This is So Much Fun

There’s a plague. It is sudden and shocking. Of all the things we’ve imagined going wrong in our lifetimes -- wars, cybercrashes, terrorist plots, terminal illnesses, stock market collapse, the death of democracy-- this we were not expecting. Isolation? Quarantine? Social distancing? Really?

My phone rang. Rare event, and not “Scam Likely” 

“I’m calling everybody over 60 to tell them to stay home,” my doctor said.

“No stores, no restaurants.” 

“I thought that was just for sick people,” I said, pretending to be disappointed. 

“Nope. This is prevention.” She’s a good doctor, and actually a tad psychic, even though she is young enough to marry my son, which somebody should.  Sometimes we talk about shoes. We both love great shoes. Also we both have flat feet, so that’s actually a medical conversation.

“Oh, alright,” I muttered. And then I said something supportive about what a tough time it must be for doctors, calling people on a Sunday, and begging them not to show up at the office. 

“Gotta stay home,” I told my husband, hanging up on the doctor who refuses to even meet my son. 

“No Sun Guilt!”  he saiid. “Halleluiah!”

What is Sun Guilt, you wonder. What happens here  in the Pacific Northwest is that after months of gray drizzle, the sun stays out for four months in a row, 120ish days nonstop. So do most of  the people. Therefore, the twelve of us who are not Outside People develop a thing called Sun Guilt. While there is sun, we ought to be in it. But we don’t have that much fun out there. Unless there’s, you know, outdoor shopping. Like a sidewalk sale. Or a craft fair.

This is kind of embarrassing, but I’ve never been an outdoor person. I figure if you’ve seen one tree, you’ve seen ‘em all. I would never get up early to put on boots and spy on a bird in a marsh. Fishing….with the hook, and the slime, and the victim staring at you from both sides of his/her head?  Disgusting. Hiking in big clunky confining boots with blister-making interiors? Not me. 

You see, when that strange yellow squint -inducing disc appears in the sky, most of us Pacific Northwesterners get very excited. Everybody rushes to the nearest window, which after 8 gray months is sorely in need of Windexin

But sun means--go outside! Grab your snowboarding pants, your Nikes, your Columbia fleece, your Dri-Fit socks, your bicycle helmet!  Get your pickleball racket, your ultimate frisbee, your croquet mallets!

More embarrassment: for weeks, I have been secretly wishing I could stay home for days at a time. I have too many clothes, and they need weeding. I have a stack of unread New Yorkers. I have a stunning and growing collection of beads which I adore weaving into bracelets which nobody buys.

 I am working on two  novels at once, which are not progressing at any impressive rate. I have an adorable husband who is also retired, and I like hanging out with him. I am also in my 66th year of learning French, so I want to be working on that. I have a journal I rarely scribble in.  See? Inside stuff. Deep inside. 

But most normal days I feel compelled to work out, volunteer at a few places, do grocery runs, and take water serobics. Also I love shopping as not just a joy, but a mission. I’m part  of the crusade to save brick-and-mortar retail from destitution. I like happy hours, movies in theaters with reclining seats and really buttery popcorn, and dinners out.

Lately, all those things, socially satisfying as  they are, have been getting in the way. Because all I want to do is stay home. So this isolation thing -- it works for me. I’m almost afraid that my recently hatched desire to huddle in with crafts and books may have actually caused this to happen. But I’m cool. So far. It’s only been 9 days.

Here’s what I’m already tired of: reading the Coronavirus news. And yet I am hooked like the above-mentioned fish. I’m becoming tired of the media telling me what to watch on television/streaming services. But I write it all down. (Yes, with a pen, on paper.)

At this point I am still reveling in the joy of calling friends and finding them available to talk,  But…..I feel that soon, we will only be talking about the Coronavirus and things to watch on television. Might as well remain mute. 

I’m loving the challenge of coming up with meals composed of whatever’s in the larder or freezer. But my imagination wanes as the variety whittles down. Any day now, we will go from carefully balanced protein plus veg, and then a fruit dessert, to a steady program of 

macaroni and cheese out of a box, followed by a shared quart of ice cream, also out of a box.

And then there is the philosophical question about booze, pasta and ice cream. I am over 70. I was planning to die soon anyway, so must I be svelte when I do it? Must I be sober? Can I take up smoking again?

But hey-I’m cool with this. And not really scared. Just loving the life of day movies and night reading, or vice versa, interspersed with attempts to phone my children, who, by God ought to be answering the phone. 

And I’m not the least bit bothered that my enviable shoe collection is collecting dust. Shoes are overrated, right? 

It’s actually really fun to research travel sites and call insurance companies to see if we can get any refunds on the European vacation we would be packing for right now. And I don’t have to wonder what to pack. I usually agonize over that. What a relief!

Really, there’s so much to do here at home that I hardly have time to go out and walk. And again, if we are about to die, why bother? 

And so, my dream of long hours at home, reading, beading, cleaning and Instagramming, has come true. I could do this forever! And I just love it. I really do. Honestly!  Sure.