Shelter-in-Place is the official order. Here in my cozy home by the San Francisco Bay, non-religious me is blessed.
My family is healthy. We have food stocked in the pantry and freezer. Clients are on the phone, clamoring for Handsome Hubby’s billable energy-efficiency expertise hours. Those clients may be sad he cannot fly all over the country and world on their behalf right now, but I’m happy because he’s home and ironically getting some relief from chronic jet lag!
My Muddling through Middle Age blog gets written from home. So, apart from debating what’s funny amid global pandemic, my work goes on uninterrupted.
We are, however, out of bananas. So, Nirvana it ain’t.
It poured last night, just poured. Rain seems a good sign. Rain seems cleansing We need it. Northern Cal doesn’t need a drought. Doesn’t need wildfires.
When I got up and dressed, I decided to — as my mother used to say — “make an effort.” I figured if Handsome Hubby is going to have to look at me and just me for 21 days, I’d better “make an effort” to look decent. So, I put on some make-up. But my “efforts” were laughable. My hand was shaking as I applied eyeliner. I looked more Cruella de Vil than cute mistress of the manse.
Our neighborhood garbage pick-up happened hours later than usual. Why? My anxious mind instantly went into maximum worry mode. Were the workers sick? Had anarchy broken out and no-shows were rampant at the municipal dump center? By the time the truck rolled up, I was so relieved I almost rushed outside to greet the men. But I knew that over the noise of the truck, I’d have to stand very close to them, thus failing proper social distancing protocols. So, I just waved from the front door stoop. “Thank you for coming. Stay safe and healthy.”
Clearly, I’m turning into a lunatic. It’s only 9:15 a.m., Day 1.
Yesterday, a close friend, a medical professional, called to say she was going to be tested for the virus. Mid-way through the conversation, she said, “Wait, when were we last together?” She then did a quick calculation and decided that if she tested positive, I’d need to be tested too.
That possibility sent me into a tailspin. I felt no symptoms. I repeat, no symptoms. But the fear was unbelievable. I started shaking. I don’t think I’ve done that before even when I had pneumonia and a temperature of 104 degrees! It took hours to calm down. Happily, my friend’s test was negative.
Aside from a couple of failed attempts to buy groceries online (and the joy of seeing the garbagemen), it was an uneventful day. Handsome Hubby worked. I worked. Even our dog Olga was quiet. With fewer people walking by and fewer deliveries, she had fewer opportunities to bark and play guard dog par excellence.
So ends Day 1. No suffering. Just a touch of cabin fever and mild discomfort at the idea of not having our “wants” instantly fulfilled.