It’s Day 15 of our return-to-Canada quarantine. Today sees Stu and me free to leave the flat for essentials, but I’m in no hurry to, even though there are groceries to do and some diffuse grey sunlight to invite into my skin. The news sits heavily with me. There are checkpoints between Ottawa and Gatineau, and therefore checkpoints between my family and me, and I’m finding that very hard to live with and process, even if materially it doesn’t make much of a difference. I can’t bear any more borders.
I don’t want every weekly thread to be about different facets of pandemic life, but I’m finding it very helpful to have these check-ins with you all at a regular interval, as time is increasingly wobbly. I’d love to know your feelings about it — would you prefer to talk about other things, or have some shared venting/cheering space here?
For this week, I wanted to ask — what previously mundane taken-for-granted thing feels enchanted and wondrous in the wake of our isolations?
For me, it’s laundry. A drudge, a chore, a bore heretofore. Now the idea of putting things in a machine to make them clean with no effort on my part is just magic from the beforetimes. There are laundry facilities in my building but we haven’t wanted to venture down to them, have been handwashing necessaries as best we can.
For me, it’s water and electricity. My brain associates emergencies with water and power shutoffs, so to be home… and safe… with power and water feels like a treat.
We just did the fortnightly grocery run, with gloves and masks. Going to the same stores we've gone to for years (ones I grew up going to), and it's now stressful and surreal rather than comforting. Got everything we needed (and some treats for ourselves, too), so that's good, but it kind of did in the day.
I've been doing huge amounts of baking - saffron biscotti, lemon curd tart, bread - and, with the exception of one round of takeout last weekend, cooking all of our meals, which is good for structure and morale. Did another trade-at-a-distance with my family (gave them the biscotti, some of our yeast and a couple slices of the tart). Not really thrilled about Passover in isolation, or a Seder over Zoom, but better that than endangering people.
That said, my wife and my father collaborated on a way to have everyone at an online seder find the afikomen - by turning it into a visual search (find the matzah among pictures of things that look like matzah) and bingo game for everyone. Not the same as traipsing around the house to find it, but it'll do.
This week in the Time of Isolation was weird and stressful; we both gave academic job talks over Zoom, which turns out (even with video-heavy talks) to go better than one might expect. And so now we're waiting to hear from that school, even though early April is very late in the cycle. We'll see. It's been a very long job cycle (we started applying in September), a lot of interviews, a lot of rejection and a little validation (of which I'll talk at some later point if and when it becomes truly real).
We're using our building's shared machines, but wiping them down before/after use and going down with gloves on (we have a stash from the before times, where I just wanted them for distasteful household projects, but they're useful in the now).
Having been isolating for over three weeks now, the best thing I can advise is to find how to make the people in your life happy. My mother spontaneously sent us yuzu chocolate, which arrived today. I recommend using the postal service to make joy appear for friends and family.
I've always realllly loved grocery shopping, I find it really meditative and I used to spend a long time just perusing the aisles in wonderment. Now we're in and out every two weeks, if that, and it feels stressful instead of relaxing
I am so, so lucky that I have a laundry machine in my apartment. I have been immensely grateful to it.
I empathise with your checkpoint pain. I live in Vancouver, and my sweetheart is in Seattle. Previously, that was just a short, cheap bus ride away, but now all of America *is* inaccessible and my sweetheart may as well be on another planet. It is amazing how much I took the permeable border for granted, how much I took globalisation for granted, and how small my in-person world has become.
Being in Phoenix, with my mama and her household, this feels so wonderful--such a familial, cozy feeling. But... being 5 minutes from one grandmother, and 25 minutes from another, and so close to almost all the rest of my brothers and their families, and _not_ being able to see them! Visiting here and sheltering in the desert is such a privilege... But I've never been here before when I wasn't here to _see_ people. The people I never get to see but once a year. I keep feeling all this precious time is... wasted. I know it's not. I know it's not. It's a strange antsy-ness. For the rest, I feel flooded with content and projects and things to do. I hardly seem to do anything all day, and yet I just want to _slow down_. I may need a "stay inside the bedroom with the door closed" day soon.
