Quarantina is back! Here we are, two months into a lockdown designed to protect us from the COVID-19 virus. We have been ordered to shelter at home, and as a result of adhering to that instruction, the curve has flattened somewhat. Personally, I am planning to stay at home even after the restrictions have been lifted, JUST IN CASE. And I will wear a mask and take all precautions necessary to get through this pandemic with my health intact. Meanwhile, I have some observations on life in lockdown.
I have officially reached the “I don’t really need to change my clothes every day” stage of quarantine.
Now that the weather has improved, people are heading out to their gardens in droves, digging in the dirt as if they are tunneling out of Shawshank Prison. As the owner of a black thumb, I am staying out of the fruits and vegetable business and look forward to friends and neighbors sharing their abundant crops this year.
I long for the days when I could just bop over to ShopRite without wearing a hazmat suit because I needed bananas and I would come out with $100 worth of items I wasn’t even sure I needed. Now, each trip is plotted out like the Invasion of Normandy, with the route (produce first, then go directly to meat, then detour to paper products for precious toilet paper) defined in advance and the goals set for each stop (fresh fruit and vegetables, meat for the freezer for long-term eating). I keep a list going on Alexa and then rewrite it on paper before I go to the supermarket so that my phone won’t be contaminated by taking it out in the store. D-Day took less planning, but I am more likely now to stick to my shopping list, assuming the store has the items I need/want.
You know what is useless now? Those sales flyers from ShopRite. There’s no way to know what they actually have in stock until you get there. I’m not even sure they are mailing them out anymore.
Speaking of the supermarket, I had no idea how much I relied on wetting my fingers to open those flimsy plastic bags in the produce section. I almost gave up buying the zucchini one day because I couldn’t get one open. But can you imagine licking your fingers now in public? I’d probably be arrested. And think of the conversation in the prison yard: “What are you in for?” “I licked my fingers in the supermarket.” I think I’d be knifed in the communal shower for that kind of transgression.
I haven’t availed myself yet of ordering food from the supermarket online and waiting for a precious “slot” to be open for pick-up or delivery of my order. People who get good slots and can get their groceries the same week they ordered them are celebrating as if they won the lottery. And I swear I see more ShopRite employees shopping for these people than I do regular shoppers, like me (once every two weeks or so).
I asked my personal assistant, Alexa, what was on my schedule for today and I swear I heard her snicker. Last week I asked her what day it was and when she told me I thought she was wrong. We almost had our first fight over that.
Now is when we finally figure out whether toilet paper math is accurate. Do nine rolls really equal 36?
In the beginning of this quarantine I noticed I was talking to myself more than ever. Now, even I am bored with me, so things have quieted down here considerably.
I took an online cooking class recently. Mostly what I learned was that for $300 I can take the rest of the classes in the series, but even at a “discounted” price, I can’t see me signing up for 48 online cooking sessions. Not that I don’t have the time…
Every day I receive emails with menus from some of my favorite restaurants, and every day, my mouth starts watering. Even the things I don’t normally order sound SO yummy. I need to eat and read less!
When I call someone now and they don’t answer immediately, I assume that 1) They are in the shower or on the phone; 2) They are out for a walk; 3) They are digging in the garden or 4) They don’t want to talk to me.
I received a package from Amazon the other day and I had no idea what it was. I put on my rubber gloves and escorted it into the "decontamination zone" in the garage before it was allowed into the house a day or so later. I finally removed it from the box, left the box in the garage and brought the package into the house. I sure don’t want to die because I opened a package, you know?
OK, now that Kohl’s is closed, I guess I’m back to returning my unwanted Amazon items the old way, via UPS. And I was just getting used to not having to pack anything up to return it!
The first few minutes of any Zoom meeting are spent trying to get everyone to press the right buttons so they can be seen and heard. And I have seen more of the ceilings of people’s houses than Michelangelo ever saw at the Sistine Chapel. People, adjust your camera position! I don’t want to see your head in the bottom corner of your screen!
