I woke up Sunday morning, March 15, pretty darn sure that I had the virus. After all, I coughed a few times while reading in bed on Friday night, and then had a longer coughing spell Saturday night. That’s a sure sign, right? So what if I had no other symptoms. On Saturday I had searched in vain for our digital thermometer, but when I couldn’t find it, had a nagging feeling that I disposed of it some time back when it stopped working. Trips to Safeway and Walgreens on Saturday proved what we expected: no thermometers for sale, of any kind, anywhere. So Sunday morning, I tried out our three old-style analog thermometers – all three at once. When they all showed a temp lower than 98.6, Ed said, see? You are fine. He reminded me that we had worked in the yard Saturday afternoon, raking leaves and uncovering all the new green growth coming up (the earth, it seems, has not stopped operating as per usual, even in the face of the pandemic), and that I was probably coughing and sneezing out all the stuff I breathed in.
“But I have a horrible headache!”, said I, trying to convince him of how sick I was.
“You always have a headache – you have had a headache pretty much every day since the day I met you six years ago” he replied. And promptly walked over to me and kissed me. Not a peck on the cheek, but a real, mouth-to-mouth resuscitation kind of a kiss.
It seems to me that if one of us gets infected, both of us will be infected. We’re in this together. Love in the time of coronavirus.
Then, after that breathtaking kiss, he suggested that maybe I should blog about these times. I think he’s hoping to keep me from obsessing about every cough, sneeze, or little twinge – and every new article or Facebook post or tweet announcing yet more bad news, dire warnings. Maybe he’s right. Or maybe it will just give me a more public forum to obsess. In any event, here we go. In stark contradiction to my Facebook and Twitter presence, I’m hoping to use this forum to not complain so much, but just observe life in these weird times.
That was two days ago, and, well, I didn’t quite get around to writing anything at all over the weekend since I was, as Ed predicted, continuing to obsess about life in the time of coronavirus. Life is different all around.
We usually go to the “Church of Keith” on Sunday mornings, and that didn’t happen. The Church of Keith is our name for Sunday mornings at our local coffee shop (Keith’s Coffee Bar, natch). That’s the “where” of Church of Keith. The “what” of Church of Keith is live acoustic music, provided by a variety of local talented artists, mostly guitar players and singers, with a few harmonicas thrown in for good measure. We have a nice little community who gathers there almost every week. Except this one. The live music was canceled a few days earlier, and even then, we still debated. Should we go? Should we stay home? In the end, we decided in favor of extreme social distancing. Instead of Church of Keith (individual quiches or breakfast burritos and other yummy pastries), Ed made us French toast, and we nearly finished off the remaining fresh fruit in the house. We did finish off the organic maple syrup.
Then, instead of enjoying the walk to and from Keith’s, we hunkered down. We did one chore – hanging the new blackout shades we just got for our living room – and then we just stood and looked at each other. Our compost bin (the big industrial one provided by the city) is full of yard debris, so the rest of our spring yard work is on hold until after this week’s pickup. We were both a bit freaked out by the new normal. The weather was gorgeous: mostly sunny, warmish. We talked about going for a bike ride, but neither of us could gin up the mojo for it.
So we ordered up Starz again in order to binge watch Outlander. We pulled down the new blackout shades (wow – they do make it dark!), cuddled under the blankie, made popcorn, exulted when we found a forgotten loaf of chocolate chip banana bread in the freezer. When late afternoon was upon us, we forced ourselves outside for a longish walk: just short of three miles, around Harvard Gulch Park, the route that used to be, before knee replacement and all that, our short run route. It was almost like early Sunday evening on any given week – but it wasn’t. There were plenty of people out taking advantage of the last bits of a setting sun, but when we saw a neighborhood acquaintance on the bike path, we didn’t stop to chat. Everyone was moving inside their own private bubble. It was just a little too quiet to seem normal. But still, it was lovely to be outside, and to be part of the world.
Monday morning, I got up with yet another massive headache. But, as Ed says, that is (sadly) all too normal for me. A couple of Excedrin, and I can cope. And: no coughing. And: my obsessive temperature taking has yet to detect anything above 98.2 or so. I walked past a mirror, though, and the image I saw looked a bit like death warmed over. So I took a shower, ditched the sweats in favor of jeans (for someone who works from home all the time, this is the definition of dressing up for work), actually rolled my hair and put on some makeup.
If it truly turns out that I’m going to live, it’s time to put on my game face.
No comments:
Post a Comment