I have been Susie Sunshine.   I have been the queen of lemonade out of lemons.  I have been sewing curtains out of the silver linings of all these clouds.  But today I hit the wall.  The thought of going to the supermarket to get food is freaking me out.  The last two trips were OK.  The stores were pretty empty at the hours we went.  We found plenty of food that we wanted.  We even found toilet paper last time.  But I don't want to go on Thursday.  Even during Senior Hours.  I want to hide in my house and come out sometime around Memorial Day.  

But my father-in-law needs food. So I'll go one more time.  Maybe it's because it's been two weeks since I've seen my friends or hugged my kid.  Maybe it's because Himself lost his job last week, like thousands of other people.  Maybe it's because of the number of people who still think Donald Trump is a genius.  The whole world feels fragile and I'm about to lose it.

I should be grateful that I have a home to quarantine in.  And I am.  I am aware of the wonderful people in the supermarkets, in the hospitals, in the gas stations, delivering mail.  They are heroes.  They are on the front lines.  I worry about the homeless, and the people who are jammed into tiny unsafe apartments. I haven't forgotten the children still in cages. I am lucky.  But I am having a really tough day today and I am afraid.

I will turn to prayer.  I will write some poetry and read some. I will shake this feeling of doom after a good night's sleep, at least for a while.  But tonight, just tonight, I am afraid.

I slept late.  The rain didn't invite me to go walking, so except for a quick trip to the pharmacy for medication (and chocolate bunnies at reduced price) I've been in the house.  It was kind of a do-nothing day and then Himself decided to start "tidying".  The challenge is to find twenty-five things each day to throw away.  I started with one of the three cabinets in the bathroom and filled a plastic trash bag in less than a half an hour.  What on earth is happening to me?

It would have been nice to read a book, but I'm actually spending so much time in the house that the dust bunnies (OK, dust dragons) have begun whispering to me.  This is an interesting turn of events!  If I stay stuck in here for as long as they are predicting I could eventually (I hope) invite people over for dinner!  Having this much time at home with no "escapes", i.e. movies, or restaurants, or visits with friends, is bringing out a domesticity I have never suspected lurked within me.  It started with my beautiful new fireplace which was finished two days after I started working from home and one day before life as we know it changed on this planet.  It used to be a blah yellow brick thing with a thin white marble mantel.  Now it's all rough-hewn wood and rounded stones, with a decidedly "Snow White" vibe.  I smile at it when I come through the door.  This is so not me.

That's one more positive thing I will notice about this enforced isolation.  Facets of my personality I either never knew I had, or which have evolved on their own when I wasn't looking, are showing up.  I don't believe I have turned into a "wisdom figure", but I've begun faking it, which apparently is bringing some people comfort, so that's almost as good.  In fact, all this baffles me as much as it does everyone else.  There's no telling when this will end.  There's no telling who will be a victim.  There's no telling if this period of solitude will change people for the better or the worse.  The only certainty is that there will be a change when this is over, because we're all in our cocoons right now.  I'm planning on coming out a butterfly, myself, but I wouldn't be surprised by a certain number of grumpy caterpillars who refused to evolve.  Well, we shall see.

We have many friends we hold dear.  Two sisters in particular, who share our political views and spoil us with fabulous dinners on an embarrassingly frequent schedule, have become a huge part of our social life.  And DAMN I miss seeing them.  We text.  We talk on the phone.  But it's not the same as sharing their wild stories over perfectly concocted martinis.  I am sad. :(
Tonight, however, we employed the technology of the 21st century (which I usually find overwhelming and extremely suspect) to have a "video visit".  They had their martinis.  We had our white wine.  Himself accidentally (it had better have been) put "bunny ears" and little pink noses on ourselves, which he later undid, but other than that it was a lovely "visit".  Which made me stop and think; what IS a "visit".  We could see them both.  We could hear them both.  We all had our little "drinkies" (Lent having been declared "over" by me when we went into isolation), so why didn't it scratch the itch?  It's not as if we touch them when we visit them.  OK, we are prone to the hello/goodbye hug and kiss on the cheek.  But during the evening we pretty much just chat.

