Corona Letters #49

 Life almost feels normal.  You can almost forget.

My husband and I are sitting on the outdoor patio of a restaurant eating lunch.  It's a beautiful fall day.  Cars are whizzing by on their way to the shops behind us.   Patrons at tables near us are laughing and enjoying their lunches.   It seems like just an average, fall day.  That is until the waitress comes over in a mask.

Oh right.   I almost forgot.

We've been living with the pandemic for about 6 months now, and by "we" I mean the world.   When our collective worlds came crashing down around us in March, everyone quickly retreated inside their homes, drew their shades, and hoarded toilet paper.   It took us a while to emerge.  We were scared and everything was so unknown.   A trip to the grocery store was an event that required pre-shopping preparation, shopping in our own versions of haz-mat suits, and then there was the post shopping de-contamination of ourselves and the supplies we purchased.  There was a good solid month or two where the grocery store, or the drug store were the only places we would go other than our own backyards.

Then two things happened.

1.  The weather got warmer.   The weather getting warmer allowed us to be outside for more than five seconds and allowed us to start considering leaving the boundaries of our property, by foot, by bike or some other means.   We wore masks and were wary of encounters with other pedestrians but we kept our distance and prayed that was enough

2. We learned things about the virus.   We learned that wearing masks does a fairly good job of protecting ourselves, as does washing our hands, and keeping social distance.    Observing these safe practices allowed numbers to go down in the states and countries that honored them.   We also learned that it was unlikely (not impossible) that we would get the virus from picking up a box of cheerios at the grocery store that was touched by an infected person.  "Viral load" was a thing and it allowed us to relax a little in some of our de-contamination processes.

The warmer weather and the increased information about contracting the virus allowed us to interact with the world a little bit more freely.

So we did.

Slowly but surely we emerged from our cocoons and trepidatiously started trying to interact with the world as safely as we could.

There were backyard, socially distanced get-togethers.

There was outdoor eating at restaurants.

There was going to the beach.

There were even attempts at vacations (more domestic than international) and whatever that looked like in this new world.

I have to say we adjusted pretty quickly.  We adjusted so quickly and well, that you can almost forget for a minute or two.

But then you see a waitress in a mask.

Or talk to your friend who is a very concerned teacher, not knowing if she will be able to adequately teach, and stay healthy under the current circumstances.

Or your friend who is the parent of a child in K-12 who doesn't know what the right answer is, or if there is one.

Or your own child who is begrudgingly and painfully ZOOMing her way through college.

Or you remember that the reason you and your husband are out eating lunch is because he has been working from home for six months and is home ALL THE TIME so you can do these things.

And then after you pay for your meal, you and your husband get in your car, take off your masks and drive 100 yards to the urgent care clinic.   You park and a nurse walks out to your car and you pull down your masks so she can shove a giant q-tip up your nose and tickle your brain.   She's testing you for Covid-19.  You are being tested not because you are sick but because you want to visit a nearby state that requires proof of a negative test from people from your state.   

On the way home your nose and your brain? kind of hurt from the test.  You look out your window and see people waiting in line at the local ice cream place.    As you wipe your nose the thought occurs to you that life ALMOST looks normal.  

Then you notice a small boy, maybe five, trying so hard to eat ice cream through his mask.  It's a messy affair.

(picture downloaded, not actual photo)

ALMOST normal, but not quite.