There’s not a lot to report on the neighborhood front. The virus was like this yesterday:
Six is nice. Saturday was 11, so I had to roll my eyes and still grimace a bit uneasily at the double digits. That’s my metric, for some reason. The parks were open this weekend, too, though the parking lots are still closed, and there were mounted police (yup, we have those here in West Seattle) at the beach. Apparently the new trend is something along the lines of “keep it moving.” Lots of signs with the condescending and parental-sounding “this is what six feet looks like,” plus encouragement to exercise at home, which was spelled “excercise.” My confidence runs low. They don’t want groups gathering, stationary, hanging out, etc. All I can think of is the signs along the shoulder on the highway that say “No Stopping or Standing.” When I was a kid we’d whip past those in our big van with the couch that converted to a bed, on the way to Wisconsin Dells or Myrtle Beach, and they always confused me: aren’t you already stopped if you’re standing?
Our not-so-dead-end street gathered, stationary, hanging out last night for a happy hour in the sun at 5:00. Kids have a way of increasing their numbers in the imagination – the 8 of them that were running around out there, aged 1 – 12, seemed like a mad pack of at least 12. Bikes and trikes whipping and weaving around the camp chairs, frisbees flying, balls bouncing. Eventually a game of laser tag broke out. “Stop covering your sensor!” “I’m not!” “You are, you’re going like this!” War is always ugly.
We dug amazing amounts of dirt from one place in the yard and moved it to another, for a patio we’re going to put in. Here’s a little “before,” for tracking purposes:
We’re digging out the hill behind the wagon. A wagon which is wholly unnecessary and obnoxious, but I was wooed by its gimmickry when I went in search of a wheelbarrow (not wheelbarrell, in case you’re one of those people), and I came home with that. I’ve certainly put it to significant use over the last couple of years, but it doesn’t store well, and it’s always in the way when it isn’t in use. A wheelbarrow could just be propped against the wall or hung up. This thing lurks.
It’s a little difficult to get going this morning. Sleep was good, and the coffee’s better. My wife had to get up abusively early, so I slept elsewhere and she started the pot before I got up. I’ve said that there’s nothing better than breezing by the coffee maker in the morning and just switching it on, but that’s not exactly true. It’s better when you’ve woken up to find out some else already has.
She’s been swinging for the fences and easily clearing the wall for 13 years now. I made a somewhat elevated meal for a late anniversary dinner on Friday night – some high level steaks that came packed in dry ice. I cooked them over charcoal and was reminded of how much more flavor comes out that way, as opposed to the gas grill. But the dry ice – my daughter asked me to “pour some into this bowl of soapy water:
I love having kids, I would have just thrown it away.
Saturday morning there were scones waiting for me (and coffee, natch) when I woke up. Some sort of (very worthy) answer to the anniversary steaks and grilled broccoli of the night before:
We ate every one of them before getting up from the table.
Sprung Broke is over, we’re back on our heads. The boy’s school sent an email yesterday saying something about “the bags you are returning to school.” I cannot remember any indication that we have anything to return to school. But the whole conversion to remote learning has been touch and go, and they’ve done a good enough job so far that I have no interest in registering this as being worthy of complaint. I’ll pack up some of the stuff he’s been working on and take it in when I go pick up his new learning kit for this week. If it isn’t right, oh well.
Look, for the record, I’m not wearing a mask. I just, I don’t know. I can’t get to a place, intellectually, were the absurdity of it is eclipsed by necessity. Maybe that makes me bad.
Your “homeless in Coronafornia” update for today:
Apparently no one cares about viruses now we are all
hugging and shaking hands it’s great
He played a scratch ticket, won $5, and was faced with the world’s oldest dilemma: Take the cash, or get another ticket? Imagine your life, if that choice actually carried legitimate weight. If risking that five bucks on another ticket was the difference between some food, and heading back to the busy intersection with your “anything helps” sign. Then imagine some mayor or governor telling you to wear a mask when you’re at the beach.
— Dig for your food, Comrade Citizen! —