Dispatch from Ft. Quarantine

As I write this, someone is doing my grocery shopping for me. I am reminded how incredibly privileged I am to be able to choose whatever I want to eat for the next week from an app on my phone and have it promptly delivered to my home. Thank you to everyone, especially the hourly workers, for making this possible.

It has been a week of sharp contrasts. A week filled with the joy of puppy-hood, of being around a creature for whom the simplest things—a romp in the grass, chewing on socks, eating supper—are causes for celebration. We could all take a lesson except for the chewing on socks part.

It’s also been a week for sober reflection. I feel like I’m still recovering from watching my fellow citizens wreak havoc and violence on the building that represents democracy, not only to our country, but to the world. Frankly, I’m terrified for what may happen at the Inauguration. As has been made all too clear, nothing is beyond the reach of the evil political forces raging war on this country right now.

And then as we were getting ready for bed one night, one of us got an email that we had tested positive for Covid. Huh? No, wait, that can’t be right, especially since the other of us had gotten a negative result earlier in the day. We’re fine, we feel great. We only got tested as a precaution because someone who had been working in our home called to tell us they were experiencing symptoms.

Lysol-ing bathrooms at midnight. Texting the few people with whom we had had contact in recent days. Getting conflicting messages—is it ten days or fourteen days? Is it from time of exposure or time of testing? Panic and fear and frustration that after doing everything right, the virus still found us, just like it did the millions of others who were playing by the rules. I remember seeing a friend’s post from early in the pandemic that said sooner or later, we’re probably all going to get it. True words.

So far, we remain symptom-free, thanks be to God. We separate ourselves with a guest room and second bathroom and use different tables for meals. We scrubbed every surface in the house, wear masks when we’re in the same room and are hoping for the best, knowing that so many around us don’t have the same opportunity to comfortably quarantine in their homes. Was the testing accurate? Who knows? We can only make decisions based on the knowledge that we’re given. Assuming the exposure date is correct, we should be on the home stretch.

If you would have told me a year ago that we’d be living like this, I wouldn’t have believed you. Or that going to church, singing in a choir, or enjoying a restaurant meal would be forbidden. That games would be played in empty arenas accompanied by the eerie computer-generated sounds of crowds. That national guard soldiers would be sleeping in the halls of the Capitol to protect the lives of legislators, and the celebration of a new President taking office would be fraught with danger. That 400,000 lives would be lost to a disease terrible beyond anything imaginable.

Huh? No, wait, that can’t be right. Bad dream, dystopian movie, could never happen here. But it has, and right now, our country does not feel fine, nor does it feel great. I just hope we’re on the home stretch with this, too.

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