It’s amazing how fast one adjusts to being a house prisoner. On Sunday and Monday, we walked outside: just short of 3 miles the first day, and right at 2 miles the second. On Tuesday, I stayed inside, completely. My time outside was limited to filing bird feeders and putting more water in the bird baths. Make that TWICE filling the water in the bird baths. Is that bizarre or what? We had a mixed flock of American Robins and Cedar Waxwings who just decimated the water supply. They completely emptied out the shallow (heated) water tray by noon. Do you think that they heard about all the panic consumption, and decided to join the fray?
At any rate, that brings us to Wednesday. Wednesday is, for various reasons, the day we typically eat out the most. When work allows it, we sneak out for breakfast at Jelly U, the best breakfast/lunch joint around. Then later in the day, we typically go to harmonica class, and then to dinner across the street at our favorite Italian joint, Colore. If you even think that I’m delusional about this, be assured I’m not; I’m very well aware that the harmonica classes have just become an excuse to go to Colore. (Don’t tell Ed. Or my classmates.)
The fact is, we love to eat out. Happily, we both love to eat out. This no-restaurants thing is a major challenge.
This all means that we approached Wednesday with sadness over our changed circumstances. But also with fortitude, since both restaurants are still open for delivery and carryout. We called Jelly’s yesterday morning and placed our regular order, then made the walk over there. The front door of the restaurant was closed and locked, with posted directions sending us around the building to a walk-up window that we had never seen in use before. It felt like we were in the 1920s going around the back to a speakeasy. Gabby, the manager of Jelly’s, opened the window and handed us our grub. I handed her a credit card to pay, and immediately panicked: what do I do about the credit card when she returns it? I didn’t have any wipes (duh, does ANYone have any wipes?), so I stuck it back in my wallet and then wiped it down with alcohol when we got home. Our entire outing, from the time we left our front door to the moment we came back in was 33 minutes. I felt like I was breaking all the rules the entire time we were out. And washed my hands every 5 minutes after we got back home. But we were living our life, as (much as possible) mundanely as ever. The food, sadly, didn’t really stand up well to being served cold at home. But the food really isn’t the point. The ritual was part of the point: partial success on that front. Supporting our friends who are waitstaff at the restaurant: not so much, since there really wasn’t anyone working front of house other than the manager. But supporting the restaurant? We feel good about scoring well on that item. We desperately feel for our local businesses, and – as long as we’re still getting paid for our work – we’ll keep supporting them.
Our trip to Colore to pick up food for dinner was a bit different. We drove over (it’s close, also, maybe a mile and a half away), and were happy to see the outside lights of the restaurant blazing. We walked in to pick up the order we had called in and were a bit surprised to see how many other people were there, also picking up food. It was a happening place! But we all stayed in our own little bubbles: couples with at least 6 or 8 or 10 feet between us. It’s the new normal, but that doesn’t make it any less weird. Chris, the owner/manager of the place, took Ed’s credit card to pay for our order; as part of the process of handing it back to Ed, he swiped it with a bleach disinfectant wipe.
Colore gets a large amount of business from the Swallow Hill Music School, which is directly across the street. We had worried about both Swallow Hill and Colore in this time of forced shut-downs (Swallow Hill closed voluntarily this week, too). But Chris told us that almost all of the regular Wednesday night crowd from Swallow Hill had preceded us in the restaurant, picking up orders. That was one of those little pinpricks of light that cause tears to well up in my eyes.
So that was our D-Day + 3. Today, D-Day + 4, arrived dark and gloomy. It was raining lightly when I first woke up, and way too dark for that time of day. I turned over and went back to sleep a while longer. As I slept, I dreamt that Ed had answered his phone, then handed it to me. I looked (in my sleep) at his phone and saw that the caller ID that came up said “COVID-19”. That was enough to jolt me awake. If that’s enough to get you up and moving, I don’t know what is.
After that rude awakening, the weather really turned. And not in a good way. It went from rain to rain/snow to snow. Heavy, wet spring snow, the kind that breaks branches and takes out power lines. Falling and falling and falling. Sticking on trees and roads, but, happily, our small-limbed trees all look okay so far. I’m grateful that I filled the bird feeders yesterday; this is nasty stuff to have to go out in. The birds have been busy feeding all day. Northern Flickers, House Finches and House Sparrows, Black-capped Chickadees, White-breasted and Red-breasted Nuthatches. Blue Jays. Dark-eyed Juncos, pretty much all the regular sub-species. Our resident European-collared Dove, and our sometimes resident Spotted Towhee. An occasional American Crow, but no raptors today. The goldfinches are all feeding somewhere else, too. But really, a lot of birds. Tons. All these birds, and more, lining up to clean out our feeders. 
Everyone, it seems, loves to eat out.
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