QUARANTINE LIFE: HUNKERING DOWN

Peace and quiet are treasures. 

No drama, no conflicts, no intrusions. 

I open the blinds each day, am grateful for the sunshine, and I smile. 

Every day, in the face of uncertainty, I’m thankful for God’s grace. There’s so much pain, trouble, and grief in the world—once again. 

Patterns, habits, plans, schedules, and procedures have changed.

I hope, pray for, and applaud those who are daily on the front lines. Even those who constitute front-line players, have changed. 

I’ll never look at a delivery driver the same way again. 

I realize that it hasn’t been difficult to hunker down.

I feel badly for people who 

feel restricted, stuck, and cooped up; 

who are going stir crazy in their own homes; 

who aren’t with the person or people they prefer; 

who are surrounded by people, but would rather be alone; 

who need to be in the street all the time; 

who need attention and applause; 

who clearly don’t understand what social distancing means; 

who think the coronavirus can count to 10; 

who don’t realize what they’re asking when, in their boredom, they suggest gatherings; 

who aren’t taking this pandemic seriously because being alone, in their minds, is unbearable. 

Nosy people are having the worst time. They’re trying hard to figure out ways to appear concerned, keep tabs from a distance, and if possible, invade your space. 

Those who are accustomed to giving orders to others, are struggling, too. In the absence of their subordinates, they’ve become social media supervisors— telling everyone else what they ought to, should, or shouldn’t post.

Its hilarious.

I know what the Governor’s order is, and complying is easy. My life hasn’t changed much. I actually like being at home. Look up "homebody" and there should be an 8x10 glossy of me. 

I could get lost in a painting, classic TV show, or film. 

There’s always something to do. 

I laughed when my daughter said, “You’ve been practicing for this.” 

It seems like it. 

I don’t mind my own company. 

I remember spending hours drawing on our back porch when I was little. 

Fast forward, and if you know me, you remember that I spent a lot of years inside as a caregiver— when there was no pandemic. 

I don’t know how many doctors and nurses told me how susceptible my Dad was to everyone else’s germs. “Everything he touches has to be clean.” Fortunately I come from a long line of women who should have had their own cleaning/de-cluttering/organizing services. 

I guess I am ready for this. 

Now, if only I could find some Bounty paper towels. Between Amazon Fresh, Instacart, and Peapod, I’m ready. 

Chatting with my daughter and knowing she’s safe, puts me at ease and puts the biggest smile on my face. 

After my Dad died, I felt out of sorts. I always felt as if I should be doing something, or going somewhere. I slept, but I couldn’t rest. It took a while before I stopped feeling some kind of way about being away from home. 

Maybe I’m still re-calibrating; recuperating even. 

All I know is that I feel as if I’ve been rescued, and safely planted in a cocoon of a community where serenity is in abundance. 

Help flatten the curve? 

No problem.