Hi! I'm glad you and Stu are doing well, and I completely empathize with the emotional burdens weighing upon you right now. For me, the thing that feels enchanted and wondrous is actual physical face-to-face time with friends, whether playing a board game, sipping cocktails at a bar, or just hanging out together. One day, one day my friends (beyond my wonderful partner and housemates) will be more than just faces on a screen!
My panic buying was a tonne of topsoil, four fruiting citrus trees, 30 packets of heritage vegetable seeds and 3 hens. My work life is a terrified clinging and scrambling, hunched over a screen and suffocating for human contact. But seedlings never fail to move my heart and chickens have only hilarious chicken problems. I called them Gideon, Tess and Jane23.
I agree, regarding laundry. Being able to do laundry with working machines while performing correct isolation is wonderful. But I remember what it was like during 9/11 when appliances didn't work and no one could come to fix them because landlords, so I'm trying to be very careful with them and our new chest freezer, our quite-old refrigerator and our newer-but-still-not-fancy dishwasher. The fact that they're merrily humming along (we were wondering about the fridge last month) is such a delight and relief. Truly, dishwashers are a miracle.
I am also so intensely happy that I can propagate my favorite plants using just water. No soil needed, and ordinary water glasses will do. New babies all over my windowsills! I can't go to a botanical garden but I can have wee baby leafs with purple fuzz and glittery purple-and-green stripes when I need them. <3
One of the reasons I came back to Vermont when things started getting uneasy in NYC was because of on-site laundry. (And not wanting to be in an overcrowded, messy apartment with four other people living on top of each other.)
I have become completely converted to making the bed. Seeing it all neat and tidy makes me inordinately happy. It makes me even happier when I leave to do things and come back and my partner has made it. This is the first time in my LIFE I’ve actually put in an effort to do this, and after two weeks, I’ve become extremely attached to it.
I found native bees living in the neglected garden outside my house. It is like a secret wildness just outside of my back door. Some hope that really made me happy.
Since our normal is far from what we used to think as normal, it would only be normal to talk about this new reality, including both the humdrum as well as the unusual. I don't see much use in just expressing angst and agonizing about the unknown. However, the inner and outer landscape should hold lots of interest and multitude of topics to examine and discuss if only because it is weird and unfamiliar.
Eggs. Our egg consumption has ramped up significantly - breakfasts at home, spätzle, challah, soft-boiled eggs in ramen noodles or on rice, plans for deviled eggs, eggs as binder for meatballs and burgers, cookie dough, brownies, eggs in everything. I have never thought so hard about owning chickens in my life.
And eggs have been Undersupplied in a lot of grocery stores.
Yesterday was the first day we went out for groceries - we've gotten delivery a couple of times, and once they had eggs and once they didn't - but the two major sources of grocery delivery in our area - instacart and whole foods-via-amazon - were/are striking for better working conditions.
I preplanned extensively. I had a list, grouped by zone of the grocery stores. I talked to people who were shopping. I had alternatives. The only thing I wasn't pretty confident about was: could I get eggs? Reports varied a lot. Some people were saying eggs were sold out, sold out, sold out. Others found eggs were stocked at their store, but people were swarming around them like a ball of snakes dropped into a bird's nest.
The Whole Foods that I did not go into, next to the pharmacy I had no choice but to enter, had a big sign up out front: NO EGGS. I was concerned.
But then I got to the asian grocery store - where I had planned to go for as much of my shopping as I could, both because I expected it would be a better experience (people wearing masks! people respecting social distancing! they were doing those things *before* the county put in a shelter-in-place, social distancing enforcing order!) and because I thought it could probably use the support (because, sigh, racism).
And there was their usual refrigerated section full of eggs. An *entire wall of eggs*. With nobody treating it like it was an unusual occurrence. I just about cried from relief and bought three dozen.
And I had eggs for breakfast this morning, and I'm breathing a little easier.
Breakfasts on Sundays, and not just because of the pandemic. It's because the season of Lent (40 days of fasting + 7 feast days leading up to Easter, for those who aren't familiar with it) started just before the pandemic hit the US, and I decided to give up sweets. Then, locked down in my home all day with my cupboards full of baking materials and a stress-induced craving for oatmeal cookies, I wanted nothing more than to ditch the spiritual discipline and stuff my face with everything I desired. I complained for days, but instead of caving I made plans and observed the feast day each Sunday, in which I cooked and enjoyed a moderate portion of something I wanted but did not allow myself during the week, whether that was a little syrup on my pancakes or two thick slices of french toast with peanut butter. Enjoying sweets as a celebration of the liturgical season and expression of gratitude for God's provision has been far more fulfilling than stress-eating cookies. I've been far from perfect in my observation of Lent and my attitude on feast days, but overall I've felt the effect of an attitude of gratitude, celebration, and patience/self-discipline, and I want to carry Sunday's specialness with me after Easter and after the shelter at home time has ended.