It takes more time and more shampoo now to wash my long(ish) hair.
I always wanted to know how my hair would look once it grew out. Now that I know, get me the hedge shears!
My hair is in that in-between stage – not long enough to put into a ponytail or pull it back, but too long to just hang in front of my face. The hair salons will be overrun with people when they open, but I don’t want to take any chances, so it will be a while before my hairdresser can make me look presentable again.
My hair can best be described as somewhere between Keith Urban and Keith Partridge with that Florence Henderson flip in the back. And when I look at my face, forget Keith Urban. I’m seeing Keith Richards.
I found a sure-fire way to not have my hair look bad, especially in the back. I don’t look. It’s not like anyone else is seeing it, either. When I go out, I wear a hat.
When I get on the scale, I automatically deduct 5 pounds for the extra hair.
I was looking for something to watch on TV and started "Parks & Recreation." There are 9 seasons to catch up on, but it’s not like I have anything better to do.
I have never done so much cleaning and laundry, even though I don’t have my aqua aerobics towels to wash since class has been canceled and the pool is closed. I’m constantly changing bath and hand towels, dish towels and rags to wipe the counters. The cleaning lady will be relieved to know she is now considered an essential worker.
This quarantine has me planning dinner while I am eating breakfast. Or, more accurately, the night before, so I’ll know what I need to take out of the freezer. So far, I have not used my InstantPot even once. But I cleaned my gas grill to within an inch of its life – and promptly used it to grill a steak. Here we go again, but yum!
How am I going to explain to my dental hygienist that I’m STILL not flossing? It’s not like I don’t have the time.
I have watched the same video for Misen Knives at least a dozen times. And they have another video for a $450 set of cookware. I haven’t succumbed to the temptation yet, but all this cooking is making me think I should up my equipment game. UPDATE: The knife set arrives in 7-10 days. I promise I will be careful because I don’t need a trip to the emergency room any more than I needed those knives.
It seems everyone I know is either baking bread or planting vegetables. I feel left out of this survivalist movement. I’d bake another loaf of bread, but getting yeast is as hard as getting a COVID-19 test right now.
Being this available seems so strange. My calendar has few notes each week beyond birthday reminders and the occasional ZOOM session with friends. But now I can watch a movie or a series the same day it debuts. No waiting in line at the movies, just a few clicks and I’m checking out the latest entertainment. I binge-watched the entire second season of "Dead to Me" last Friday. I recommend it highly (Netflix).
The calendar for my active adult community was published in our May newsletter with absolutely nothing on it. No mah jongg games, no pickleball, no trips to Broadway shows, no Veteran’s Club meetings. These seniors must be going nuts without their quilting club, bowling league and Hadassah meetings. Our last Shutterbugs meeting (my photography club) was done via Zoom. I even skipped that.
I nearly ran into a friend last week at the doctor’s office (she was outside in her car, waiting for her mother to be done with her appointment, and our schedules ALMOST overlapped). I was actually relieved that I didn’t see her because I don’t know how I could have refrained from giving her a big hug. I know I will remove the handshake from my greeting repertoire, but please, it has to be safe to HUG again someday. I know grandparents who are going crazy not being able to be with and hug the grandchildren. And as my friend said to me, when she can hug me again, she’s not letting go. Me, neither.
These long stretches of being alone have made me much more emotional than I usually am. I watched a movie recently that made me cry for almost an hour while I tried to see it through tears ("The Art of Racing in the Rain"”). I caught myself getting teary over the Michelle Obama documentary and I felt a lump in my throat over an article in People Magazine about a mail carrier who bought toilet paper for an older woman on her route. In real life, I am NOT a crier. Except at the Yankees’ Old Timers Day. But now? I am weeping over the smallest and strangest of things. Is there a phenomenon called Quarantine Crying?
If hindsight is truly 20/20, remind me to never look back. I sure don’t want to see or remember anything about this year except to take extreme precautions in all interactions.
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