There is something about breathing the same air as the people we care about that is pure magic.  There is a magic to being in the real presence of the people we love. This is why we're all going a little nuts these days. That hunger is not being fed.  I think this also ties into why I'm missing being able to go to Mass.  There is something about being in the Presence that feeds me.  We have a thousand hungers nowadays that are going unfed.  This "social distancing" is possibly the hardest and also the most interesting thing I've ever tried to do.

I know people are dying in droves due to this virus.  So are our mindless expectations of what our lives are supposed to be.  We are all taking an inventory of what is important to us, and some of the answers are surprising.  When there is no restaurant or movie theater or pub to escape to, where do we go when it all gets to be too much?  We are forced to endure our own company and to think about what we  are doing and why.  Whom do we love?  What is there about them that we miss?  Why is this panic rising at the thought that nothing we know will ever be the same again? We are all standing naked before ourselves and facing, often for the first time, who we really are, what we really care about, and (here's the kicker) that none of this will last forever, including us.

I have pretty much come to grips with the fact that I will never know what it's like to live in a really clean house.  I always think I'll have time to get to those tasks I keep putting off.  This virus has done me a favor by showing me that I do not have all the time in the world, and whatever it is that I feel is truly important had better be given attention right now.  It won't be the house.  But I ache for the presence of my children and my friends.

We all come to this mad tea party with different baggage.  What frightens me wouldn't cross your mind as a problem.  What keeps you up nights surprises and confuses me.  We are such complex people, and we are the products of all the experiences we have had and the choices we have made, both good and bad.  I will admit that the bad choices usually wind up being exponentially more educational, (and often more fun) but that's who we are.

We are each dealing with this very anxious time in the history of the world in the very best way we know how.  Some of us are afraid of our own death or illness.  Some fear the death or illness of the people we love.  All of us are suffering from being separated from our support system at the very time when we need it most.  We can't change the situation, but we can change our chances of surviving it, both physically and mentally.  From the physical point of view, it has been proven by scientists that we need sleep, good hygiene, healthy food, and a painful but necessary distance from almost everyone, including those dearest to us.  The mental and emotion survival is a little trickier.

I have a large number of friends, both male and female, who live alone. A couple are divorced, a few are widowed, some are celibate clergy, some just never found "the one" and some just prefer it that way.  I love them all, and sometimes I feel almost guilty for having a wonderful husband and sons I genuinely like and admire. I've always known I was lucky.  Until this enforced isolation I never realized how much.  It is so important to have someone to share the fear with, someone to listen to, someone who listens.  That's where we all come in.  

I use Face Book a lot.  In fact when I die I expect to be told the number of hours I wasted with my nose pointed at the screen.  That should be punishment enough to make up for some sins.  But it does have its uses, and this time is one of them.  Reach out to your friends who are on their own.  Let them know that they are thought of, that someone cares about their fears, even if they don't share them.  Confide your own fears and allow yourself to be comforted.  It is a gift to reveal our humanity to each other, to give a friend the privilege of bringing peace, if only for a few moments.  Allow those who love you to give you that gift. Allow those you love to give you that gift.

Take a break from the news.  You can't change it, and it's depressing at the moment.  Spend the time instead talking to a friend.  Listen to some beautiful music.  The Metropolitan Opera is streaming nightly gems for free to help us get through this. Read an amusing book.  Write something yourself, a poem, a story, a journal of how you feel.  It's empowering.  There are things we can do to survive this time spiritually intact.  And we don't have to do them alone.  No one should  have to.

Not that I'm a huge fan of Chinese food, but I should let you know that we had it at our wedding.  My tastes have evolved a bit over the years, but only to the extent that I don't do fried food (except for Peking Ravioli or "pot stickers" because, well, you just have to.  Steamed is NOT the same) and I have fallen under the luscious spell of meatless egg foo young.  Lots of it.  And chicken with broccoli, which is probably a health food.  And garlic eggplant.  That's a vegetable.  Spicy green beans?  Sigh.

