“And I am thankful that my husband, Mark, eats anything I put in front of him with a kind of joy that I cherish.”

I’m at home, hunkered down, trying to make, and then stick to, some kind of schedule. I thought at first this would be a veritable boon of time to a writer, and in many ways it is. I am, however, apparently still very close to the rebellious child within. I love staying home to write. I don’t like being told to stay home and write. But here I am and there you are.

I can tell you I have plenty of provisions. First and foremost, speaking for my inner child, I have peanut butter. This is my favorite food. You can ask my grandchildren. Oh, I have vegetables, real and frozen, and cans and boxes and shrink wrapped and vacuumed sealed food I have both bought and made. Yes, made. I am not a chef, but I can follow a recipe. And I am thankful that my husband, Mark, eats anything I put in front of him with a kind of joy that I cherish. He eats and I smile. It’s a formula that’s worked for 40 years.

I am getting good at Zoom. The first thing I learned was that others could mute me. This is giving a good deal of pleasure to some people whom I will not name. I can also mute myself, a skill I may try to cultivate in real life. I have many, many unread books. I have made a stack of the ones I want to finish before this over. Just in case this intention has power beyond my own edification, I am reading them voraciously so as to lessen the time until we are free again. I have rented and purchased many movies. I am getting out to walk the dog, one of the few activities allowed under the counties shelter in place order. We are roaming further and farther each day. Every now and then we pass someone, usually someone else with a dog. We give each other a wide berth. Hard for me, harder for Miss Hailey who doesn’t understand where all the cars and people have gone, leaving only the birds for her to bark at.

I went to the grocery store. I didn’t have a mask, so I wore a thin ski neck gator. I didn’t have gloves, so I put the little plastic bags that you use for vegetables on each hand. I kept my sunglasses on. I went to the next town to do this. No one recognized me. When I got home, I set up a grocery triage station at the utility sink. I washed EVERYTHING in hot soapy water. Yes, everything. I have to tell you, in case you try this, that the boxes, well, they don’t do so well with this procedure.

I am going thru all the containers of photos I have moved now two or three times. I am remembering. I am also writing: about forgetting. I am missing my children and grandchildren and my siblings and my friends. I am waiting for this to end so that I can run back into a life full of hugs and kisses and sitting close and opening doors to get a cup of coffee, to see a movie or a play or a concert, to go to a meeting around a real desk, and to help people with my bare hands.

I am grateful for all I have been given and I am hoping that when we reach the other side we will work to make it a be a better place for everyone because of what we have learned: that we need each other, that we are all inextricably linked, that whatever hurts another hurts me. I look forward to walking together, hand in hand, towards that better tomorrow.