I’m Not Going to Write About Coronavirus Anymore (or any less)

I’m not going to write about the pandemic this week. I mean it. I’m not going to elaborate on how this crisis is affecting every area of our lives. We all know that. And I don’t believe it’s truly all there is to talk about these days.


Things are re-opening now, so it makes sense we should start looking ahead, not fearing the second wave we feel sure is coming now that everyone is out and about again. The weather is changing for the better, and we should focus on that, not on how overcrowded the bike and walking trails have become.


I’m not going to write about the silly things, either, like the twinge of panic I still get when I finish another toilet paper roll or use the last Clorox wipe in the can. Or how I’m no longer sure if my “good jeans” fit because I’ve been wearing my comfy pants since this whole thing started.


It might be kind of fun to list all the oddities about this stay-at-home time, like how my husband hasn’t gassed up his pickup or ironed a shirt in seven weeks. Or how we’re saving money by not going out, but running the dishwasher daily.


It’s tempting to write about the creative things that have lifted my spirits lately, like walking around my neighborhood after our recent spring snow and seeing more snowmen than I’ve ever seen in my life. And snow dogs, and rabbits, and wolves, and whole families of snowpeople. Or to write about the paintings and photographs that have brought tears to my eyes, or the thrill I received listening to the cast of Hamilton sing together on Jon Krasinski’s Some Good News internet show. It would be in keeping with the themes of this blog to say how grateful I am that art and creativity are keeping us sane right now, but I promised I wouldn’t write about the pandemic.


I’m definitely going to avoid words that are now part of our daily conversation: COVID-19, lockdown, shelter-in-place, unprecedented, curbside pick-up. I’m most certainly not going to talk about my love-hate relationship with Zoom calls or how I still can’t get used to wearing a mask. And there’s no point saying yet again how much I miss being in the same room with someone other than my loving husband.


Nope, I’m not going to write about the virus or how I predict we will or will not change because of this bizarre experience. I’m certainly not going to wax poetic about all the wisdom we’ve gained. And it goes without saying that our hearts continue to ache for all those experiencing serious loss at this time.


So, let’s talk about something else, shall we? Um . . . I cleaned out my fridge yesterday as I listened to a live-stream benefit concert. Also went on an extra-long walk because I didn’t want to go back inside. Had a good dinner, too, and discussed the book I just finished thanks to the extra time I’ve had lately. That’s not corona-talk, right?


There have been moments in the past few weeks when I managed not to think about the virus, mostly when I was focused on making final changes to the Spanish translation of one of my children’s books and the stage play adaptation of another. My creative work can take me away from here for a bit. But it never lasts long. This pandemic and all it has brought create the first clear thoughts I have each morning and the last prayers that cross my heart each night. It’s what I don’t want to write about anymore, and the only thing I can write about.


Okay, so next week, I won’t write about the virus. Or maybe the next. We’ll see.


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