I've been realizing that my unconscious response to this has been, "This is it. This is how everything will be forever." I'm in apocalypse mode. I wonder if I'll still feel this way when we're all back to normal, able to move about and interact with the world again.
Not driving anywhere means I don't listen to podcasts or music nearly as often. Spending more time at home means more time on screens, which means more eye-strain headaches. I've got to make changes to take better care of myself. The weather will be turning soon. I'll be able to go to the local park and fly RC planes and look at something more distant than twelve inches from my face.
The mundane-magical thing for me is the morning. Before, I had to wake up early for my commute to classes and work. Now everything is remote, so I've turned off all my alarms and let myself wake up naturally to birdsong and light at my window.
I’m not sure I’d call it newly wonderful, unless the last four years can be said to be “new”, but having a yard and deck is an astounding boon. We’re super lucky to have an outdoor space we can just *be* without the chest-tightening, breathe-shortening stress of walking around local parks and streets while trying to keep 6 feet from neighbors is one of the few things keeping me from panic attacks when outside. Reading with a tea in the sun is a blessing of the world.
I miss casually grocery shopping and grabbing a mocha of an afternoon.
This is day 26 of working from home for me and things feel pretty normal around the house. The dishwasher is broken and washing dishes by hand is a chore. Making my own lunch instead of getting one from a café at work is another chore, but familiar from other times I’ve worked from home. I have occasional pangs of envy of people who are getting *more* time for their projects during lockdown, and then immediately remember to be grateful that my full-time job can be performed from home and there is no prospect of anyone being furloughed.
Walking. Just going out for a walk in the Spring sunshine ... without the odd social-distancing dance of strategically crossing to the other side of the street to avoid other social-distancing walkers also trying to get fresh air and sun and the vague unspoken intimation of contact with other human beings. We've taken to keeping off one of our most common routes, as it's just too busy and a bit of a magnet for people who appear a bit too blithe about This Whole Thing.
That in turn has a silver lining: exploration of the secrets and subtle differences between otherwise very-nearby parts of the neighborhood that comfortable ruts might have held us back from discovering.
I activated the Decameron Protocol early, and moved in with my best friend and her husband
Today I rescued the husband of said best friend from a broken glass in the kitchen, by putting on shoes, bringing him shoes, and then sweeping and vaccuuming with maniacal glee*, because it was a concrete problem that I could solve.
I long to go to the grocery store. Just go without fear because I'm in my proper home and the grocery store is a five minute walk. Spend unnecessary time chatting with my favorite cashier. Pick up a couple of things, not a weeks worth. Figure out that I forgot the thing I'd gone for in the first place. Go back. Not even think about it, except with mild annoyance with myself.
*I'd have happily have stopped at handing him the vaccuum, but he has a catastrophically bad back and was picking up the glass by hand, which he should not have been doing. So full bore rescue time.
Hugs. And having tea and cake with friends in one of the cafes about the west end. Sure it might take a bit of arranging to find a time together, but it was never a consideration that we might not be able to or that it would be a bad idea. Or meeting up for board games, or a glass of wine in the CCA.
I think this is a good thing, worth being able to comfort each other and not ignore that this isn't a good time. Folk I know are doing their best - there's a lot more chatter on twitter among my 'friends' list, and I've got a virtual con, an Instagram cabaret, and a zoom dance party to visit tomorrow.
But I miss meeting people face to face. I'm going to buy a board game - Cthulhu Death May Die has brilliant gribbly monsters to paint, it's one of those ones with great miniatures for playing pieces. I'm going to paint the beasties and when the lockdown is lifted folk can come round with beers and play games and Ruby can sit on their laps.
Going out for coffee, cake and reading a book, and going to the library to write on a Friday.
