www.goingitaloneshort.com
This is the beginning of my discontent. Each morning in the time of COVID. Floating into the consciousness of a new day. The predawn hours. My emotions seem to awaken first so that I slide into them like a musty old wool black coat even before my eyes open. Heaviness. Despair. Dread. Knowing sleep will elude me. Particularly now since even my dog, Aggie, has settled into this rhythm, this early waking. She jumps off the bed and shakes a greeting to the new day. Eager to explore the backyard for remnant scents from night critters.
What would I do without the dog? How long would I lie in the bed, not being able of finding any reason to move? For some reason, on this particular morning, I lie for a few moments recalling a part of a dream I woke from. Some food has fallen on the floor. Someone sitting at the kitchen table bends over to retrieve it and my mother says “Kiss it up to God.” “Kiss it up to God.” How apropos of the detritus of our lives? This virus reminds me of Poe’s Masque of the Red Death: it lurks disguised in the ruins of our days.
I rise from bed and reach for my faded pink coffee-stained robe. Let the dog out before filling the kettle and setting it on the stove. Open up the medicine drawer and count out my prescriptions and supplements. Then there is Aggie’s medicine to prepare. 1 ½ pills wadded into a dab of her favorite food (she races into the kitchen from the back yard as soon as she hears me open the top of her medicine bottle.).
Each morning the same.
Measuring out the coffee into the French press, I recall how morning coffee was once a ritual I enjoyed. Sitting over coffee reading the news. Back in the pre-COVID days, the pre-November 2016 days, when it felt safe to read the papers. When headlines weren’t so horrific.
I take my coffee to the couch and watch as the sky lightens. I embrace the concept of gratitude. Just this week, I have had dinner with my daughter and her partner; my stepdaughter came by to plant late-blooming flowers along the side of my house. I met a friend for a socially distanced walk. Tomorrow, I meet another friend for her birthday lunch at the recently opened Amy’s Drive Through just up the freeway. I text and Facetime with old friends regularly. Still, the sense of isolation permeates my days. So many of my friends fill this void with social media, losing themselves in Facebook and Instagram for hours each day, finding connection with old friends and far-flung family. I have my books and my French lessons, my yoga and my French lessons. The daily newsletter I pull together for the village. It’s not enough.
Finishing my coffee, I slip into yesterday’s clothing, leash up the dog, and head out to the school field up the street. I remind myself to stop to smell the lavender which blooms along its periphery. The campus itself reminds me of a famous picture of an abandoned Chernobyl playground. A moment frozen in time. A blue and green sign at the entrance once reminded students that Wednesdays were “Walk and Roll” day: the sign pictures kids walking, on skateboards or bikes. A white banner on the backstop at the little league field has become partially detached; it dangles and dips in the morning breeze. A single dusty black sneaker lies abandoned in the dugout. A poster promoting a Disco Dance Party last March remains on the side of the main building. We are the only ones on the property.
I return home by 8:15. Aggie wants to lounge on the flagstones in the back yard. I fetch my eye pillow and lie down on the couch to see if I can sleep a few more hours, something that rarely happens. But this particular morning I do succeed. When I reawake I don’t feel quite so depressed. I brew a cup of caffeinated coffee, call the pharmacy to see if Aggie Pocket’s script has been filled. Take the sheets off the bed and start a wash. File my nails. Decide to get in some yoga.
When I next look up at the clock it is only 11 o’clock. The dread seeps in.
Kitchen Table Kibitzing is a community series for those who wish to share a virtual kitchen table with other readers of Daily Kos who aren’t throwing pies at one another. Drop by to talk about music, your weather, your garden, or what you cooked for supper…. Newcomers may notice that many who post in this series already know one another to some degree, but we welcome guests at our kitchen table and hope to make some new friends as well.
