the coronavirus diaries: week seven

One day last week, I woke up mad.

At first I was just mildly irritated because my husband had flopped around in bed rather than slipping out of the room quietly so I could sleep, but that irritation soon morphed into an anger that bordered on full-blown rage.

I was angry at everything.

Angry that I had no one to hang out with.
Angry at people for not reaching out.
Angry that I had no one (besides my family) to feed.
Angry that no one needed me.
Angry that my younger kids couldn’t pop over to my parents to get tutored or spend the night.
Angry that my older kids couldn’t get the regular, in-person college classes they were paying for.
Angry that I couldn’t make plans.
Angry at people for making light of the crisis.
Angry at Trump for being a dick.
Angry at the GOP for not stopping him.
Angry at our church for not giving more regular updates.
Angry at people for taking all the flour and baking powder (not that I needed any, but still).
Angry at myself for being powerless, uncreative, and useless.
Angry, angry, angry.

I knew my rage was fueled by fear and sadness, worry and loneliness, but that knowledge didn’t help any. Short on sleep (thanks, hon), I had no reserves.

All day, I was off-and-on weepy.

That same day I wrote an email to our pastor to ask if she knew of ways I might be involved. “Just …. trying to find ways to stay connected and useful to combat the sadness, rage, and loneliness (not to be dramatic or anything),” I wrote.

One thing led to another and now I’m doing some of the behind-the-scenes organizational work for our local homeless shelter. It’s hardly anything, really.

But it’s also not nothing.

Another thing that helped: a long phone chat with a friend who doesn’t bat at eye at my swearing, sobbing, and poor-me pity-parties.

May we all be so fortunate to have such a friend.

That night, I slept well (this time my husband was very careful not to wake me — he’s a fast learner, that one) and the next day my burning rage had lessened to a dull throb. Mostly, I just felt sad.

And lonely.

So I posted on my church’s facebook page that I was available to go on six-feet-apart walk-and-talks on our spacious, winding, country roads.

And then I felt terrible: What if people thought I was being careless? What if no one wanted to go on a walk with me?

Oh well, I told myself. If I got rebuffed, or ignored, so what. At least I’d spoken up. I’d tried. 

And guess what! So far three different people have taken me up on my offer! An hour or so in the fresh air, chatting about everything and nothing with another human being, isn’t much, really.

Then again, it’s not nothing.

And now, a few gems…
*It took a global pandemic, but now I’m calling my mom (Bon Appetit).

*If I made masks, this would be me (minus the Southern accent and smiles).

*Food safety and the coronvirus: a comprehensive guide (Serious Eats). My takeaway: There are not any special risks connected to food. Since the virus needs to get into your lungs, even if someone is covid-positive and sneezes directly on your salad (their example, not mine), it is unlikely to make you sick. The main risk is proximity to other people, not the food.

*The Love of God.

xoxo!

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (4.23.18), creamed honey, out of character, loose ends, the quotidian (4.23.12).

Jennifer Jo lives with her husband John and their four children on five acres in rural Virginia where she (kinda-sorta-maybe) homeschools the kids, gardens, bakes, and reads. You can find more of her musings and lots of recipes at her web-log mamasminutia.blogspot.com.