The New Normal

As of today--I've changed my beloved daily routines.

I most certainly don't want to do this--I love my routines. I'm so regular about many of them that I used to joke that a hit-man would have no trouble whatsoever locating me. Finishing me off.

Well, unfortunately, there is a hit-man on the loose, and you know perfectly well what it is.

I am in a particularly vulnerable group: I'm seventy-five years old, and I've been dealing with cancer for fifteen years--an up-and-down battle. So ... I don't want to make it easy for Mr. COVID-19. There is, of course, a possibility that I'm already infected but just have not yet manifested any symptoms. We'll see. But I do not want to go out anymore--do not want to take the chance that I will pass it on to someone else (if I have it)--or receive it.

It's a tough time for everyone--a horrible time for many.

And so ... no coffee shop in the morning, no glorious sunrises to see through the window in front of me, no friendly encounters with the gracious, generous owner and with her wonderful baristas, no meet-and-greet with other regulars there, no sessions with former colleagues, former students, no brisk walks to and fro (about the only exercise I've been getting in my current state of dizziness), no reading-taking-notes-writing at "my" table, no return visits after lunch, no conversations then with my good friend Chris (we save chairs for each other--a debate rages about which of us is the more ...effective ... at this!), no more reading-note-taking-writing-laughing-grieving-about-politics-with-Chris).

And no leisurely trips to the grocery stores on Sunday morning--our custom of many years. (If we have to go, and we surely will, it will be at a speed that even the Flash would have to admire.)

No visits to see our son and his family in Green--no visits here from them. Awful.

No impulsive trips to the restaurants we love: Dontino's, Zeppe's, Aladdin's, Parasson's, Thai Gourmet, Cafe Tandoor.

No Friday/Saturday Night at the Movies.

No Great Lakes Theater Festival (we're season ticket holders).

No bi-weekly visits from the wonderful young women who do some housecleaning for us (Clean & Simple--they're great)--though we will continue to pay them even though they're not here.

No ...

... Well, you know. You're going through versions of the same things.

We may occasionally do a drive-thru somewhere--but cautiously, cautiously so. We may go for short walks outside on decent days--got to let my body do something besides sit and read and stream and sleep--got to let my mind do something other than worry and construct doomsday scenarios...

And here's another (minor, minor) annoyance: Trips to and from the coffee shop--and my time at the coffee shop--have long been occasions for me to (silently) rehearse the 200+ poems I've memorized. I do not want to lose them: It took Too Damn Long for my wobbly memory to accept them in the first place.

So ... this morning ... I did my Monday Morning Set right here at home. Not fun. Not at all.

Here at home, I also did my reading. Did my note-taking. (It's Arthur Phillips' 1st novel, Prague.) Later, I'll write some stupid doggerel and upload it to Facebook for the "enjoyment" of my FB friends.

And I'm going to keep pounding away at this blog (Dawn Reader) and my other one (Daily Doggerel).

But today? I missed the sunrise, missed the coffee shop, missed those who work there, missed my friends ...

But ... Joyce is in the house. We are somewhat safe here. And so ... deep gratitude is a phrase far too frail for what I feel.