Quarantined in Coronado: Dear Pandemic Diary

Submitted by V. Turner

Dear Diary:

Record of Current Activities Today during rain and self-enforced quarantine.

1. Start nice cheery fire in fireplace.
2. Put out fire in fireplace. Clean out flue.
3. Start new, cheery fire in clean fireplace.
4. Enjoy cup of coffee while watching crackling fire. Wonder what’s new on TV. Flip through all two thousand channels. Twenty minutes later: Wonder what we have on DVD that I haven’t seen yet.
5. Clean out and organize DVD cabinet.
6. Find DVDs I didn’t even know we had.
7. Burn ex’s porn collection in cheery fire.
8. Notice interesting cookbook picked up at a garage sale five years ago. Discover interesting recipe, for which we actually have all the ingredients!
9. Begin assembling & preparing interesting new lunch. Set table with good cutlery, the crisp cloth napkins, the nice plates.
10. Serve interesting new dishes. Tastes… interesting.
11. Feed some of the remaining interesting scraps to dog. Toss the rest.
12. Mopping kitchen floor from doggy tummy toss-up.
13. Find website for Doordash restaurant delivery service. Order online.
14. Take out trash giving off aroma of the formerly interesting new dish.
15. Feed kibble to dog, who now needs a bath.
16. Bathe dog.
17. Take shower to wash off wet dog smell.
18. Bathe cat.
19. Lookup “Cat Scratch Fever” on internet.
20. Read Yelp reviews for “Pet Washing Groomers for both cats and dogs in Coronado”.
21. Mark a few for future reference.
22. Again look thru pile of DVDs labelled “unwatched”. Find P 91x exercise video.
23. Begin a brand new me.
24. Twenty minutes later: Wonder why no one on this video looks anything like me. And why that one legged guy is clearly way more fit than I will ever be. Reflect: Special effects aren’t just for Hollywood Blockbuster Movies.
25. Teach dog how to do “Downward Dog” Yoga pose while laying on floor after P91x session because, well, I’m down there anyway. Dog amused but non-participatory. Wanders off. Reflect: Dogs: Man’s Best Friend … or Foe?
26. While still on floor, spot multiple items buried deeply under couch: Dust, the pile of articles for our unfinished Family Christmas Newsletter, 2019, various cat toys, sock missing since 1943, backup set of car keys that Spouse swore I had, and other curious, marginally identifiable flotsam and jetsam.
27. Finish last Christmas’ newsletter by cut/paste bits from everyone else’s newsletters. Scan and email it out to family with warning about washing pets at home.
28. Retreat to kitchen for refreshment- too much caffeine already so looking to switch to herbal tea.
29. Throw out buggy old boxes of herbal teas and clean out kitchen shelves.
30. Check clock to see if it’s 6pm somewhere in the world where I know someone so I won’t be drinking alone during the cocktail hour. Sigh. Too early still.
31. Decide to backup computer. “Last backup done: Before the Fall of Roman Empire”.  “Estimated time to backup:  Two millennia.” Start backup, return to cheery fire.
32. Faithful furry companions curl up next to me. Life is good.
33. Doordash arrives. After driver leaves, open box.  Reflect: Clearly tipped too much: Order is incorrect. Actually looks a lot like that new dish I tried to cook. As aroma permeates home, dog hides in closet, whimpering quietly. Cat jumps into box, pretends to be owned by Schrö
34. Phone rings; leave food delivery box on table to find lost cell phone. Reflect: Million Dollar Idea: Teach all Rescue Dogs to find lost cell phones! Adoptions will skyrocket!
35. Spouse comes home early.
36. Spouse leaves early muddy footprints everywhere.
37. Mopping muddy footprints. Argument with Spouse.
38. Spouse looks in fridge for pre-dinner snack.
39. Spouse goes to bedroom to change for dinner. I help. Makeup with Spouse.
40. Reflect: Wonder where I can bet on the percentage increase in world population in November 2020.
41. Check computer (still backing up)
42. Try to buy diaper company stock using internet on phone to take advantage of anticipated world population increase coming in November.
43. Neighbors call to complain about loud swearing noises referencing crappy phone wireless internet access.
44. Spouse swears to neighbors that is what my singing voice actually sounds like.
45. Spouse eats interesting new food.
46. I watch Spouse carefully in case of repeat of doggy tummy toss. So far so good. But he has a different reaction.
