It’s March: finally. It’s also Mardi Gras. And it’s snowing: of course.
In my house there aren’t any wild parties or colorful beads. Instead, I’m doing my best to isolate the Husband in his bedroom – very hard in a small house in the middle of winter when it’s too cold to open windows for ventilation and we use a woodstove for heat and my arthritis makes it impossible to haul the wood inside efficiently. Yes, he managed to catch Covid, in spite of being careful and wearing a mask in public places. I’m blaming it on the Old Fart Tennis Guys, all of whom claim to be vaxed and boostered, but who knows? They don’t wear their masks while they’re playing, and they sweat and shout and huff and puff…
It seems that a number of locals have recently caught Covid; he’s been hearing from them ever since he had to call everyone he’s been unmasked around (see Old Fart Tennis Guys above) for the last week. I’ve consequently had to cancel my patients this week – might be next week too, depending on: 1. How fast he gets over this, and 2. Whether I come down with it. So I’m spending my days following him around with disinfectant wipes in hand, snarling at him to wash his hands wash his hands wash his hands not to touch anything I’ll also touch without first washing his hands, and stay the hell out of the kitchen!
He, of course, is wearing a mask – another set of hygiene rules that need constant repeating (don’t touch the inside and then something else without washing hands first, don’t lay it down on anything I’m going to also touch, don’t don’t don’t! And I’m wearing a mask whenever he’s not in his room and for at least a half hour afterwards. And my hands are so sore and raw from washing washing washing and handling disinfectant wipes that I’m slightly bloody.
It’s going to be a long, long week.
Here’s a Life Lesson: last Saturday I was thinking how much I’d like a couple of weeks off. (This was before Husband’s Covid symptoms appeared.) BE WARY OF WHAT YOU WISH FOR. This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.
If I’m clever, and don’t get sick also, I’ll use the time to tackle a couple of the piles of paperwork I didn’t have time to deal with last year when I was too busy dealing with my Florida friend’s stuff. I’ll read a couple of books and take a couple of naps – things I keep promising myself but never, ever, have time for. I’ll sort all the seeds that have come in the mail into groups: Plant Early; Plant In June; Flowers. Maybe I’ll go through the Files in the Fireproof Box and remove the stuff that doesn’t need to be there anymore. And start a pile of yard sale stuff. Maybe I’ll catch sight of the suet-stealing ravens: I’ve heard them several times this winter but not made it to the window in time to watch their thieving deed. I could edit the indoor plants and put the ones that really aren’t doing well into the compost.
I could……dust.
Or make a list of all the things I’m going to change when it’s my turn to be god. Or hunt for my magic wand, which I seem to have misplaced years ago. If I could find that, I wouldn’t have to wait ‘til it’s my turn to be god.
Right now I’m going to go heat some soup for supper.
I heard in passing on NPR a quick comment that there’s yet another new variant in the States, including NH and other New England states, that’s even more contagious than Omicron. I only caught part of the report so fact-check me on this, but they said it already accounts for – could it be? – 19% or more of new cases in NH. Don’t stop wearing your masks yet – it’s too soon.
Unless, of course, you want a couple of weeks off.
For the blog: herondragonwrites.blogspot.com 1 March 2022
All photos Deb Marshall
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