Quaranscenes, part 1
I'm sitting on my sofa at 11:47 on a Monday morning. It's not an altogether unusual occurrence: this is about when I make myself something for lunch and plop myself down between projects and chores.
But today, I'm not alone in my house. Buzzing around me are three girls actively staving off boredom. One has claimed the kitchen as her domain today and the house smells of popped corn. The other two are shuttling various objects from the garage to a bedroom...gym mats, laundry baskets...a beach chair has now made the trip there and back. I've lost the ability to care when it will all go back to its rightful place.
My bedroom has been transformed into a fully functioning office as Matt conducts his business at a folding table. As he spends his day on the phone with people concerned about their ability to retire, only a thin sliding glass door separates him from a never ending loop of Broadway music, Disney songs and FaceTime dates in the toy kitchen.
With the exception of the increase in laundry & dishes, it's sort of idyllic, if it wasn't also sort of apocalyptic. Apocidyllic?
Like everyone on earth, our lives of 3 weeks ago are unrecognizable. We were on a high from a whirlwind weekend in New York City, sharing spaces with thousands. By then the drug stores were sold out of hand sanitizer, but the city felt no different than any other time. We sat in theaters, ate in restaurants, flew on planes.
We've been self-isolating for about 10 days now, when schools closed and we were able to circle our wagons. We've watched the world get canceled. We've had our groceries delivered. We've taken family walks, family swims, played family games, eaten 3 family meals a day. I've been alone for a total of 20 minutes. Girls have a lot of words.
These are weird and confusing times. There are a lot of things we don't understand, mostly related to toilet paper. Maybe writing will help me process it.
But today, I'm not alone in my house. Buzzing around me are three girls actively staving off boredom. One has claimed the kitchen as her domain today and the house smells of popped corn. The other two are shuttling various objects from the garage to a bedroom...gym mats, laundry baskets...a beach chair has now made the trip there and back. I've lost the ability to care when it will all go back to its rightful place.
My bedroom has been transformed into a fully functioning office as Matt conducts his business at a folding table. As he spends his day on the phone with people concerned about their ability to retire, only a thin sliding glass door separates him from a never ending loop of Broadway music, Disney songs and FaceTime dates in the toy kitchen.
With the exception of the increase in laundry & dishes, it's sort of idyllic, if it wasn't also sort of apocalyptic. Apocidyllic?
Like everyone on earth, our lives of 3 weeks ago are unrecognizable. We were on a high from a whirlwind weekend in New York City, sharing spaces with thousands. By then the drug stores were sold out of hand sanitizer, but the city felt no different than any other time. We sat in theaters, ate in restaurants, flew on planes.
We've been self-isolating for about 10 days now, when schools closed and we were able to circle our wagons. We've watched the world get canceled. We've had our groceries delivered. We've taken family walks, family swims, played family games, eaten 3 family meals a day. I've been alone for a total of 20 minutes. Girls have a lot of words.
These are weird and confusing times. There are a lot of things we don't understand, mostly related to toilet paper. Maybe writing will help me process it.
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