Day 38 Plague
The virus spread for a couple months before the world shut down. Parts of the world never did. I sat at home inside afraid. Afraid all the time. I did not watch the news. It was rhetoric about false news it was numbers spreading and death tolls rising. And I sat, inside, afraid all the time. I stopped going outside, even to walk the dog. The exception was the front porch, for morning coffee – usually while it was still dark. As if, in the dark, I could stay hidden.
I was fortunate to have a best friend, who lived in the other half of the duplex, who was not afraid. Who went out, who bought groceries, who walked the dog.
I ordered things I needed online. And boxes stacked up in my living room until it looked like the house of a hoarder. I wore masks to answer the door. I was obsessive about hand sanitizer. There were a couple of necessary excursions made masked and gloved.
I kept the housekeeper employed – even if she didn’t come to clean. I kept the gardener employed – he could work outside. I kept the handyman employed. The handyman became part of our “bubble.” By the time we returned to work, I had remodeled the kitchen and had the whole house painted (except the guest room which still resembles the vestiges or hoarding.)
We made Pandemic Stew as a staple, once a week, we’d take leftovers and make a stew, adding fresh vegetables, broth. We ordered take away from our favorite local restaurants in an effort to help them stay afloat. In some instances, it worked.
We put up bird feeders and watched little clouds of happiness descend in the form of titmice and goldfinches. We had doves, scrub jays, phoebes, robins. For the first year of the pandemic, there was construction two houses away. The mockingbirds were elsewhere in the neighborhood, but none on our street.
I lost a lot of people. None to the actual virus. Three to cancer. Friends who moved across the country. My mother, who had been a 2 hour drive away, was swooped up by a sibling and whisked off to East Texas before the 2020 election. Three colleagues who left for other pastures.
My hair grew past my shoulders. My weight climbed into dangerous morbidly obese territory. The boxes gradually dwindled down to just a few. I cleaned out closets and donated a lot of “good junk” to others hoping they’d find treasures in what I had once treasured.
When salons re-opened, I cut my hair short again – except for a tail on the right side. It stays long. It’s my reminder of those I lost. I started strength training. I sought the services of a nutritionist. I returned to work – 6 days a month in the office - weighing no more than I did when the world shut down. We still make stews.
On days we do not go into the office, we still have coffee on the porch in the morning. The mockingbirds have returned.
— Lkai
The virus spread for a couple months before the world shut down. Parts of the world never did. I sat at home inside afraid. Afraid all the time. I did not watch the news. It was rhetoric about false news it was numbers spreading and death tolls rising. And I sat, inside, afraid all the time. I stopped going outside, even to walk the dog. The exception was the front porch, for morning coffee – usually while it was still dark. As if, in the dark, I could stay hidden.
I was fortunate to have a best friend, who lived in the other half of the duplex, who was not afraid. Who went out, who bought groceries, who walked the dog.
I ordered things I needed online. And boxes stacked up in my living room until it looked like the house of a hoarder. I wore masks to answer the door. I was obsessive about hand sanitizer. There were a couple of necessary excursions made masked and gloved.
I kept the housekeeper employed – even if she didn’t come to clean. I kept the gardener employed – he could work outside. I kept the handyman employed. The handyman became part of our “bubble.” By the time we returned to work, I had remodeled the kitchen and had the whole house painted (except the guest room which still resembles the vestiges or hoarding.)
We made Pandemic Stew as a staple, once a week, we’d take leftovers and make a stew, adding fresh vegetables, broth. We ordered take away from our favorite local restaurants in an effort to help them stay afloat. In some instances, it worked.
We put up bird feeders and watched little clouds of happiness descend in the form of titmice and goldfinches. We had doves, scrub jays, phoebes, robins. For the first year of the pandemic, there was construction two houses away. The mockingbirds were elsewhere in the neighborhood, but none on our street.
I lost a lot of people. None to the actual virus. Three to cancer. Friends who moved across the country. My mother, who had been a 2 hour drive away, was swooped up by a sibling and whisked off to East Texas before the 2020 election. Three colleagues who left for other pastures.
My hair grew past my shoulders. My weight climbed into dangerous morbidly obese territory. The boxes gradually dwindled down to just a few. I cleaned out closets and donated a lot of “good junk” to others hoping they’d find treasures in what I had once treasured.
When salons re-opened, I cut my hair short again – except for a tail on the right side. It stays long. It’s my reminder of those I lost. I started strength training. I sought the services of a nutritionist. I returned to work – 6 days a month in the office - weighing no more than I did when the world shut down. We still make stews.
On days we do not go into the office, we still have coffee on the porch in the morning. The mockingbirds have returned.
— Lkai
My hair grew long during COVID also! I have giant hair clips to remember that by. We had groceries delivered, which was expensive. I concentrated on music much of the time, writing songs, learning more chords. My house looks like a hoarder lives in it because he does. However, it's all good, as they say. I'm glad I didn't have to keep anyone employed. Sad that you went through that time of fear. (Macoff)
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