We spent a few days in self-imposed exile in one of the most fabulous cabins we have ever seen. It is truly an amazing place with all of the charm of a 1820s log cabin and all the modern conveniences that make exile and isolation so pleasant. We made the reservations before the emergency. They were honoring their commitment and we needed a change of view. It seemed like destiny.
In our haste to get away, we forgot a few things. Nothing we couldn’t live without. However, Corona Virus has changed the appearance of everything. Even simple things take on gargantuan proportions. Life is twisted around the ritual of everyday, routine becomes spiritual, mundane becomes transcendent. We decided we weren’t prepared to do without grated cheese, scallops and a bottle of wine.
There were several small towns only a short drive from our isolated, lockdown paradise. All that remained was to decide which store was going to be easiest. My wife loves Kroger, sometimes when she is having a rough day she will just walk the store on her lunch break. She finds the bargains and achieves her Zen Satori. Kroger was the only choice.
It looked promising when we pulled into the parking lot. There were a few cars, mostly packed in close to the entrance. Clusters of metal insects gathered around the two entrances. Along the edges were several cars, probably employees.
We parked in the no-man’s land between the extremes. Parking is so much simpler if there are no other cars around. The real convenience of social distancing.
Walking into the store I was struck by how effective the message from the Ohio state government had been. I stayed away from everyone. We walked around picking up a few things, my wife would choose, hand them to me and I would keep my eyes open, watching everyone, everywhere.
When people got too close I would grab my wife by the back of her sweater and pull her to a safe zone, at least six feet from the intruder. She wasn’t too happy about it. Sometimes she got a little hostile, but social distancing is everything.
People were everywhere. There was no escape. I could almost see the virus, it was climbing on them, looking for the next victim, calculating distances. Less than six feet, time to jump. It was almost clairvoyance. I could smell illness, a scent of hopelessness, fear, dread. It was everywhere, people were crawling with it, consumed by it. You could watch the battle play out across the faces of the people braving the grocery store in a battle for survival. Good vs evil, dark vs light, hope and despair, it was terrifying and beautiful. I was fascinated and repulsed at the same time. Maybe the government had done a little too well in my training.
We managed to get everything we needed, and a few things we didn’t really need. It took a lot of observation and maneuver. We got trapped between an aluminum foil display and a giant Easter basket made from 12 packs of Pepsi and Mountain Dew. When things seemed bleakest there was an opening in the parade of shoppers and we darted through. As we danced around the person stocking the sandwich bags, the tuck and fold kind, on sale, 150 for $1.59, (which would be a good deal if we were still packing lunches to take to work) he sighed and clucked his tongue with annoyance.
While we were there we decided to make some comfort food, Denver style. Ground beef Vienna boat is a favorite of ours from the old days. We had to stop making it because our sons didn’t like it, but they are gone and we are free to eat whatever we want.
We made it back to the cabin, opened the wine, made some dinner and did a little reading. I was tired, but it was a good sort of tired, and I had lived to shop another day.
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