Saturday morning, March 28th--and for me, it’s a milestone.
It’s been 15 days (2 weeks and 1 day) since I’ve been out of the house for anything other than a dog walk. 15 days since I’ve been inside a store. 15 days since I’ve been near other people beside immediate family.
On Friday, March 13th (15 days ago), Sara and I went to the grocery store. We’d been stocking up for the past few weekends, but that Friday the reality that people might need to shop ahead was just starting to set in.
(The nation’s first “Shelter in Place” order was big news when it happened in San Francisco. That was on Monday, March 16th--less than 2 weeks ago. Other cities would soon follow, including New York which announced its “Stay-at-Home” order on Friday, March 20th. By then, at least, New York and other cities had learned one lesson. The term “Shelter in place” was replaced by “Stay at home.” No need to conjure up images of an active shooter; this nightmare virus was bad enough.)
The grocery store was crowded that Friday afternoon but not yet a full-born mob. Sara and I concentrated on buying fruits, vegetables, frozen foods and perishables. Toilet paper and hand sanitizers were sold out and so was the milk. We shopped with separate carts. I paid first and after I unloaded my purchases in the van, I went back inside to check on Sara. She sent me back to the van. No need to stand near other people, she urged, crowded together in the check-out line unless that was absolutely necessary. I went back to the van, but I did think that was a little silly (a testament to how much my thinking has changed--and, yes, catching up to Sara again).
When Sara got back to the van, I told her that I wanted to stop at the small convenience store inside the gas station we’d pass on our way home. Maybe they’d have milk? Sara argued they would not--that if milk was sold out at the grocery store, it wouldn’t be at a convenience store, More important, she again urged me to limit my risk by going into one more place with yet more people--even just to look. We needed gas anyway and I insisted that it was worth the risk and taking a look. She gave up, knowing there was no stopping me. Under protest, I went inside, keeping a distance from all others. They did have milk and I bought 3 gallons. (Needless to say, I walked out of the convenience store in triumph.)
Fast forward to this week. On an early morning dog walk, I passed a neighbor who was headed out to the grocery store. From 10 feet away on her front porch, she asked if we needed anything and I told her milk. She texted me when she got home. Mission accomplished. She’d gotten milk for us and left it on her front porch for me to pick up after she’d gone inside. I walked down and waved my thanks to her, inside the house, behind her window.
So, here I sit on Saturday morning, there’s milk for my coffee and oatmeal--and I am happy to have passed this important milestone. 15 days since being near other people. I’ve been waking up early every day--5:36am this morning--and today, I was sweaty with what felt like a sore throat. Gulp. As is my new normal, I headed downstairs and before brushing my teeth or sipping my coffee, I took my temperature, writing it down on the daily chart we’ve been keeping since March 15th. 97.2. Normal never felt so good. Two weeks and one day later, I could finally rest assured that my Friday the 13th was not unlucky after all.
So, what’s the new normal going to look like? Will we be resetting the clock every 15 days from the last time we’re near other people? When does that stop? How does that stop?
Opening my email this morning, I read an article, “Lockdown in Rome,” that was sent to me by Bill, a very good friend from college. It’s from the Financial Times by novelist Paolo Giordano, a powerful and poignant essay about life 4 weeks into Italy’s national shutdown.
There is this odd feeling — for a country that prides itself on its ancient history — of being in the future: 10 days or 15 or 20, it varies, but still in the future of the pandemic. Nothing to brag about; we would have happily done without it.
Maybe there are some non-accidental reasons why we came first in the leaderboard, but for now they don’t really matter. Instead, we should all understand — everyone, everywhere — that we are at different points in the same story; that in this pandemic we share the same timeline: some are a little further ahead, some a little further back.
Not understanding time has been our mistake from the very beginning. Italy did not look closely at China; Milan did not look at its provinces; southern Italy did not look north; and the rest of Europe did not take what was happening here seriously enough. Meanwhile, between delays and prejudice, we glided together along the same timeline.
One sentence here struck me:
Not understanding time has been our mistake from the very beginning.
This virus has played out like a predictable, slow-motion horror movie that makes it really hard to focus on what’s ahead. I don’t know--but I often find myself going back to the words of New York governor Andrew Cuomo, way back on March 17th as he looked ahead to what he knew, back then, would be unfolding in New York:
It is a hard time. It is a hard time on every level. It is a frightening time on every level. At the same, it is this much time. Is it 3 months, is it 6 months, is it 9 months? I don't know but it is this much time. We will get through this much time. Understand what we are dealing with, understand the pressures that we are feeling, but we will get through this much time. Be a little bit more sensitive, understand the stress, understand the fear, be a little bit more loving, a little bit more compassionate, a little bit more comforting, a little bit more cooperative. And we will get through this time.
(This quote was actually posted to social media by Micah Grimes of NBC News. It’s been an inspiration for Sara and me--and she posted it to Facebook. The full transcript of his words from that day are worth re-reading for some perspective.
I do not know what will happen next, but I know tomorrow will come. All we need to do is get through “this much time.”
After dinner last night, John told us how during the day on Friday, people had been asking, “So, what are you doing this weekend?” A standard question on any other Friday--but this week, it felt somehow annoying, clueless and just plain wrong. What can you everything seem off the table. No hanging out with friends (in person). No going to the movies. No taking a weekend trip.
So, what are we doing this weekend?
The answer, I think, is simple. It’s from Sara--two words she’s repeated to coworkers as the coronavirus has up-ended every aspect of normal life. “Stay alive.”
Stayin’ alive. That’s what I’m doing this weekend.
Insert “Saturday Night Fever” chorus from the BeeGees here.
And we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive
Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive
Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive
What did NOT happen?
A. Even though the convenience store milk had a sell-by date of March 19th, it did not sour and lasted until Thursday, March 26th;
B. Thursday, March 26th was the day the neighbor, quite by accident, asked me if we needed anything at the store;
C. As “payment” for the milk, I took 4 rolls of toilet paper down to the neighbor and left them on her porch;
D. This neighbor’s porch was featured on the TODAY Show 10 years ago for a “front porch makeover;”
E. College friend Bill is actually in Italy and sent the Financial Times article around from his post in Rome.
Want the answer?
Answer #12. “Stayin’ Alive,” March 28, 2020
If you’re a subscriber, the answer will be sent to you as a separate email when the question is published.
Want more?
Here’s the next quiz in the series: Quiz #13. OOO and Pure O.
Here’s the previous quiz in the series: Quiz #11. The F-Word.
Here’s the first quiz in the series: Quiz #1. Stella and Social Distancing, March 13, 2020
The quiz is explained here: Steve’s Stay-at-Home Coronavirus Quiz.
Here is an archive of all the quizzes.
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