Post Pandemic Plans

Right around the time everything around here was closing, They started putting up signs in a newly-constructed building down the street that a Silver Diner was coming. To be honest? I'm not a huge fan of the place. I'm not a huge critic, either, though, and I understand that they have made an effort to locally source some of the ingredients for their mostly cooked from scratch menu, so that's a good thing.

And there's something about the place, maybe how close it is or how normal it seems, that makes me fantasize about walking down there for breakfast on Saturday, or stopping in after a run for some well-deserved meal. Bacon and eggs, burger and fries, milkshake-- I'll have it!

So every time I pass that way in the car, or on a walk with the dog, I note the progress. The Opening Summer 2020 sign has never faded or changed, in fact it was joined by a Now Hiring poster a few weeks ago. And just yesterday, I noticed that they had taken down the window wrapping, and there were actual people moving around in the classic chrome interior.

"They're going to open soon," I told Heidi.

"Would you actually go?" she asked.

"No way!" I answered. "Not until a vaccine." I sighed. "But then?" I continued. "I'm going every weekend!"

Another Break in the Weather

The western sky looked ominous as we headed out to run a couple of errands. Brigades of steel gray cumulus clouds seemed to be marching toward us. By the time we headed into the grocery store,  clouds like dark mountains towered up and up thousands of feet and gray wisps swirled just above our heads.

"That looks like it's trying to form some rotation," I said to Heidi as the glass doors whooshed behind us. There were not many other shoppers, but we all stopped when we heard the first rumble of thunder, because it sounded awfully close. Heidi and I were in the water aisle when the store went completely dark on the next crack. We could hear rain pounding on the roof as the emergency lighting flickered and then came on.

All the refrigerators and freezers remained dark, though. "I don't know if the registers will be up to check us out," I worried.

"At least the music is back on," Heidi laughed, and she was right; You Had a Bad Day bopped out of the ceiling speakers as we made our way to the front of the store.

There was no one in the self-check area, and every single monitor read Lane Open, so we went ahead and started scanning our groceries.

"Is that open?" an employee called from the service desk incredulously. "Is it really working?

We gave her the thumbs up, and soon everyone in the store was coming our way. We finished bagging our goods, and pushed the cart towards the only unlocked doors. It looked like a typhoon on Gilligan's Island outside, and stranded shoppers were huddled much closer than six feet from each other as they looked out in dismay.

"Let's wait this out in by the doors in Produce," I suggested to Heidi, and so we did, standing by the locked entrance, checking the weather on our phones, Rain!, looking for a bit of a break in the storm.

15 minutes later it was still raining really hard, but I'd had enough of waiting, so we made our way out to the breezeway, and I made a dash through no longer torrential, but merely drenching rain to the car where... the door wouldn't open!

My fob did not unlock the door either by touch or by pressing the button, and so I made another wet run back to where Heidi stood, and we returned to the store to problem solve. Eventually, I remembered that the fob has an emergency key within it, and I went back out into the rain, opened the door, silenced the alarm, and started the car.

Twenty minutes later, we were home and dry again. None the worse for wear, and not even a little bit annoyed, we watched the storm through the windows, eyes relaxed in the muted gray light. The walls and walkways were washed clean; the trees and plants seemed a little battered, but also plumper and greener. It's been a hot, dry summer, and any break is kind of a relief.

A Break in the Weather

"I heard there might be thunderstorms this afternoon," the lifeguard said casually as he passed us on his way around the pool to check the skimmers. He was almost successful at hiding a little grin, but the corners of his mouth and his eyes gave him away.

"I heard that, too," I said encouragingly.

"I'll get off a little early if it happens," he confessed.

"I know," I told him. "Fingers crossed!" And I meant, too, because so far? He's my favorite lifeguard this summer.

He nodded and smiled broadly as he continued on his way.

"I guess thunderstorms are like little snow days for lifeguards," I said to Heidi, who was a lifeguard for years.

"Hell, yeah!" she answered.

Watch the Birdie

There were only a few folks at the pool last evening when a young robin fluttered in. Still in that awkward adolescent phase between fledging and adult, its plumage was a bit of both, kind of mottled and tufty. "Is it sick?" asked our neighbor as we watched it hop curiously around the deck.

"Nah, it's just young," I shrugged.

A man swimming laps on the side nearest the little bird caught its attention, and soon it was scurrying up and down the edge of the pool, keeping pace with the swimmer. When he stopped at the ladder, the robin stopped, too, leaning in to get a better look. "Shoo, now," the man said as he climbed out of the pool, waving the curious critter aside.

But the robin was undeterred, and it followed the guy over to his chair and watched him towel off from a few feet away. When he stretched his legs forward and turned his attention to his phone, his new friend was not to be ignored. It flew right over and landed on his knee, much to the delight of everyone else at the pool, who had been watching the amusing drama unfold.

"Social distancing, bird!" the man scolded. "Give me six feet!"

Hydrotherapy

There was a time when the events of the world held a lot of fascination for me-- news, documentaries, true crime, talk shows, etc. on film, TV, radio, podcast, you name it-- they were usually my preferred form of entertainment.

That is not so these days. Instead I seek shelter from the sordid stories of people and their missteps. I don't want to know who killed who, who called who what terrible slur, or who blames who based on what facts have been reported and disputed.

I just want good old fashioned escapism in stories and activities. Unfortunately, when it's 95 degrees outside, and Covid-19 numbers are on the rise, escape doesn't seem like much of possibility. I think I'll go water my garden and float in the pool.

Saturday Evening Post

I spent my day puttering.

In the kitchen I fed my sourdough starter, made a levain for bread, and another for some raised muffins with peaches and berries.

In the attic, I organized the Halloween stuff (don't ask!), sorted my seed starting supplies, and tossed a few things that haven't been used in years.

On the back decks and front stoop, I pruned, watered and fed the hanging and potted plants.

In between, I changed the batteries in some flashlights, painted a couple of rocks, did a little online shopping, some reading, some writing, some journaling, a set of abs, a short kettlebell workout, and in a few minutes? We're off to the pool.

Classic Saturday, right?

Ghost Town

At 8:30 am we had the National Mall mostly to ourselves, with the exception of a few joggers, so it was still the perfect place to meet up with friends to walk and walk the dogs. This time our group veered to the left past the Washington Monument and picked up the trail circling the Tidal Basin just before the MLK Memorial.

There was a lot of flotsam, mud, and goose poop on the walkway, so we opted to go through the FDR Memorial, which was nearly deserted. A few people were doing some sort of photo shoot near the statue of Eleanor, but no one waited in the bread line, and we had the president and Fala all to ourselves.

Continuing on our way, we noted the empty cricket field, and crossing the Ohio Street Bridge over the inflow, we passed not one tourist on bike or foot, and when we arrived at the Jefferson Memorial, we could have climbed the stairs and stood alone with the 19 foot sculpture of that complicated Virginia man on its pedestal of Minnesota granite, but we chose to walk on instead.

And then it was past the abandoned paddle boats, and the closed doors of the Bureau of Engraving and the Holocaust Museum, and back onto the Mall where the sprinklers were set on jet, casting rainbows in their spray and keeping America's front yard green.