This is the latest thing to drive me crazy.  Is it safe to pick up take-out at the local place where they know my name and try not to laugh at my pathetic attempts to speak Mandarin? (Not a lot.  Just useful phrases like, "How are you?" or "Thank you" or "Chill out, man!" or "Hot Guy!")  Or am I better off making dawn raids at the supermarket during the "gray hours" and I refer to hair, not the color of the sky.  They both seem pretty risky to me.  But one of them has my favorite feast at the end.  

Every decision we make must be weighed in the wake of this dangerous virus.  WW (formerly "Weight Watchers") talks about mindfulness while eating.  We are mindful when walking down the street, when getting the mail out of the letterbox, when dropping off a package to a friend's porch.  We are mindful of the news (OK, I'm listening a whole lot less lately and feeling a whole lot better).  We flood the internet with stories of kindness and generosity, or with funny memes, trying to lift our own and others' spirits, yet knowing there is nothing funny about any of this.  It is deadly.  And it's almost here for real. And we don't even know what "it" is yet. Not really.  

I think I could cope a lot better with some Kung Pao shrimp and a fortune cookie.

Being home is no problem.  I like home.  It's not knowing when I can get together with my friends that I have difficulty with.  The days are flying by, with work keeping me very busy.  I haven't done any game playing, book reading, or house cleaning. I do find that I'm looking forward to and feeling slightly guilty about the evening stroll after I've signed off the computer. It feels so daring to walk out into the fading spring sunlight.

The days are getting longer, the crocuses are up (and some gone by), the daffodils are doing their thing, and the forsythia is lovely.  This is my favorite time of year.  The birds, at least, are ignoring the whole Covid-19 debacle and just doing their birdie thing.  There's a lot to enjoy.

The uncertainty is disconcerting, though.  We've never been through anything like this.  Any of us.  It feels very much like being trapped in the pages of a Stephen King novel.  So far we have not much to complain about.  There's food, the house is warm, I have good company.  It is just the weirdness of the whole situation that gnaws at me.

If we had a date when it would be over and life would resume the way it used to be, we could "pace ourselves" if you know what I mean.  We'd have something to shoot for, the way we have just enough energy to get to the last day of work before a vacation, but not a day more.  But  we're in free fall and no one knows enough about anything to be a comfort.

Just as the last few years of being constantly angry has left us weary, we cannot continue to lead our lives in a state of panic.  We have to take a step back at some point and try to relax a bit.  Ironically, we have to "breathe through this" one day at a time. So I'll continue to sing in the shower, and find silly memes to share,and spend too much time on Face Book. And to practice social distancing until it's safe to stop, because this bad boy is not kidding around.

It's been one of those days again.  Apparently England and Wales are closed.  Their clown said so.  It's snowing here and my poor, trusting crocuses wouldn't take my word for it and now they've probably had it. And somehow my office finds so much to keep me busy at home that my head is spinning, in spite of the fact that I'm the receptionist. THE RECEPTIONIST! I need Fred Rogers.  I need comfort.  A fuzzy robe.  A dessert that's really bad for me.  Possibly a glass of some adult beverage.  I'd throw a pity party, but there's that social distancing thing and no one would come.  So let's channel Fred.  He always knew what to do!

I never met him, unfortunately.  I did watch his show faithfully every afternoon in the commuter lounge when I was in college.  The world is, and always has been, desperately in need of a warm fuzzy father figure just like him, particularly when things get scary. Who else is always kind, always loving, always telling us he likes us just as we are?  OK, Jesus, but besides Him?  I am not despairing.  I don't "do" despair.  But I would dearly like to have a hand-knit-sweater-encased shoulder to rest my weary head on for a bit. Then I realize that I'm the grownup and it's my turn to be that to everyone else.  Nuts.

