The neighbor right across the street has cleaned out her basement. That created in me a couple of fairly simultaneous reactions: (1) I should do that; (2) I'm not gonna do that.
But it's been interesting to me, so far, to see what's been going on around us. I should say that we haven't been out much the past couple of weeks: a trip to the grocery store for a pickup, some afternoon walks around the neighborhood. But I have noticed a few things that are a bit out of the ordinary ...
I had no idea that so many people had dogs. And, oh, are those dogs getting some exercise these days! Since I haven't had a dog in many years, I've lost the ability to read their facial expressions (if, indeed, I ever had such a skill), but some of them seem to me to be thinking We're not doing this again, are we?
A lot of birds are back. I hear mourning doves early in the ... morning. And Joyce and I are hoping they will not nest where they've done so the past few years--on a precarious spot on our garage. I mean, we love mourning doves, but their favored location is not the safest one. (Little ones have been on the ground more than once.) But, hey, location, location, location, right?
I've seen a lot of people on bicycles--of all ages (well, not all). They zoom up and down our street as if it's just a normal spring day. Insouciant and patently hopeful.
It's odd to see kids out on the streets in the middle of a March week. They should be in school, of course, and although I know most school systems are quickly converting to online classes, it just ain't the same--not for them, not for the teachers. (A career teacher myself, I cannot imagine having to do this, and I know I would grieve for the loss of all those interactions in class--well, maybe not all of them).
Lots of people are also out walking--Joyce and I among them. Since the two health clubs in town are closed, and since most people are at home all day (with the temptations of cupboard and fridge and freezer), some out in the streets are desperately trying to keep from having to make ... adjustments ... with their belts, with their clothing--I among them.
I'm really trying hard not to eat too much. I have two problems: the Dyer genes (we have one labeled FAT), and one of the meds I'm on, a med that makes weight gain ridiculously simple. So I'm not eating at all between meals, and when I do have a meal, I take no seconds, award myself no giant portions, or take from Joyce's plate what she doesn't want, etc.
I see people working in their yards, too--raking up the detritus of winter, weeding, standing to admire the emerging daffodils, the upward green pokes of future day lilies and irises and others. We haven't done much in that regard--though we do have a lawn service (I gave up mowing years ago), and they came by last week and spent a delightful hour with their leaf-blowers; it was, of course, the very hour I was trying to nap.
Some are sitting on their porches, barking greetings to pedestrians. I know: Barking seems like a fairly harsh, even judgmental, verb/participle. Maybe I picked it because of all the dogs around? Of course, the pedestrians have to return the bark--social distancing, right? You can't go up on the porch and schmooze and booze and whatever. (I'm kind of grateful for that--I'm a bit of an isolate. A good way to be these days.)
I just saw a baby carriage with two young parents go by my window. I can't imagine the parents' terror.
It's a beautiful day here in Hudson, Ohio. And Joyce and I will slip out later for our walk, moving far aside when we encounter other walkers coming the other direction.
And now I'm off for a late-morning nap. I'm trusting the lawn crew has no further noisy business here today.
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