47. Prayer line gives Spouse twenty Hail Mary’s, ten Our Father’s and a round of plenitudes in penance for new round of swearing, as well as, I remind spouse, lying to neighbor previously.
48. Four of us sit quietly watching a cheery fire.
49. Computer still backing up.
50. Turn on radio.
51. Find batteries for radio.
52. Listen to classical music while quietly watching cheery fire.
53. Dog whines quietly. Sounds like he’s humming along with the music! We didn’t know how much he enjoyed classical music!  He’s such a smart boy!
54. Mopping yellow liquid on floor.
55. Take dog out for walk in rain.
56. Computer still backing up.
57. On porch, find Amazon box; Delivery of great new books ordered pre-pandemic!
58. Mopping both dog and human muddy footprints.
59. Excitedly open box. Realize these are books, not ours, that should have been delivered to the neighbors on the next block.
60. I let spouse pick first from Amazon box.
61. Damp dog snuggles in my lap. Awww.
62. Quietly read great new books next to cheery fire, trying not to break the spine so we can give them back to neighbor who actually ordered the books. Love snuggling with our beloved, affectionate pets!  Glad neighbor has good taste in expensive new books. Yet another reason we like living here.
63. Must remember to bring neighbor cookies. Reflect: Probably don’t bring cookies from interesting new recipe.
64. Life is good.
65. Quiet reading.
66. Quietly poke increasingly heavy, damp dog in butt to get him to go to Spouse’s lap instead.
67. Cat intercepts; moves to occupy Spouse’s lap, lap in check. Even though wildly allergic to felines, Spouse plays cut-throat game of lap-pet-chess. Resolve not to underestimate Spouse in future.
68. Computer still backing up.
69. Chocolate craving begins.
70. Spouse and I eye each other, long, surreptitious, sidelong glances behind the book covers.
71. Spouse’s stomach growls audibly; Spouse loses point.
72. Chocolate cravings fill the room with tangible, unbearable lightness of being. Girl Scout Thin Mints in the freezer are actually singing alluring tales of great, promised delights, in Greek chorus to us, by name, like Odysseus’ Sirens calling to doomed sailors.
73. Someone in the room flatulates audibly.
74. Cat vaults, airborne, from room, feet never touching floor. Olympic judges give Cat 9.5/10.
75. Reflect: Cats: Valuable Early Warning Beacons or Useless in Emergency?
76. With heroic effort, my eyes stay glued to neighbor’s book. Infinitesimally tiny smile quirks the right side of my lips.
77. I lose the fight not to flare nostrils.
78. Regret flaring nostrils immediately.
79. Spouse opens window for purposes of aeration. He loses a point as first to get up. Also opens window on other side of house creating vacuum funnel; gains points for intelligence.
80. I smile, “Hey, while you’re up, can you grab us a couple boxes of Thin Mints?” Minor grumbling.
81. “And check the computer backup when you walk by, okay?” Louder grumbling.
82. Reflect: Spouses: Valuable Life Partners & Deliverers of Good Things or Grumbly Poopy-heads?
83. Freezer door opens, shuts. Cupboard door opens, shuts.  “Where’s all my herbal teas?”
84. Reflect: Life is a series of compromises.
85. Look up to see rain has blown in through both open windows and soaked the floor. Spouse loses points retroactively.
86. Reflect: How is it possible for the wind to blow from both directions on opposite sides of the house, simultaneously? Is there a door to an alternate reality that someone forgot to shut?
87. Mopping rain water from hardwood floor. Hand-dabbing rain water from carpet with crisp cloth table napkins.
88. Reflect: Could be worse. At least we’re warm and snug as a bug; quarantined virus-free inside our newly cleaned home. And we’re peacefully all together with those we love. Awww.
89. Horribly mud splattered cat jumps in through still-open window, jettisons across newly mopped floor, muddies newly damp carpet and scrambles up chair, slopping mud into computer keyboard. Finally, she ergonomically leaps off my ergonomically designed desk into the bedroom. She’s headed for the pile of clean laundry on the pristine white chenille spread.
90. “Backup stopped. Do you want to stop or continue?”
91. “Backup discontinued.”