But if there's one Fred Rogers possible, there must be others out there in training to take his place.  Unflappable, dependable, steady, wise, and caring people.  That's what we should all aspire to be.  Little Freds.  Meanwhile I shall take solace in a glass of sherry (don't knock it until you've tried it), and my fuzzy robe (a present from my younger son this past Christmas ...and doesn't THAT seem like twelve centuries ago?), and the fact that Sir Patrick Stewart is reading a Shakespearean sonnet every day on Face Book.  Even taken all together it's not Fred Rogers, but for now it will have to do.

Every morning (except when I'm working from home for unspecified periods of time due to the end of the world) my alarm goes off at 5AM.  Well, it's not REALLY 5AM because I have every clock in the house set ahead by anywhere from ten to twenty minutes.  The one next to the bed is fifteen minutes  or so.  After 29 years of marriage Himself doesn't look at the clocks. He only trusts his watch.  Who could blame him?

I don't fall back asleep once it goes off.  I lie in bed, turn on my brain, and begin my morning prayers.  You might think that I should be kneeling next to the bed, or at least sitting reverently, but the Deity knows the conditions of my knees and His/Her hearing is pretty good.  S/He seems willing to indulge me.  

There is a very precise order.  I bless the immediate family and ask for their health and happiness and protection.  This covers my husband, my kids, my father-in-law, my siblings and their kids, all mentioned by name.  Then I move on to my litany of friends, first male, then female in a specific order so I don't forget anyone.  Then it gets tricky.  There are the prayers I promised for anyone with a problem or an illness.  That takes a while.  Then comes the list of relatives and friends who have passed away, and in addition to the usual crowd one would expect at my age,  I have a depressingly long list of very young to youngish friends who have slipped away to the other side when I wasn't looking.  And every so often someone gets moved from the living friends to the non-living friends and it takes weeks to get that memorized because it's a new order.  Then there's the state of the world, the children in the cages, the poor, the immigrants.  Well you can see this goes on for a while.

Without this routine in the morning, though, I feel as though I am not doing my part.  That if anything horrible happens it's probably because I took a short cut. Because I really do believe in the power of prayer.  In addition, it is a wonderful way to touch base with all the wonderful people I know.  As their name comes up I will realize it's been a while since I've reached out, so I make a mental note to call or write.  And for the ones who aren't here to write to anymore, it's a chance to spend a minute holding their face in my mind and feeling their love in my heart again.  You wouldn't want to start a day without doing that.

It is not terribly fashionable to admit to  an active prayer life, I suppose, but just as I don't think about re-charging my cell phone, this practice has become how I charge myself.  It's a scary world these days (OK, it always has been) but there are also so many things for which I am grateful, and I take time to list those things, too.  So by the time my feet hit the floor it's probably closer to 5:20 in the real world (or "Atomic Time" as Himself likes to say) but I feel a little less worried about many things.  So what's an extra twenty minutes?  Or thirty-five if you want to get technical about it?

I've had enough of the Not So Great Depression.  I'm tired of worrying, of being afraid, of eating legumes and rice.  I'm tired of it all.  So today Himself and I put the Christmas tree back up.  At least the neighbors will have something different to talk about. It will be lit every night until this is over.  Then I put on my Mrs. Claus outfit and face-timed a 4 and 7 year old who were driving their mother the tiniest bit closer to distraction. They were relieved when I told them the reindeer were in no danger of catching the virus.  Then I told them to read, read, read, and keep up their school work.  I'm pretty sure her husband was a little taken aback, but hey, it was a break in their day.

So here is an attempt to find anything positive about the current Covid19 Craziness.  For one thing, I get to sleep later.  I like that.  I like not having to wear a bra to work.  I like taking a walk at noon with Himself.  I like video-chatting with friends.  I never did much of that before. The home made meals are nice, too, although we usually do that anyway.  I like having Himself around all the time to talk to.  It's like a rehearsal for retirement, and so far we're doing pretty well.  I am having fun writing my blog again for the first time in a long time.  I didn't touch it at all last year.  I was too depressed about the political scene.  I've never had a company laptop before.  This means more actual "working from home" but I'm getting pretty good at figuring out how to split the screen and enter data and all sorts of nerdy things.

