Hope is a Thing With Feathers

I’ve brought the Sunday paper into the house. An unknown person has recently touched this paper, folded it and put it in a plastic bag to protect it from the rain. There is a stack of ads included, all of which were hand-collated. This pile now sits on the dining room table next to some books, a magazine from the library and a few pieces of mail, all of which came in here from somewhere else. I have been doing the crossword puzzle while drinking coffee and eating my cereal. I unfold the paper, turn the pages. I touch a pencil, a spoon, a bowl. I am breathing. The whole thing reminds me of one of those “What’s wrong with this picture” puzzles. Is there someway I can correct this image?

We also went to the grocery store before breakfast, a secret ritual some of us have resorted to. If you are reading this, it is no longer a secret, it will grow exponentially, like some other things, and next time I go at 630 in the morning the aisles will be packed. Loose lips sink ships. Our small local store is warm and congenial, which doesnt keep toilet paper or sanitizer on the shelves, but folks are pleasant and helpful even if there’s no ground beef or chicken at the butcher counter. Someone has put the milk cartons in the cooler, unpacked the lettuce. The checker touched each item as she rung it up; the bagger as well. We washed our hands when we got home, of course. Of course. But then, see above, I touched things. I didn’t wipe down the cheese, the carrots, the tomato juice, the newspaper.

I see everything with new eyes, but a person can only do so much. But, in for a penny: if I breathe in the grocery store, is it not okay to breathe in a movie theater? A stadium?  I’m having all these thoughts before eight in the morning.

I used to think I was smart and reasonably competent, able to make informed choices. There’s a keyword there that gives it all away. It’s not good to feel befuddled at ever turn. I’m trying to stick with things I know, but the list is getting shorter. it looks like the sun is out. We will go for a walk between showers. And while we’re at it, what’s the difference between showers and rain?

Mr S just read that in the UK they are thinking of asking anyone over 70 to self-isolate for four months. 

And now it’s 4 o’clock and the governor of California has just asked everyone over 65 to stay home. He has also closed all the bars in order to make it easier. Just kidding. Two separate directives, with an overlap that was too delicious to let go. Lots of texting about how our group will handle this. Who is young enough to be the designated shopper? 

In the absence of federal leadership, governors are stepping up, but there is no consistency, everyone is reinventing the wheel, trying to grasp the enormity of the situation.