92. Reflect: Despite what Jane Austin says, it is the more important Universal Truth that disasters always come in threes. Here, we have the appealing white chenille/fresh laundry disaster, vs. the Computer has been backing up for three hours and isn’t done yet disaster.  But what could the third disaster possibly be?  What to do first?  Where is Superman or Dr. Who or Hiro Nakamura or that Groundhog of Bill Murray’s when you need a dude to stop time, or even slip back just a few seconds?  Of course, not here. Never around when you need them. Sigh.  Let’s just HOPE they’re doing their job and sorting out the whole pandemic mess while leaving these more challenging issues to the minor super-heroes here in the home. We address the computer monitor first, while keeping a wary eye out for that little b@$t@4d, Disaster #3.
93. WHAT? How can that keyboard register BACKUP DISCONTINUED???? No one even touched it! What’s with THAT? Is that keyboard STORING & REMEMBERING a list of commands as they’re typed?  It waited until THE CAT is “typing” to activate THAT feature?
94. Reflect: Posit math problem: With an infinite number of cats on an infinite number of keyboards, how long will it take until they backup one of an infinite number of hard drives…
    1. 1. Answer: Probably not in my lifetime, or soon enough to be of any use whatsoever to our peaceful little home. Reflect: Math word problems are always often like that; useful in concept, not so much in application.
          1. For example, if it was discovered that, as I have always suspected and deeply theorized, black holes are responsible for sucking single socks out of our dryers, there would be a lot more research on, and understanding of, black holes in our grade schools. Historically, black holes weren’t even discovered until well after the invention of the average Maytag, so what does THAT tell you? Event Horizon THAT, Mister Repairman!
95. Reflect: To restart backup, or not to restart, that is the question. Is it nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous technology or, by merely depressing the power button, end them? With apologies to the depressed Hamlet, we opt to end them so we can deal with one disaster at a time. We’ll restart backup sometime in the next millennium. Take THAT slings & arrows!
96. With that resolved, onto the next issue:
97. Cat currently cleaning self under bed. No wounds evident. Current assessment: Non-disaster.
98. On to DN2 (Disaster number two). Separating muddy laundry from not-yet-muddy laundry. (Mathematically, it’s only a question of time until it’s ALL muddy. <Or, speaking Quantum-tatively: It’s all muddy all the time, or some of the time, or none of the time, simultaneously; that is, until a decision point occurs: such as Schrödinger’s cat jumping in through our window.> See Universal Truths, above. There’s a useful algebra word problem here somewhere, searching for job placement as an SAT question. The content will involve multiple factors such as bleach, colors, whites, blacks, three kinds of laundry liquid, various water temperatures, types of prewashes, excessive dog hair, and an alien invasion. )
99. Check clock for cocktail hour. I’ll settle for 6 o’clock in a city anywhere in the world with a first letter from the first half of the alphabet.
100. Check on dog. Still breathing.
101. Check on cat, again. Still breathing.
102. Check on windows. All safely secured against the rain.
103. Check on Spouse. Spouse sitting in front of cheery fire with dog, reading. And eating Thin Mints. WHAT?
104. Reflect: Wonder where I can bet on the geometric percentage increase in domestic assault statistics starting March, 2020.
105. Spouse looks up. “I saved you some,” smiling, hands me a full box. And a cup of decaf. And a glass of sherry. And my neighbor’s book.  I sit. Our pets snuggle next to us.
106. Reflect: Disaster Schmisaster.
107. Nice cheery fire in the fireplace.
108. Life is Good.
112. Under the couch, my cell phone buzzes. The dog jumps down, paws it out and shows us.
113. Reflect: We’ve chosen a self-imposed quarantine for today. We’re choosing not to go anywhere.
114. We choose to ignore phone.
118. Reflect: Bring it on pandemic. We got this! Next year you will be nothing but a memory of how we overcame and grew stronger; stronger as neighbors, stronger as a nation, stronger as humanity itself.
119. Page through old cookbook.
120. Nice cheery fire in the fireplace.
121. Life is Good.

– V. Turner