NEW NORMAL

It’s a beautiful spring day, preternaturally clear and bright—or so it seems to me, since the sky is freer of smog than at any time within memory. I’ve opened the back door and bathroom window, creating a gentle cross breeze as I work at my desk. Because it’s been cold recently, Ella and I have been cloistered—with windows closed and curtains drawn, both of us working so hard that we’ve barely been aware of our surroundings, which have gotten especially cluttered. Some days, we forgot to change out of our nightgowns until our evening walk. But now—at last!—I feel I can relax, having finally sent the pdf of The Poof! Academy to Kindle Direct Publishing. A proof should be in my hands within the week. Gee! I’ve only waited fifteen years to get this book published!

Not only do the skies have a rarefied clarity, but they say on the news that animals not normally seen are venturing out onto the otherwise vacant city streets all over the world— and dolphins are swimming up the canals of Venice—while we humans listen to the mounting death toll from the cornonavirus—as of noon today, over 51,000 in the U. S. and 194,000 worldwide.

And what is my new normal? Instead of house-made granola from Fat Apple’s restaurant, and fresh salads from Ladle and Leaf, and deli favorites from Market Hall like Moroccan chicken and fresh raviolis, everything I eat is pre-packaged or frozen. (Ella hates to cook, and I, with my bad back, can’t.) Almost daily, I eat a chopped salad of raw broccoli, cauliflower, and cabbage from Trader Joe’s, partly because its lemony dressing is the only one I’ve found that I actually like. I’ve had to go spelunking in the back of the freezer for ancient entrees, covered in frost—inside, under the cellophane. Meanwhile, endless trails of cars are lining up at food banks around the country. I know I have it good.

I mindfully wash my hands throughout the day, and swab down my keyboard and mouse with a wipe each morning. (The latter is only possible because Ella was finally able, after five weeks, to procure a canister of Clorox wipes at CVS—by ascertaining the delivery day and showing up when they opened.) Washing my hands in the bathroom involves soaping the faucet handles at the same time, since my hands might have been contaminated when I turned on the water. In the kitchen, where there’s a single movable handle, I have a different solution. I turn on the water by pushing the handle upward from underneath with the back of my hand in order to keep the top of the handle uncontaminated at all times. Also, I have a rule: if I’m washing my hands to touch food directly, I dry them with a paper towel; otherwise, I use the hand towel hanging on the refrigerator. (When Ella arrived at Trader Joe’s at 8:00 a.m. yesterday, they were out of paper towels.)

The worst part of sheltering in place for me is not being able to swim and do water aerobics, which have been my main form of exercise for decades because, with my fibromyalgia, I kept injuring myself when I tried anything else. Now I’m having to explore new ways of working out on our Aerobic Rider, which had been gathering dust, also for decades.

And how do I feel about all this? Well, maybe my leg says it best: I often find it swinging back and forth with a fitful energy, as it’s doing right now.