It seems like it has been longer, but today, we marked 100 days sheltering in place as the Corona virus besieged us. And today, this 100th day, the same city that it brought to its knees reopened on its first phase to a slow return to work.
I look at those 100 days as a “gestation” or “incubation period where we New Yorkers were retrained and molded into a Corona virus weary city. I have never washed my hands so many times in a day — and I’ve sort of become an expert in sewing curves and top stitching after trying out several mask patterns. (Still a work in progress..)
I am less afraid to walk out the door now, but I’m not quite there yet where I can say I’ll go out tomorrow after doing errands today. I know that not everyone shares my sense of caution, which is why I remain vigilant.
Tomorrow, I’m backing my third bread pudding — trying out yet another recipe. When my bananas ripen, I will make my 4th loaf of banana bread. I’m trying to pull the brakes on the wanton disregard for calorie intake — and I admit I have quite a couple of pounds I can do without. But like our reopening, I’d like to take it one day at a time.
I’m trying not to get too stressed out by prospect of returning to work. I keep telling myself that while I welcome the chance to go back, I am not dying to do that — literally and figuratively. I still can’t sleep well. It takes a determined effort to drift off, even when my body is crying for sleep. But I have managed. I shouldn’t be complaining — my son and I have been luckier than most.
Sure, I have been cooking more, but I have always enjoyed watching my son enjoying a home cooked meal. It still warms my heart that even pre-Covid, he preferred my cooking to ordering out. He would normally relent only to give me a break from cooking during those days when I was too tired or running late to muster a decent meal in time. We have even taken to eating dinner together in the dining room, watching a favorite show together.
100 days and so many lives lost. I’m praying that the numbers don’t go up again.
I’ve gone back to art journaling — and today, for the first time, i wasn’t sewing masks. I was actually working on a pair of lounge shorts. They appear to be too big for me, but I’m happily finishing the project to send to my sister if it turns out too wonky to wear. And then I’ll make one in the right size.
I’m hoping to work on other sewing projects and finish my masks in the process. I think I’ve settled on a workable solution to the ties, and to date, I’ve tried a half dozen finished masks and have been tweaking them based on how they performed.
I’m still trying to figure out how I will make the labradorite cabochons I’ve been collecting into a statement necklace. I want to create some pieces soon — both for me and hopefully, the shop as well.
You’d think that life is just as it was. But it isn’t. I’ve done well staying home 2-3 weeks at a time. I’m trying to make that every 1-2 weeks now… baby steps.
I’m reading more on current events. I’ve even subscribed to the New York Times online.
Going out, though, has conjured a whole new set of routines. Where I used to be able to go out with just my wallet, the keys and my phone, these days I wear a crossbody bag with my money, disposable gloves, sanitizer and phone go. I don’t bring a purse, and I don’t bring my entire wallet. I no longer have to worry about make up — maybe save for a touch of eyeliner. I still put on the sunblock, of course.
I cross the street to walk away from people who I see have not heeded the call to wear face coverings outside. Where we used to give smokers the look, those mean looks are now reserved for those who refuse to listen and show their compliance.
It’s a new world out there. We
I am grateful to have survived the last 100 days. I hope that I will continue to be safe in the next 100 days, along with my son. I’m hopeful for a better 100 days, even if I know it’s a long and hard climb for all of us. We will adapt and we will cope and we will learn.
Life goes on.