I work from home, but makes that bearable is being able to not be home when I decide. At the moment that’s not possible, and with a seven year old in the house it’s mostly work or full on immersive play. To actually decide to leave and just sit quietly with a cappuccino and Bienenstich Kuchen while I read is a luxury I will treasure so much in the future.
I wouldn't mind cheerful distractions plus a venting space? A mix of both!
I was not allowed to wear jeans at work. I spent two weeks teaching online and got to wear jeans every day. Now I've been temporarily laid off, and I STILL get to wear jeans. It's great.
I miss seeing my grandma every Wednesday though. I'll have to give her a call Wednesdays instead.
I miss being able to visit my mom. The last few months I'd been visiting her twice a week (she's ninety-two), but now we can only talk on the phone. Also I miss going to massage therapy, which is the main thing that keeps my vertigo somewhat in check. I used to resent the costly weekly visits, but now I don't know when I'll be able to go again (because massage therapists aren't allowed to practice during the stay-at-home order).
All the social spaces I'm spending time in have a designated space for covid talk, and the rest of the space is for ANYTHING ELSE. I like that mode. So maybe posts for venting and posts for remembering that there's more to life than The Thing?
My child getting taller feels enchanted and wondrous. And it always does, but there's something really special about it happening right now in this timeless time when it seems that everything else has been forced into stasis. My child gets taller. The seedlings on their windowsill do too, bending eagerly toward the sun. The trees flower as the daffodils droop. Life persists.
Shabbat also always feels special, but it's so particularly necessary right now. Shabbat comes again, and again, like climbing up a rope hand over hand. "Shabbat is the only thing that makes it feel like time is passing," someone told me today. For half an hour I talked with other Jews about the week's Torah portion and we did our best to sing in unison even though Zoom is designed to prevent it. (If you learn about a way for people to sing together while physically apart, please tell me.) It was immensely healing. I ended that call feeling better than I have all week.
I have done my laundry listening to the conclusion of TJ Klune’s luminous “The House in the Cerulean Sea“ which was so uplifting I think I may listen to it all over again. It made the drudge work of folding a pleasure. I’ve also become incredibly appreciative of living in a house with a big yard, my garden, and my birds. Most of my husband‘s family is stuck in their flats in Madrid (so small by American standards) and it’s really making them kind of stir crazy. I take pictures to share (here are daffodils, tulips, look this hyacinth is coming along or the leaves coming up on the lilies of the valley) but they’re my riches and not the same when shared. So I really feel how lucky I am to sit outside, even if it’s cold and misty, listening to birds and looking at springtime ramping up. Forsythia is coming!
For me, it’s water and electricity. My brain associates emergencies with water and power shutoffs, so to be home… and safe… with power and water feels like a treat.
We just did the fortnightly grocery run, with gloves and masks. Going to the same stores we've gone to for years (ones I grew up going to), and it's now stressful and surreal rather than comforting. Got everything we needed (and some treats for ourselves, too), so that's good, but it kind of did in the day.
I've been doing huge amounts of baking - saffron biscotti, lemon curd tart, bread - and, with the exception of one round of takeout last weekend, cooking all of our meals, which is good for structure and morale. Did another trade-at-a-distance with my family (gave them the biscotti, some of our yeast and a couple slices of the tart). Not really thrilled about Passover in isolation, or a Seder over Zoom, but better that than endangering people.
That said, my wife and my father collaborated on a way to have everyone at an online seder find the afikomen - by turning it into a visual search (find the matzah among pictures of things that look like matzah) and bingo game for everyone. Not the same as traipsing around the house to find it, but it'll do.
This week in the Time of Isolation was weird and stressful; we both gave academic job talks over Zoom, which turns out (even with video-heavy talks) to go better than one might expect. And so now we're waiting to hear from that school, even though early April is very late in the cycle. We'll see. It's been a very long job cycle (we started applying in September), a lot of interviews, a lot of rejection and a little validation (of which I'll talk at some later point if and when it becomes truly real).
We're using our building's shared machines, but wiping them down before/after use and going down with gloves on (we have a stash from the before times, where I just wanted them for distasteful household projects, but they're useful in the now).
Having been isolating for over three weeks now, the best thing I can advise is to find how to make the people in your life happy. My mother spontaneously sent us yuzu chocolate, which arrived today. I recommend using the postal service to make joy appear for friends and family.
