These are strange and perilous times. There lurks a deadly disease for some of us who are older than age 60, that is compounded by any underlying health issues that suppress immune systems.
I am in almost self-imposed isolation, sequestered with my 46-year old son Jacob in his Huntington Beach, California, one-bedroom apartment. He is generous. I get his bed. He’s on the blow-up in the LR. I am practicing how to be a good guest (this is like yoga, the more you do it, the better you get) and he is a loving off-spring.
How do we pass the time together? Respecting quiet. Working from home. Watching Netflix. Talking (a novel idea) about life and feelings. Just being.
We were invited to dinner at Holly’s house in Long Beach last night. Holly is Shelley’s mom. Shelley is Jacob’s girlfriend. The date was set several weeks ago. (Sidebar: After a 30-minute discussion about whether to go out to dinner at a restaurant on Saturday night, we decided to hunker down and cook at home. Social distancing is driving our lives.)
So, the opportunity to go to Long Beach is a welcome one and we go. I think I’m the only one who is the potential hot-potato, since I flew on an airplane last Thursday! But Holly went shopping at Ralph’s, so who knows.
We greet each other as if all was almost normal. No hugs. Elbow bumps and big smiles. (I absented to wash my hands in the bathroom several times taking extra precautions and counting to 20 twice.) Gin and tonics around the coffee table, nibbles of steamed shrimp and dipping sauce (except we are learning to take a spoon and put the sauce on a plate instead of dipping and re-dipping — but what about that pesky common spoon handle?).
Settling in with a good drink and leaning back on the cozy sofa, Holly presents each of us with a gift in honor of St. Patrick’s Day: a roll of toilet paper tied with a green bow. Now, this is love!
We eat corned beef, cabbage, boiled potatoes. We drink wine. We talk about future travel. I bring my favorite gluten-free dessert made earlier in the day: nicuatole. All seems almost normal.
I am scheduled to fly to North Carolina on March 24, but as we know all things are fluid and changing minute-by-minute. Perhaps I’ll stay here a while longer. Who knows?
Stay healthy. Stay safe.
P.S. Yesterday, the California governor officially declared all bars closed. So happy I brought three bottles of mezcal with me from Oaxaca. Jacob is doing a beer run later and will work from home. We are cozy.
P.P.S. This is allergy season. I’m monitoring every sniffle and cough. I touch my forehead. Do I have a fever? Do I have it or is this a normal reaction to spring? I imagine you may be out there doing the same thing.
