Day 3

I’ve always been so proud to brag about “My niece, the doctor.” Now I’m hating that my niece and her husband are doctors. More specifically, they are hospital physicians who will serve on the frontlines as the coronavirus intensifies and hospitals swell with patients. My niece was born on my birthday when I was 12. So, I’ve always considered her my birthday “gift.”

Now I want this gifted child, alright this gifted, accomplished woman and her husband to abandon their professional responsibilities, grab their son, come out West, and be with the rest of the family. The virus is in all 50 states, but at least they wouldn’t be working among the desperately ill. They’d be with us, the pathetically anxious, absurd, and over-protective.

But this is wishful thinking. My niece and her husband won’t abandon their posts. They’re staying put, gearing up — with countless other physicians, nurses, lab technicians, and support staff — to take care of the people who will need their expertise and kindness in the weeks ahead. And for that, I am, of course, incredibly proud of them.

We’re going to see a lot of heroes in the days ahead. We are, in fact, already seeing them.
On a lighter note, here’s the funniest conversation today from the Galatz-Wellinghoff manse:
I put on a pair of yoga pants this morning. They were “aspirational” yoga pants, mind you. I don’t do yoga regularly, but I thought if I put them on maybe I’d be inspired.

I walked by Handsome Hubby who looked at my ample (OK. More than ample) (OK. OK. Too ample) derriere. He asked if I was “running low” on clothes and needed to do laundry. ccHuh? “I mean,” he rushed on. “If you are, I’d be happy to help do a load or two.”
Ah, romance in the time of the coronavirus!

And not that I’m obsessed, but yes, we have bananas! We have bananas today! Thank you, Amazon.

And so goes Day 3. Stay healthy. Stay six feet apart. Wash your hands thoroughly.

Day 2

People are allowed out for necessities, but what does that really mean? I need a manicure and hair color. Sure, I can hold out a while but check back in a couple of weeks. Meanwhile, do Crayola crayons cover gray roots?

Amazon delivered packages at 9:35 a.m. today. You’d have thought it was Christmas, Hanukkah, and Kwanza all rolled into one. I was so excited. But not as excited as our dog. When I opened the boxes, they were filled with dog food and treats. Well, at least Olga’s covered for the next three weeks. Although not to be bitchy (Yes, she’s a she.), our black Labrador does have a lot of gray hair.

Only Day 2 and already the inevitable has begun. My cleaning mania has kicked in. I started with the linen closet, dusting shelves and refolding sheets and pillowcases for no good reason. Next in my sights — the china closet. Beware cups and saucers. Get ready to be rattled.

The San Francisco Chronicle described the mood well — “An air of disquieting calm.” Comparing notes with friends via phone, text, and email is both comforting and discomforting. Is this how people felt during WWII, waiting and worrying, not knowing what to expect?

And yes, I’m still jonesing for bananas, but resisting the urge to go to the market which seems, perhaps correctly, like a life and death expedition. All-day I’ve been humming that old tune, “Yes, we have no bananas. We have no bananas today.”

How do I know this 1923 novelty song in the first place? Benny Goodman and Spike Jones recorded it. Al Jolson did an operatic version — in blackface, no less! Jim Durante performed it. The Muppets too. But that I know and remember it? Well, the “sheltering-at-home” mind boggles!

And so goes Day 2. We’re all healthy. Good wishes from our house to yours.

Day 1

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.

Me want banana!