I've always realllly loved grocery shopping, I find it really meditative and I used to spend a long time just perusing the aisles in wonderment. Now we're in and out every two weeks, if that, and it feels stressful instead of relaxing
I am so, so lucky that I have a laundry machine in my apartment. I have been immensely grateful to it.
I empathise with your checkpoint pain. I live in Vancouver, and my sweetheart is in Seattle. Previously, that was just a short, cheap bus ride away, but now all of America *is* inaccessible and my sweetheart may as well be on another planet. It is amazing how much I took the permeable border for granted, how much I took globalisation for granted, and how small my in-person world has become.
Being in Phoenix, with my mama and her household, this feels so wonderful--such a familial, cozy feeling. But... being 5 minutes from one grandmother, and 25 minutes from another, and so close to almost all the rest of my brothers and their families, and _not_ being able to see them! Visiting here and sheltering in the desert is such a privilege... But I've never been here before when I wasn't here to _see_ people. The people I never get to see but once a year. I keep feeling all this precious time is... wasted. I know it's not. I know it's not. It's a strange antsy-ness. For the rest, I feel flooded with content and projects and things to do. I hardly seem to do anything all day, and yet I just want to _slow down_. I may need a "stay inside the bedroom with the door closed" day soon.
Hi! I'm glad you and Stu are doing well, and I completely empathize with the emotional burdens weighing upon you right now. For me, the thing that feels enchanted and wondrous is actual physical face-to-face time with friends, whether playing a board game, sipping cocktails at a bar, or just hanging out together. One day, one day my friends (beyond my wonderful partner and housemates) will be more than just faces on a screen!
My panic buying was a tonne of topsoil, four fruiting citrus trees, 30 packets of heritage vegetable seeds and 3 hens. My work life is a terrified clinging and scrambling, hunched over a screen and suffocating for human contact. But seedlings never fail to move my heart and chickens have only hilarious chicken problems. I called them Gideon, Tess and Jane23.
I agree, regarding laundry. Being able to do laundry with working machines while performing correct isolation is wonderful. But I remember what it was like during 9/11 when appliances didn't work and no one could come to fix them because landlords, so I'm trying to be very careful with them and our new chest freezer, our quite-old refrigerator and our newer-but-still-not-fancy dishwasher. The fact that they're merrily humming along (we were wondering about the fridge last month) is such a delight and relief. Truly, dishwashers are a miracle.
I am also so intensely happy that I can propagate my favorite plants using just water. No soil needed, and ordinary water glasses will do. New babies all over my windowsills! I can't go to a botanical garden but I can have wee baby leafs with purple fuzz and glittery purple-and-green stripes when I need them. <3
One of the reasons I came back to Vermont when things started getting uneasy in NYC was because of on-site laundry. (And not wanting to be in an overcrowded, messy apartment with four other people living on top of each other.)
I have become completely converted to making the bed. Seeing it all neat and tidy makes me inordinately happy. It makes me even happier when I leave to do things and come back and my partner has made it. This is the first time in my LIFE I’ve actually put in an effort to do this, and after two weeks, I’ve become extremely attached to it.
I found native bees living in the neglected garden outside my house. It is like a secret wildness just outside of my back door. Some hope that really made me happy.
Since our normal is far from what we used to think as normal, it would only be normal to talk about this new reality, including both the humdrum as well as the unusual. I don't see much use in just expressing angst and agonizing about the unknown. However, the inner and outer landscape should hold lots of interest and multitude of topics to examine and discuss if only because it is weird and unfamiliar.
Eggs. Our egg consumption has ramped up significantly - breakfasts at home, spätzle, challah, soft-boiled eggs in ramen noodles or on rice, plans for deviled eggs, eggs as binder for meatballs and burgers, cookie dough, brownies, eggs in everything. I have never thought so hard about owning chickens in my life.
And eggs have been Undersupplied in a lot of grocery stores.
Yesterday was the first day we went out for groceries - we've gotten delivery a couple of times, and once they had eggs and once they didn't - but the two major sources of grocery delivery in our area - instacart and whole foods-via-amazon - were/are striking for better working conditions.
