Decisions, Delays, and Distance

Day 36 of sheltering at home due to global pandemic. So far, so good, health-wise.

Decisions

In the past month I have driven my car a grand total of 19 miles. Life is simpler now with only about one outing a week. Even so, we do face new and different kinds of decisions during this confinement. When to risk going to the grocery store, for example. Do we have enough food that we can skip the store this week? When our county had only a handful of confirmed coronavirus cases, we took precautions, but we went out without any real fear. Now that our county nears 2,000 cases with more than 65 deaths, real fear seems wise, and we decide not to go out, even taking precautions.

Two weeks ago, we wore masks and gloves to buy groceries during early-morning seniors-only shopping hours. Items we could leave in our garage for three days, we did. We brought perishables in and washed them with soap and water before refrigerating them. Last week, same drill, except we left stuff in the garage for five days, because the recommendation had changed. This week, we’re not going out at all. I rummage in the pantry for dried beans and in the freezer for chicken and green beans. Meal planning will stretch me a bit, maybe take more time to figure out new dishes to make with older items, but I’m game.

Another decision was about masks. Just as the let-it-rest rule changed from three days to five days, the no-mask to yes-mask rule changed. Deciding to wear a mask was easy for me, even during the weeks of no-mask advice. Why would healthcare workers and allergy/asthma sufferers have worn masks for years if they were completely ineffective? The no-mask recommendation seemed unfounded to me from the start. Because of a broad range of allergies that sometimes compromise my breathing, I have a couple cloth masks to wear in high-allergy season and on airplanes. I’ve gotten weird looks for years; I don’t care. I like to breathe. And during the weeks when only people with coronavirus symptoms were advised to wear masks, I got some weird looks. No matter. I felt at least a little more protected. My husband opted for a mask several weeks ago, also before the official advice changed, and he also felt a little more protected.

It’s difficult to decide what recommendations to believe anymore. Can my mail be infected? When will businesses reopen? What happens to your body after you recover from COVID-19? Many theories float by. New information comes. Advice changes. The fact is, no one knows for sure. We are all doing the best we can.

Delays

Thankfully, we can get along without fresh produce, timely haircuts, and teeth cleaning. But both my husband and I have some medical issues whose fix-it appointments have been bumped into the twilight zone. His doctor told him it could be months until elective procedures would be possible again. As understandable as new medical priorities are, that is most discouraging for people in pain.

Distance

Physical distancing does not necessarily mean social distancing, we happily discover. Easter came and went with some sadness over no egg hunts in the yard with nieces in nephews, no traditional Easter meal with seldom-seen family, no He-is-risen hugs at church. I can’t deny feeling lonely on Easter. But in recent weeks I have had delightful hey-we’re-all-in-this-together phone connections with old friends. Surprising my technoweenie self, I have video-chatted with friends over previously unfamiliar computer apps or platforms or whatever they’re called. My writers group has amazingly productive conference-call meetings, and my beloved former book group is resurrecting via Zoom.

I admit that in one sense (the olfactory one) I am grateful for physical distancing. To help keep our immune systems strong, I feed my husband and me copious amounts of fresh garlic. We may now be unfit for human company, or at least we may engender more weird looks. Haha. 

Wait ... What???

Waking on the second day of spring to loud scraping sounds, I peered out my window. I was surprised to see an inch of snow blanketing everything except the alley where neighbor kids wearing wool knit caps with pompoms were skateboarding. Spring … snow … skateboards … a double double-take. I should get used to surreal times.

Before our governor issued a Stay-at-Home order to control coronavirus spread, I went out to two grocery stores. On both trips I thought for sure I would be killed on the roads before I even had a chance to fight someone for the last box of  unsweetened almond milk. At least half the other cars made sharp lane changes as they whizzed past me so fast, if I had had my windows open, my short gray hair would have stood straight up on my head. I felt frightened by these drivers’ aggressive speed and wondered what feeling fueled their furious hurry.

Funny, in the 1980s my youngest sister drove our parents’ gigantic V8-engine 1965 Buick LeSabre whose ripped ceiling cloth hung down in our faces. Freedom and youthful fearlessness fueling her, she often whizzed through tunnels of parked cars in downtown Chicago. In warm weather with car windows rolled down and frayed ceiling silk tickling our faces and tendrils of our long brown hair curling in the breeze, I felt free and confident. 

Last week, after white-knuckling my steering wheel, I felt relief to be off the road in the crowded store parking lot. Inside the store, I was grateful to see that shoppers were not frantically racing carts down aisles and sharply cutting off other carts. Many people’s faces showed worry but people were polite and smiling. Another double double-take.

I love snail-mail. I come by this honestly, as my dad, aunt, and grandma all considered mail delivery to be the highlight of every day. They also wrote great letters, and I was blessed to be the recipient of many of them. My aunt the world traveler sent me postcards from everywhere, and I have tried over my adult decades to give the "I'm thinking of you" gift that she gave me. On my one or two vacations a year, I’d buy enough postcards to share the fun with my family and friends. Often, though, I came home with unsent postcards. These come in handy now in these days of social distancing when I cannot visit my mother in the nursing home, but the United States Postal Service continues. Using my little cache of leftover postcards, I have begun mailing my mom a series of ain’t-goin’-nowhere postcards to add a little personal touch to her days.

Since I have an inordinate number of leftover Indiana postcards, and I have no new news, trying to think of new news to write Mom each day takes me on sentimental journeys. Which is what my grandma called her 1982 visit to Peru, Indiana, her childhood home. Encountering friendly strangers in Peru, Grandma chirped, “I’m 85! And I’m on a sentimental journey.” We went inside what had been her family’s house in the late 1890s, and she told the owners where the fireplace and her mother’s hospital bed had been. She showed us her old elementary school with its huge grassy playground. At recess, the children ran across this field to watch the live animals in the Hagenbeck-Wallace Circus’ winter quarters. In March 1913 the Wabash River overflowed its banks, the animals got loose, and according to Grandma, “a zebra chased the mailman.” Definitely my all-time favorite “Wait … What???”