At the edge of a yard in my South Minneapolis neighborhood sits a pair of cast iron mallard ducks. To the delight of passersby, their owner dresses them in seasonally appropriate attire. During football opener, the ducks sport Viking purple. In February, heart sweatshirts. I’ve seen them wearing straw hats and Hawaiian leis in midwinter and carrying American flags on July 4.

A few weeks ago, the ducks were dressed for the pandemic, with white masks stretched adorably, but poignantly, across their bills.

Now however, they have changed into gardening outfits. One carries a tiny rake and bag of leaves, the other a bough of wisteria.

The ducks are moving on, and soon we will be, too.

My pandemic job has been to stay home. While others have been treating the afflicted and providing essential services, I’ve faced the diaphanous challenge of filling long hours at home. It’s been odd and irritating, but I’ve learned to cope–and to change.

My husband and I have been running errands together, something we previously considered inefficient. Every week, we deliver supplies to my mother in her new care center (thankfully, residents are virus-free) north of the city. Then we loop back to our neighborhood grocery store and adjacent bakery, returning home in less than an hour, thanks to incredibly light traffic. I will miss that, but this week, my husband has been busier and I’ve begun venturing out on my own. It feels good.

I take walks with two neighborhood friends several times each week. Like ducks, we proceed in V formation, six feet apart. Each week is both warmer and greener, and that hour or so of activity anchors my day.

As shelter-in-place rules were coming down, an immigrant friend twenty-five years my junior texted, “I can make your grocery shopping for you.” I was touched, but have felt comfortable going to the store. Seven weeks in, I am still exhilarated—penne! paper towels! shower cleaner!—when I find something I didn’t expect. Our food supply chain is amazing!

When our house arrest began, I was due for a haircut, but that appointment was cancelled and I wondered what I was going to do. In my twenties, I used to cut my husband’s hair, and now we’ve decided to be each other’s barbers. We’ve been through two rounds and are still speaking to each other. A subtle blessing, but I’ll be relieved to see my usual stylist, hopefully sometime soon.

I am apparently not alone in enjoying the lack of social pressure. In the New York Times, Larry David commented, “I will say that the lack of invitations, OK, that’s been fantastic.”  A confirmed introvert, I no longer fret that someone hasn’t gotten in touch, or wonder if I’m being remiss in not seeing a particular friend. I don’t feel like a loser on Friday and Saturday nights if I don’t have plans. And the “share the peace” handshake in church, which I’ve never liked, is probably gone forever.

I’m also grateful for gratefulness. The brilliant work of nurses, doctors and other health care workers has been an overdue revelation. And a bright contrast to pandemic wreckage is the Minnesota spring, early this year. It is surely the most colorful and fragrant ever—or am I simply noticing it more fully? Whatever, it fills me with hope.

Inspiration characterizes almost every quiet day. It is a joy to observe the leadership of governors from Washington to California to Ohio. Tim Walz has been calm and competent. And Andrew Cuomo’s hard-hitting, heartfelt updates are a crucial, reassuring part of my day.

I’ve discovered that extra time, even when it’s bundled with boredom, brings forth new ideas. Well-rested, I generate new writing, sketch out future trips, and plan possible home improvements. Like many others, I am trying new recipes (Turkish poğacas recently), and I even started taking an online class: Renaissance Art History!

Every day I check pandemic happenings in other states. How is California doing? What about Louisiana? New Jersey? Reading about acts of selflessness around the nation makes me realize how much we all have in common, and I’m daring to hope we might finally appreciate the role government plays in our quality of life.

As I write this, I look out my window and see folks walking and riding bikes. My neighbor is carrying a leaf bag, just like one of those iron ducks. I’m glad change is coming, but don’t want to forget the subtle blessings this quarantine, these forty or so quiet days, has provided.

 

For more reading, go to:

https://www.nytimes.com/2020/04/13/opinion/covid-gratitude.html