I need a haircut.
I’m a couple weeks away from taking things in my own hands with sewing shears and I figure grey roots will have made an appearance by then too.
But a seat in my beloved Drake’s styling chair is a metre too close for us both in a social distancing era.
This strangest of times, this science fiction life, has taken hold in just a week.
I’m supposed to be at a birthday party tonight. The invitation arrived a week ago. Cancelled.
Next week, a memorial service for my pal’s mom: cancelled.
My own birthday dinner will likely be Chinese take away from up the road. If they’re still open.
I went to the pharmacy yesterday to pick up a prescription plus some bandaids for my hands that are cracking from all the requisite hand washing and sanitizing. A note on the door said to knock. I knocked, the door was opened, I asked to come in and was told to stay outside.
But I need bandaids, I said. And eye drops.
Stay there, we’ll get them for you. And that’s how things are being done in my corner of the world.
A text from Daughter #2 in Ottawa about a dream:
I dreamt we got a chicken so that we could have a steady supply of eggs. We named her Penelope but started calling her Pandemic Penny.
That sent me to the supermarket where, sure enough, Pandemic Penny panic had cleared out the egg cooler.
In Australia, where she is recovering from wisdom tooth removal, Daughter #1 dispatched her hubby to the store to stock up.
They now have a fulsome supply of Spaghetti O’s.
At least they’re soft, she sighed.
So, like most of you, we’re home. We’ve taken delivery of a heaping pile of mulch and topsoil that’s in the back yard waiting to be redistributed. I’ve read – I’m reading a lot these days – a dog’s sense of smell is thousands of times greater than that of humans so Herbert is happy as a pig in you know what.
I could use some new clothes to go with that haircut I’m not getting, but I did shave my armpits this morning (can you not keep some things to yourself? asks MrWI64), so I’ve not gone totally hobo.
But really, what mattered just weeks ago is a non-issue now. I figure we’ll all be looking pretty ragtag by the end of this.
Meanwhile, daffodils are blooming, cherry blossoms are blossoming and, with schools closed for the foreseeable, there’s the happy sounds of children in the air.
We’re doing stuff like this:
Stick fetching. Lots of stick fetching.
And breathing in the beauty just down the road.
I’m taken by how measured people are being in this crisis. They’re reading, they’re taking up new skills and returning to old ones. They’re walking their dogs and texting their friends and staying kind and upbeat. I think they’re even driving more slowly.
It’s the weirdest of times and we’re all, every one of us, in it together.
So tell me, friends, how are you marking time in your own splendid isolation?