It's a wonderful opportunity to take stock.  What really IS important in our lives?  WHO is really important?  How little can we live on?  How strong is our faith? What can we do to lighten the load everyone is carrying? These are all questions I should ask myself more often.  The answers change as we get older, and I like my current answers more than I liked the old ones.  For the past...oh let's call it three and a half years....there has been so much nastiness in the air.  Now we are all fighting the same enemy. Well, more or less.  But the Governors of several states have been doing a very fine job of sounding like sensible, trustworthy, and informed grownups.  It's a comfort.  Shout out to Cuomo and Baker! :)

So go for a walk.  Breathe deeply.  Calm down.  Stop having those "driveway parties" with your neighbors.  (We can all see you are not six feet apart!!) and if the spirit moves you, deck your own halls.  

This whole ride is not unlike a roller coaster.  At the moment things are moving slowly, and one of the problems many of us are facing is boredom.  We are inching ever so tediously to the zenith, chugging along over each bumpy rail.  The office is closed.  The church is closed.  The stores are closed. The schools are closed. The moment of stomach churning terror, however, is not very far away if we can judge by what has gone on in China and Italy and England and elsewhere.  It's coming, and there's no jumping off the car now. We are firmly buckled in.  I have never really been a fan of coasters.  I've never seen the point of putting one's life in danger for pure entertainment.  You won't find me in line for hang-gliding, bungee jumping, or shooting the rapids either.  This time we don't get to choose.

In spite of the never-ending reports on the news, I cannot imagine what it's going to be like when it really hits.  I'm doing all the sensible things.  I wash my hands thoroughly and often.  I avoid going to the store unless it's absolutely necessary.  I'd like to say I avoid touching my face, but that's so automatic I don't even know if I do or I don't.  But there are people out there who are not being as "sensible" and they scare me.  My octogenarian father-in-law is one of the most sociable people I know, and he does not seem to be taking this as seriously as I wish he would.  He goes to the store just to "see what's going on" and to talk to complete strangers about how they are all dealing with the novelty of social distancing. He drives twice a week to play Scrabble with his friend.  Is he going to pick up the bug that kills him or us?  There's no way to know, but I wish he would knock it off. 

We are not a nation of "loners" generally speaking.  For those who do live alone, by choice or by chance, this separation has been a frightening eye opener.  We can't go for "retail therapy" if all the stores are closed.  We can't tell our news to the hair-dresser or the barber if they've been forced to shut their doors. We can't stop by the local pub and talk to the bartender when we are not allowed inside a restaurant or a bar until this is over.  At least this is the age of the internet.  Neither of my sons lives at home now, but I do get to see my elder son in San Franciso,  attempting to grow a beard as he works from home, and to see my younger son pace like a caged tiger when  we video-call his off campus house, a mere thirty minute drive away, but it might as well be on the dark side of the Moon. 

To my comfort and relief there are people out there trying to talk us off the ledge with poetry and common sense and humor and faith.  Much of it helps.  Some of it makes me laugh.  I love them all for trying. Because these are scary times.  Don't throw your hands up in the air as we take the top and just scream. That won't help. Hold the crossbar for dear life, take a deep breath, and pray as though your life depended upon it.

The picture is of Anne Frank's hiding place, and the feeling, for me at least, is not dissimilar.  I know this disease is out there crawling the streets and the markets and the gas stations like some biblical monster, but I haven't seen it yet.  It is getting closer. I can sense it. Last night my younger son told me there is a case at his university.

The good news is that a friend gave me some wrong information this morning that turned out to be a large blessing.  She told me a local market was opening to "seniors" at 7AM, and Himself and I threw our clothes on at 6:35AM, grabbed a cart in the parking lot and went through the "Exit Only" door which was the only one that seemed to be open.  No one was there except the staff stocking the shelves who explained that they didn't open until 8.  I apologized and continued shopping, perfectly happy to wait an hour until someone would be on the register to ring up the order.  Then a few other confused souls wandered in and some poor lady had to start her shift early to get us all out of there. I was home before 8:00.  My Guardian Angel continues to get combat pay.

