the screen that come from my fingers that deliver the messages from my brain. How does it all fit together? How is this day different from a rainy weekend day when we are all home, doing our best to exist with enough patience to share the couch or accept macaroni and cheese for dinner when we’d rather have a giant salad and mozzarella cheese with EVOO, sea salt and fresh basil? For instance.
In a frozen moment it is familiar. In the moment that sits within this, day 108, it is some kind of alternate reality that causes a tightening in my chest and the urge to walk out of the house and go somewhere, anywhere.
Today’s news includes a report from Dr. Fauci that is grim. With daily U.S. cases near 40,000 for the past few days and projections only going up (in the past 14 days, cases in the U.S. have grown by more than 80%), he said we could get to more than 100,000 cases per day. The CDC says there is too much virus in the U.S. to control. And yet, this on the same day that I received a notification that Massachusetts saw no deaths today, for the first time since we’ve been in this.
The numbers are truly unbelievable.
Worldwide, nearly 10.4 million total cases.
2.6 million in the U.S.
People are still not wearing masks. And I am planning to make more as soon as I buy more elastic. I’m not particularly good at sewing, but it’s one small thing that I can do for my family. And it is very clear to me that we are going to be needing masks for quite a while. I wear a mask whenever I leave the house. On my walks through the park and on my errands to the grocery store. On the two occasions in the past three weeks that I have gotten take-out for my family. Twice, in nearly four months.
I wonder, when I write strange details like that, if I have not been spending enough time articulating these smaller details. Not that I walk as often as I can, but what it feels like to approach someone on the bike path who is not wearing a mask. What it feels to get a nod from someone who is. What it feels like to plot my walk, always looking ahead for, literally, the road less traveled at any particular moment.
How it feels to be in a grocery store and encounter a person in the aisle who is not following the one-way signs posted at the end of each aisle and on large stickers affixed to the floors. That moment of inner stillness caused by trying to identify the level of panic coursing through me. To equate the real threat level with that perceived stupid behavior of a shopper not following the new traffic rules.
How we are getting low on half-and-half and again. And on produce. How it’s been 10 days since I last went grocery shopping, 18 since my last trip to Costco.
How each day we each confront boredom and that the most successful days seem to be the ones when we are none of us facing down boredom at the same time as anyone else in our family of five.
The TV is still loud. I hear what sounds like Michael Caine’s voice now. The girls in the kitchen are giggling. I haven’t heard the mixer in a while.
The national news starts in 18 minutes. I might watch. Or I might make macaroni and cheese for the family. I would like to put on my pajamas and stay in my bed, watching old ER episodes and eating popcorn and one of the cupcakes the girls are making. To be honest, I will probably do all of these things.
Stay safe, everyone.