|Cool homemade mask--a|
surprise gift in the mail
from a wonderful friend.
Yup. It's been awhile. Five weeks according to my count of staying in, staying close to home, not planning to wander far afield. The last couple of weeks have been mostly rough--still feeling angry at the douchebags without masks, worried about a future that increasingly feels more uncertain than the previous, putting feet forward and engaging with my day even when I would prefer not to.
|Dowan likes to relax|
while I exercise.
It's been a week of joining the home delivery movement, having some things brought to us rather than venturing to where people breathe and touch things. We found a restaurant foodservice delivery service (Altamira Doorstep
) that is now doing retail, and they delivered as promised; we no longer worry about finding all purpose flour, whole wheat flour, tamari, and some other random things we weren't finding. Rather than stressing over toilet paper, Nan orchestrated our order of a case from a local Denver company Western Paper Distributors
, and has been distributing it to our neighbors. And then, due to a weekly happy hour with a friend, my liquor supply, which isn't very large, has dwindled, so I easily ordered online from Argonaut
, including my summerly gin purchase. So, yeah, I'm good to go.
|I made my first ever cherry pie|
from scratch. Still firsts to be had.
And now, it seems, that as long as I adjust my head to procuring things differently, it is not such a narrative of loss, but more one of change. My local farmer's market, my steady date most every Sunday morning May-October, is moving to an online ordering system from farmer's market vendors, with a neighborhood alley pick-up Sunday afternoon. Our tomato guy
, where we wandered amidst small greenhouses last summer to choose, is now offering online ordering and pickup in May. Options exist. I just have to shift my expectations a bit.
It's a mix, fuzzy lines of emotions. I can throw silent tantrums about how I don't want this change, how I want to have a carefree summer, how I am bitter every time I get a cancel notice for some future event. This summer won't be like summers past. This fall won't be like past ones. This year won't be like the past. And next year. I cannot imagine that far for now.
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