Another Day. Because we’re not in any hurry to get anywhere, we sleep in. The sun shining into our bedroom and the sound of the dog rearranging her sleeping pose, rouses me from bed. “What time is it?”
“Past 8:00 a.m.” my husband Peter says. On a normal Saturday, we would have risen before 7:00, giving us enough time to walk the dog before Peter goes to swim practice. But there is no swim practice. It’s been cancelled like everything else.
The sounds of bird tweets and their warbles, remind me it is officially spring, and I want to plant flowers. But that would mean a trip to the store, something I try not to do. The key to staying well and safe is to stay away from other people as much as possible. So I’ve fallen into a routine that consists of multiple walks with our dog Chloe and otherwise working inside the house. Peter still goes to the office, a locked office. He quickly buys necessities. I remind him incessantly to wash his hands. “Wash your hands every hour. Don’t touch your face,” I say.
Even at 9:00 a.m. downtown Annapolis is deserted.
Even at 9:00 a.m. downtown Annapolis is deserted. While some storefronts have large hand lettered signs advertising the availability of—Curbside Pick-up, Call and We Deliver, “Still Open By Appointment”— others have none. I wonder how many will stay permanently closed.
We walk in the center of the street or cross to the other side each time we see someone approach. Yesterday evening walking towards a neighborhood wooded trail near a creek, a young woman asked if she could pet our dog. I hesitated. “No,” I said, moving forward to keep my distance.
I thought my husband would chastise me, say I was being stingy, but he had the same response five seconds later. “No.” Social distancing has become our mantra.
Inside the house my husband Peter and I have begun competing over who gets to cook dinner. Food preparation and eating have become a major preoccupation. We think of all the ingredients that can help us stay as healthy as possible. “Mushrooms are loaded with anti-oxidants,” I say while slicing up several handsome brown creminis.”
“Onions,” he says, “We need more onions.”
Our sauces are laden with tomatoes and peppers. When Peter cooks, he adds capers and olives. I favor garlic and a bit of sweet and sour—vinegar, soy sauce, or maybe pickle juice. The assistant chef sets the table and attends to beverages.
In the morning we remember to take our vitamins and a spoonful of the elderberry syrup our son Christopher so thoughtfully sent. Only one week has elapsed since the local economy has begun to shut down. We have many weeks to go, possibly months. It is too much to comprehend. I focus on each day.