SIX WEEKS INSIDE

Six weeks ago we shut the front door and put away the car keys. Here’s how it’s gone down since.

My black leggings are stretched to the max and need a new (uh, larger) waistband.  ASAP.  Mr. Wonderful has lost, and found, his glasses 218 times. We’ve binge-watched every Netflix series aired since “House of Cards.” My pantry deserves hallelujahs from Marie Kondo. And today I made orange jello for dessert — the first time I’ve made jello since 1982. 

We have stayed tight to the hearth here in our new digs. Okay, we did sneak out a couple of times, masked and gloved and in a helluva hurry, to Shields Meats, Bradbury Market and the post office, and bathed in Purell the minute we got home. Otherwise, for the past nearly 50 days, it’s been him in his sweatpants listening to Fox News in the second floor loft, me in my PJs watching MSNBC in the first floor garden room, separated by our personal DMZ. We are still happily married. Amazing.

During these shut-in days, when even a Jehovah’s Witness knocking at the door would be greeted with enthusiastic elbow bumps, my vocabulary has grown. I now casually spout words like Covid and PPE, fomite and social distancing, remote learning and ventilator.  (I always thought a ventilator was an air conditioner. Now I know … and I do not want one.) 

Best addition to my vocabulary is the word ZOOM. I leg lift, down dog and pelvic pulse as fabulous fitness instructor Leigh Olsen cheers on her students via Zoom and FaceBook. (Thank God for the water breaks.) 

Once a week, Mr. W. and I join a “Beach Cocktail Party” late in the day with couples currently bivouacked in Canada, Florida, Montana and Maine. It’s like most cocktail parties — everyone talks at once, some people drift in and out (which has nothing to do with the Scotch or Tito being sipped) and words get lost or muffled over the din. But we’re not drinking alone. 

I spend hours prowling Amazon. Near daily the Smile Truck screeches to a stop out front and some hunched-over sweaty sherpa hauls in my blue-with-white-fringe deck umbrella, two 30”-tall bronze lamps for Mr. W’s Man Hole, cartons of Honey Nut Cheerios and humongous boxes filled with paper towels. (I could order rutabaga and turnips from Amazon too, if I liked them.)

But here’s the most important lesson I’ve learned during this hiatus — be patient. When you can’t leave your house without wearing a mask and gloves, when shops are shuttered and restaurants are closed, when you’ve got oodles of free hours while stranded at home, patience is not just a virtue, it’s a necessity. 

This will not last forever. I’ll eventually get out of my rump-sprung leggings and step outside to bask in the sun. And it’s beginning to shine again. Want proof?  Aunt Rosy’s daffodils are starting to bloom. Hooray! They always come through.  

Soon, I hope, I can hug my grandchildren again. And walk the beach with friends. And share lobster rolls with pals at our dining room table. I don’t know when, it’s probably not tomorrow or next week, but it will happen. I’m patiently counting the days.