I preplanned extensively. I had a list, grouped by zone of the grocery stores. I talked to people who were shopping. I had alternatives. The only thing I wasn't pretty confident about was: could I get eggs? Reports varied a lot. Some people were saying eggs were sold out, sold out, sold out. Others found eggs were stocked at their store, but people were swarming around them like a ball of snakes dropped into a bird's nest.
The Whole Foods that I did not go into, next to the pharmacy I had no choice but to enter, had a big sign up out front: NO EGGS. I was concerned.
But then I got to the asian grocery store - where I had planned to go for as much of my shopping as I could, both because I expected it would be a better experience (people wearing masks! people respecting social distancing! they were doing those things *before* the county put in a shelter-in-place, social distancing enforcing order!) and because I thought it could probably use the support (because, sigh, racism).
And there was their usual refrigerated section full of eggs. An *entire wall of eggs*. With nobody treating it like it was an unusual occurrence. I just about cried from relief and bought three dozen.
And I had eggs for breakfast this morning, and I'm breathing a little easier.
Breakfasts on Sundays, and not just because of the pandemic. It's because the season of Lent (40 days of fasting + 7 feast days leading up to Easter, for those who aren't familiar with it) started just before the pandemic hit the US, and I decided to give up sweets. Then, locked down in my home all day with my cupboards full of baking materials and a stress-induced craving for oatmeal cookies, I wanted nothing more than to ditch the spiritual discipline and stuff my face with everything I desired. I complained for days, but instead of caving I made plans and observed the feast day each Sunday, in which I cooked and enjoyed a moderate portion of something I wanted but did not allow myself during the week, whether that was a little syrup on my pancakes or two thick slices of french toast with peanut butter. Enjoying sweets as a celebration of the liturgical season and expression of gratitude for God's provision has been far more fulfilling than stress-eating cookies. I've been far from perfect in my observation of Lent and my attitude on feast days, but overall I've felt the effect of an attitude of gratitude, celebration, and patience/self-discipline, and I want to carry Sunday's specialness with me after Easter and after the shelter at home time has ended.
I've been realizing that my unconscious response to this has been, "This is it. This is how everything will be forever." I'm in apocalypse mode. I wonder if I'll still feel this way when we're all back to normal, able to move about and interact with the world again.
Not driving anywhere means I don't listen to podcasts or music nearly as often. Spending more time at home means more time on screens, which means more eye-strain headaches. I've got to make changes to take better care of myself. The weather will be turning soon. I'll be able to go to the local park and fly RC planes and look at something more distant than twelve inches from my face.
The mundane-magical thing for me is the morning. Before, I had to wake up early for my commute to classes and work. Now everything is remote, so I've turned off all my alarms and let myself wake up naturally to birdsong and light at my window.
I’m not sure I’d call it newly wonderful, unless the last four years can be said to be “new”, but having a yard and deck is an astounding boon. We’re super lucky to have an outdoor space we can just *be* without the chest-tightening, breathe-shortening stress of walking around local parks and streets while trying to keep 6 feet from neighbors is one of the few things keeping me from panic attacks when outside. Reading with a tea in the sun is a blessing of the world.
I miss casually grocery shopping and grabbing a mocha of an afternoon.
I miss pizza. Not good pizza, but like pizza from the freezer. Tombstone pizza. Pizza I haven't eaten since I was a kid. That's the pizza I want now.
This is day 26 of working from home for me and things feel pretty normal around the house. The dishwasher is broken and washing dishes by hand is a chore. Making my own lunch instead of getting one from a café at work is another chore, but familiar from other times I’ve worked from home. I have occasional pangs of envy of people who are getting *more* time for their projects during lockdown, and then immediately remember to be grateful that my full-time job can be performed from home and there is no prospect of anyone being furloughed.
Walking. Just going out for a walk in the Spring sunshine ... without the odd social-distancing dance of strategically crossing to the other side of the street to avoid other social-distancing walkers also trying to get fresh air and sun and the vague unspoken intimation of contact with other human beings. We've taken to keeping off one of our most common routes, as it's just too busy and a bit of a magnet for people who appear a bit too blithe about This Whole Thing.
That in turn has a silver lining: exploration of the secrets and subtle differences between otherwise very-nearby parts of the neighborhood that comfortable ruts might have held us back from discovering.
