It’s Sunday morning, and we’re back from a week away. We’re watching the Capitals, who seem determined to exit the playoffs at the hands of the Islanders. I care a lot less about hockey than I usually do, because I care a lot less about a lot of things than I usually do. Damn ‘rona.
I kept a daily diary during our vacation, and I just cleaned it up and published it on the blog. I was just worried enough about the NJ “travel advisory,” whatever that means, that I didn’t want to post anything online until we were safely over the Delaware Memorial Bridge and heading back toward Maryland. Who knows? Maybe they were monitoring blogs and social media as a way to identify non-quarantining invaders from Maryland and Virginia and half of the rest of the country. But the travel advisory turned out to be a non-event. I held my breath for a bit as we approached the bridge, wondering if we’d see flashing electronic warnings to out-of-state visitors to quarantine or else. Not only were there no signs or reminders on the road, there were no signs or reminders anywhere. It was nothing. We lived our lives on vacation as if the NJ state government didn’t exist.
*****
Now it’s Monday, and was that thunder? Yes, it was; and my timing is impeccable. I just got home from the pool. I’m rearranging my days a little bit, shaking up the routine so that I don’t sink back into the corona-funk that I just managed to pull myself out of last week. Normally I write first and swim later. Today, I decided to reverse that order and if I hadn’t, I’d be sidelined because of a thunderstorm. I swam my laps and now I’m sitting on the couch writing about it. Yes, I know that this is the same damn thing that I do every day, but I REVERSED THE ORDER. Don’t you get it? It makes all the difference, I’m telling you.
The thunderstorm that’s happening right now is an August, pre-fall thunderstorm, not an apocalyptic July heat purge. It was pretty sunny for most of the day, but cooler than normal. The days are getting a little shorter. The crape myrtle is in full bloom, and the pool water is chilly. Everyone is talking about school, such as school will be in a few weeks. Everything is uncertain. Everything is up in the air. Even the thunderstorms can’t make up their minds. I’d usually describe a thunderstorm as “raging” or some other hyperbolic adjective; but this one isn’t even shouting. It’s rumbling gently, explaining itself more than anything else. It’s not mad. It’s just there.
*****
Now it's Tuesday afternoon and I'm sitting poolside, waiting for my nephew to finish swimming. I finished my laps and got out because it's cold in there today, but 7-year-olds don't get out of the pool until someone makes them. The whistle will blow in 20 minutes, ending this swim session, so I'll let him stay in the water until then.
We don't have chairs at the pool this year. Thanks 'rona. So I'm wrapped in a towel, sitting on the warm pavement of the deck, watching a red ant run around in circles. I don't know why he's doing this. I don't have a particular interest in entomology in general nor the habits of ants in particular, but this does seem like out of the ordinary behavior, given ants' reputation for industry and purposefulness. It's a word. Summer 2020 is getting to everyone, even the ants.
Or maybe the ant is trying to disrupt the routine a little bit. Maybe it needs a break from the daily grind. Maybe it's tired of working from home and distancing from the other ants. They're social creatures, I know that much.
I spent just a week away from the constant crush of current events, and I’m just like that thunderstorm. I’m here, and I don’t want you to forget about me, but I don’t have to shout. I’m just like that ant. I’m going to shake things up here and there; defy expectations. I like this newly nonchalant, uncharacteristically insouciant attitude. It won’t last, but I’ll enjoy it for now.
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