Hermetically Sealed

The campus of the private school where I’m holed up with my family is eerily deserted. Usually as spring break ends, the high schoolers return to campus and on a lovely early spring day would be tossing frisbees on the Great Quad and shouting greetings to their friends. Instead, the only sound accompanying me as I walk my granddaughter in her stroller is birdsong, welcome enough on the odd warm day leading up to April.

These days are strange indeed. Since I’m in the at-risk age group, my daughter and son-in-law have forbidden me to go to the grocery store or pharmacy. Each day requires a plan to keep almost-4 year-old C occupied with activities ranging from science experiments to art to reading to chores to playing soccer or tennis in the basement playroom. He needs the stimulus of his classmates at daycare, but that’s not happening anytime soon. One of his favorite activities is going to the library — who knows when we’ll be able to go back?

His parents, K and J, are working/teaching from home, a complicated dance necessitating tag-teaming child care. Teaching students who have retreated to their homes all over the US and the world requires a different kind of planning. Though the campus “lockdown” is scheduled to last till the end of April, we suspect it will extend to summer break.

One upside to the deserted campus: C is getting a lot of practice on his “pedal bike” without having to worry about cars.

The past few days have been rainy and raw, and those are the worst, with abbreviated trips outside just to get fresh air. We’ve pretty much exhausted the thrill of looking for signs of spring, though we’re still excited about the fox that appears from time to time in the yard in the morning; everyone has seen it but me. C observed today that Felix doesn’t come out on rainy days.

It seems as if we’re living in a state of suspended animation, waiting for something to change. The news is uniformly bleak, but I still follow it assiduously, as it feels like my only connection to the outside world. I worry about my friends who have small businesses, especially those who provide personal services. I ache for the people on cruise ships that aren’t allowed to dock anywhere. And most of all for the front-line healthcare workers and emergency service personnel whose lives are at risk every day as they toil with inadequate personal protective equipment.

How will COVID-19 change our lives permanently? Will it be for the better? Will we do a better job taking care of each other?