I had to actually go somewhere on Saturday; I mean drive somewhere in the actual car, on the actual road. Traffic was lighter than usual, but the Capital Beltway is still the Capital Beltway, even in a pandemic lockdown. It was exciting to be legitimately out in the world again; and the most exciting part of that very exciting little trip was carrying a handbag. It wasn’t even my favorite handbag; it was just that carrying any handbag was a reminder that someday (soon, I hope, but someday) we’ll all be out in the world again running hither and yon with places to go and things to do and people to see; and when you’re out in the world, you need your stuff. You need your handbag.
*****
I was out for my daily walk one day, and I heard “Boys of Summer” blasting from a car stereo a half-block away as I turned the last corner toward home. It turned out to be a FedEx driver. I question his taste in music, but FedEx drivers and UPS drivers and mail carriers can do whatever they want right now, as far as I’m concerned.
*****
It’s been a little over ten days since the beginning of the quarantine, whatever that is. The guidelines keep changing and what seemed like a quarantine two weeks ago seems like an unbridled, reckless free-for-all now. It’s actually been semi-pleasant so far--a little claustrophobic and very uncertain, but not terrible. I’m hopeful that the Governor won’t impose harsher restrictions on movement, but I’m preparing for the possibility that my daily walk might become a memory and that even occasional handbag-carrying car-driving outings might have to be postponed for weeks.
And now? I’m going to go wash my hands again and maybe disinfect this computer keyboard.
*****
It’s Wednesday now. I’m waiting for my last work call of the day. Work has been busy, and good. My mind is occupied, and with the less-structured WFH daily routine, I think I’m doing better work. I figured out solutions to two different problems today. They weren’t huge problems, and I’d have figured out how to solve them one way or another, but I feel like the lack of structure is forcing me to be a little more agile, a little quicker on my feet.
I said that I wasn’t going to write about books again, but I keep finding corona connections in everything I read. In Wolf Hall, which I’m reading now, London has just been struck by an outbreak of sweating sickness. “The warm weather has brought sweating sickness to London, and the city is emptying. A few have gone down already and many more are imagining they have it, complaining of headaches and pains in their limbs. The gossip in the shops is all about pills and infusions, and friars in the streets are doing a lucrative trade in holy medals.”
Fun, right? So much for an escape into fiction.
*****
It’s Thursday now. I’m working on a proposal; or I was, until I took a break to write about working on a proposal. Quarantine life is meta if nothing else. It’s almost time for my walk, the highlight of my day. The sun is shining, and there’s a rainbow in my window. The little girls across the street were delighted that my teenage sons played along with their rainbow hunt, and we’re leaving it there for the duration.
I’m emailing back and forth with my neighbors. One of them just emailed me that she’s “busier than ever” despite the shutdown. Part of me wants to mock her for that, because she’s a competitively busy person even in normal times. Leave it to her, I thought, to turn a damned plague outbreak into round-of-16 I’m-the-busiest tournament game. I mean, really.
But you know what? I am actually really busy right now. I know. It’s ridiculous. Work is busy, I’m still writing, I’m checking on neighbors and family members and playing virtual drinking games with my sister; and of course, the house isn’t going to compulsively clean itself. I should call my neighbor, see if she wants to throw down. I can take her.
*****
It’s Friday now, an even nicer day than yesterday, and I wrote all day and now I’m writing some more. It’s been a long time since I worked on a proposal. It’s like riding a bike.
Apparently, we’re all going to get $1,200 checks from Uncle Sam now, which if nothing else will make it hard for Trump to make the socialism is bad case in November. I’m relieved that this thing passed just because it proves that the government can still actually do something, even if it’s mostly just handing piles of no-strings-attached money to corporations.
My workday is over and it’s time to go outside. There’s a fat-bellied robin hopping around my newly green backyard, pecking away at seeds or worms or whatever robins eat. The robin has no idea that this spring is different from any other spring.
Robins are pretty little birds. They’re neat and pleasantly rounded, and their orange-red breasts and yellow-orange beaks are just colorful enough to brighten the mixed light and dark gray of their compact little bodies. I’m glad the robin is here. He’s welcome anytime.
*****
I started walking at 5:30 or so. The sun was still bright and the sky was still blue and the birds were still chirping. It was quiet and very still. I kept looking up at the trees, and the leaves didn’t rustle at all, not even a little bit.
I was walking past a neighbor’s house. Her forsythia was casting a shadow on the side of her house, so I stopped to look at it. And I wondered if forsythia were named after someone named Forsyth, so I looked it up and it turns out that they were. William Forsyth was an 18th century Scottish horticulturist and a founder of the Royal Horticultural Society. My favorite spring flower is named after him.
Then I kept walking. A few houses later, I stopped again, to look at a tall magnolia tree, its pink buds contrasting nicely with the multi-colored roof tiles on a single-story house very much like my house. I wasn’t curious about the origin of the magnolia’s name. Maybe they’re named after another horticulturist, or maybe they’re named after someone’s grandmother. I don’t know. Maybe I’ll look it up.
It’s Saturday now, and it’s raining. No shadows today.
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