I activated the Decameron Protocol early, and moved in with my best friend and her husband
Today I rescued the husband of said best friend from a broken glass in the kitchen, by putting on shoes, bringing him shoes, and then sweeping and vaccuuming with maniacal glee*, because it was a concrete problem that I could solve.
I long to go to the grocery store. Just go without fear because I'm in my proper home and the grocery store is a five minute walk. Spend unnecessary time chatting with my favorite cashier. Pick up a couple of things, not a weeks worth. Figure out that I forgot the thing I'd gone for in the first place. Go back. Not even think about it, except with mild annoyance with myself.
*I'd have happily have stopped at handing him the vaccuum, but he has a catastrophically bad back and was picking up the glass by hand, which he should not have been doing. So full bore rescue time.
Hugs. And having tea and cake with friends in one of the cafes about the west end. Sure it might take a bit of arranging to find a time together, but it was never a consideration that we might not be able to or that it would be a bad idea. Or meeting up for board games, or a glass of wine in the CCA.
I think this is a good thing, worth being able to comfort each other and not ignore that this isn't a good time. Folk I know are doing their best - there's a lot more chatter on twitter among my 'friends' list, and I've got a virtual con, an Instagram cabaret, and a zoom dance party to visit tomorrow.
But I miss meeting people face to face. I'm going to buy a board game - Cthulhu Death May Die has brilliant gribbly monsters to paint, it's one of those ones with great miniatures for playing pieces. I'm going to paint the beasties and when the lockdown is lifted folk can come round with beers and play games and Ruby can sit on their laps.
Going out for coffee, cake and reading a book, and going to the library to write on a Friday.
I work from home, but makes that bearable is being able to not be home when I decide. At the moment that’s not possible, and with a seven year old in the house it’s mostly work or full on immersive play. To actually decide to leave and just sit quietly with a cappuccino and Bienenstich Kuchen while I read is a luxury I will treasure so much in the future.
I wouldn't mind cheerful distractions plus a venting space? A mix of both!
I was not allowed to wear jeans at work. I spent two weeks teaching online and got to wear jeans every day. Now I've been temporarily laid off, and I STILL get to wear jeans. It's great.
I miss seeing my grandma every Wednesday though. I'll have to give her a call Wednesdays instead.
I miss being able to visit my mom. The last few months I'd been visiting her twice a week (she's ninety-two), but now we can only talk on the phone. Also I miss going to massage therapy, which is the main thing that keeps my vertigo somewhat in check. I used to resent the costly weekly visits, but now I don't know when I'll be able to go again (because massage therapists aren't allowed to practice during the stay-at-home order).
All the social spaces I'm spending time in have a designated space for covid talk, and the rest of the space is for ANYTHING ELSE. I like that mode. So maybe posts for venting and posts for remembering that there's more to life than The Thing?
My child getting taller feels enchanted and wondrous. And it always does, but there's something really special about it happening right now in this timeless time when it seems that everything else has been forced into stasis. My child gets taller. The seedlings on their windowsill do too, bending eagerly toward the sun. The trees flower as the daffodils droop. Life persists.
Shabbat also always feels special, but it's so particularly necessary right now. Shabbat comes again, and again, like climbing up a rope hand over hand. "Shabbat is the only thing that makes it feel like time is passing," someone told me today. For half an hour I talked with other Jews about the week's Torah portion and we did our best to sing in unison even though Zoom is designed to prevent it. (If you learn about a way for people to sing together while physically apart, please tell me.) It was immensely healing. I ended that call feeling better than I have all week.
Yes, dishes, laundry...baking cookies. All seem more impactful.
I have done my laundry listening to the conclusion of TJ Klune’s luminous “The House in the Cerulean Sea“ which was so uplifting I think I may listen to it all over again. It made the drudge work of folding a pleasure. I’ve also become incredibly appreciative of living in a house with a big yard, my garden, and my birds. Most of my husband‘s family is stuck in their flats in Madrid (so small by American standards) and it’s really making them kind of stir crazy. I take pictures to share (here are daffodils, tulips, look this hyacinth is coming along or the leaves coming up on the lilies of the valley) but they’re my riches and not the same when shared. So I really feel how lucky I am to sit outside, even if it’s cold and misty, listening to birds and looking at springtime ramping up. Forsythia is coming!