It feels like war time out there.  Everyone is a little suspicious and very wary.  I bumped a collaborative elbow of a woman in the market and then we realized what we had done and looked at each other in shock. In the middle of celebrating our good luck and fortuitous ignorance we scared each other by touching elbows through two down coats.  The cashier had a tiny cough.  I held my breath as she rang me up.  The new normal.

I'm keeping the radio off except for music, because bathing in hysteria is not good for my spirits.  I check the news once in the evening and then grab a book or turn on something silly and soothing to watch on TV.  At the moment it's "Last Tango in Halifax".  Shakespeare it ain't, but it gets the job done.  I have to pace my nerves.  This is going to be a long haul. 

While the office kept me hopping long distance yesterday, answering frightened employees and forwarding phone calls, and paying bills, it is much quieter today.  I have a chance to sit and think about how good we've had it for so long.  About how much a hug means.  How precious a glass of wine is when shared with friends. The joy of stocked shelves and overwhelming choices. The peace of sitting quietly in church, waiting for Mass to start.  There are so many things for which I have forgotten to be grateful.  I am not fool enough to think that I won't take all these things for granted again.  I will.  It's human nature.  But I have a new insight into why during the 1950's and 60's, long after the Depression and WWII, my parents were still careful not to waste anything, and were never quite comfortable and snug in the world again.

These are scary times.  When the news of the Corona Virus in China first broke, I would listen absent-mindedly to NPR as I ironed my clothes for the day.  I felt bad for them, but I wasn't afraid.  It never occurred to me that this would become our problem, too.

Last week we were told we would be working remotely "as a test of our preparedness".  No big deal. One day.  Then we got an e-mail saying it would be the next day, too.  And now we enter the first full week of working from home (those lucky enough to be able to do that) and there is no real end in sight.  We are told to keep at least six feet away from anyone with whom we do not live.  That's a very hard thing to do, especially for a "hugger" like me. The stores and restaurants are closed.  The Catholic Church is not offering public Mass until further notice.  People are panicking and stripping bare the shelves of grocery stores, but instead of the "milk and bread" frenzy so familiar to those of us who regularly weather snow storms, it is now a rush on "toilet paper and hand sanitizer".

Luckily, my husband is working from home, too, so at least I have company.  He works upstairs on his computer and I work downstairs in the living room on mine.  Occasionally we break for a cup of tea and once a day we take a walk together.  He still does his 7 mile run (on his own).  We speak to our children every day, but it's on the telephone or by video call when we're lucky.  They're bored and invulnerable.  They are worried about their "elderly parents" (I guess that's us, although it doesn't feel like it).  Meanwhile my father-in-law is 88 and it took all the courage I had to invite him to share a shepherds' pie with us last Sunday.  I don't know if I was more afraid that I would infect him or he would infect us.  The trip we had planned to bring him to his father's birthplace in Ireland has been indefinitely postponed.

Today, for the first time in a week, we went to a store.  I needed blood pressure medication.  And cookies.  And a couple of bars of really decent chocolate as long as we were there.  We are planning a quick run to the supermarket tomorrow.  We will divide the list in two and attack like Ninjas, quick in, quick out.  I assume that the earlier in the progression of this disease we go, the fewer infected people we might encounter.  That's the theory anyway.

So for the next little bit at least, we will cross the street when we see our neighbors walking our way. We will bow our heads to nod hello and maybe give a wave.  But we have become afraid of each other.  Not everyone is taking this as seriously as they should.  Saint Patrick's Day was proof positive of that, not to mention spring break photos from Florida. Not our kids.  Others'.

I'm not sleeping well, and in spite of a faith which has always been rock solid, I have to remind myself constantly that we're not alone in this; that He hasn't forgotten us.  I lie awake some nights thinking that someone I know will be snatched from my life by this disease in the not too distant future.  I lie awake wondering who it will be.