On March 1st, I got concerned enough to start asking a few beloved elders if they had two weeks of supplies. (They did.) The next day, I stopped touching my face. Last week, I stopped going to restaurants. Monday, when I left the office for my two regular work-from-home days, I thought I might not be back for a while.
I was a little ahead of most of the United States, and, over the last 48 hours, much of the rest of the country seems to have caught up with me. It is, oddly, a relief: Finally, people with authority are taking this virus seriously. Kids are being sent home. Museums are closing.
I don’t know what this next phase of the pandemic will be like. I don’t think anyone does. I know I’ll be working from home, doing a lot of embroidery, watching a lot of Netflix, and calculating and recalculating the contents of my cupboards. I know a lot of people will have it a lot harder than me, so I’ve sent money to the Capital Area Food Bank and So Others Might Eat, and I hope, if you can, you’ll donate to them or to organizations near you doing similar work.
This new virus is already a tragedy. Thousands of people have died. But I deeply hope that what many of us here in the U.S. are doing now, all of this hunkering-down that is the responsibility of the regular person, will prevent thousands and thousands of other deaths.
Here goes, everybody.
Embroidery and photo: Helen Fields
Thank you, Helen.
I was about to say “we’re with you”—which is true, and also underscores both the many dimensions of that word “with,” and the particular lack that comes from being physically separated from other humans. It is an interesting time, in the positive and negative senses of that phrase. As we meet it, I wish you and everyone here a measure of contentment, many small pleasures each day, and continued generosity and imagination.