Breaking into that last package sent me over the edge. We were cooperating. Hadn’t been out of the house beyond our daily walks in the park for almost two weeks. When we finally did go out foraging, we found food. It was the empty shelves where the paper goods belonged that made me pause. I am not normally an anxious person but desperate times, etc. etc. Frustration dreams about not being able to navigate a familiar building. Awake brain at 3:30 am playing Doomsday scenarios. I finally got one package by standing in line with the other Geezers waiting for the grocery store to open for Senior Hours. Anxiety alleviated. A bit. Stay healthy, my friends. And stay in touch, but not tonight. I need some sleep.
On the days I am able to feel grateful for the quiet time, sleeping late, walks in the sunshine, returning to my writing routine, and time with my husband, this pulling back feels like a gift. Maybe even a miracle when we needed one for the world. But on the days when I’m not sure how long our toilet paper supply will last and the shelves are empty, I wake up at 2:30 am and can’t go back to sleep for all the places my anxious brain wants to take me. This awake brain reminds me I’m in the demographic group that won’t get the respirators. I didn’t finish the novel. Our estate plans are not in place. The baseboards on the bottom floor are filthy. I regret losing contact with my cousin. No one will find the place where I hid my mother’s wedding rings. I should have gone skiing one more time. These days don’t feel so miraculous. But there is Love in the Time of the Pandemic. It’s complicated. Life has always been in the details, now more than ever. I am grateful for peanut butter, daffodils, spring sunshine, good books, red wine, and staying in touch with friends. And so much more. I am finding my small miracles.
