A week ago I was making dinner with my friend. Slow-roasted salmon with citrus and avocado from Samrin Nosrat’s Salt Fat Acid Heat. We broke out a bottle of gorgeous rosé from Tuscany that made me think of raspberries and summer sunshine.
That was a week ago. Now, I’ve been mostly in my house for five days. I went for a walking networking coffee date once with a friend of a friend. She got a coffee at a Starbucks. I was about to go in, but it looked a little too packed. I stayed outside. She thought I was a little strange. I doubt she’d want to go in for a coffee now either.
A few days later, I went to a grocery store to buy food for a friend driving back from California who had to self-quarantine for two weeks. The stocker wouldn’t raise his head to look me in the eye when I asked if they had any of the brand of crême fraîche that my friend likes. “If it’s not there, we don’t have any,” he mumbled, keeping his chin tucked to his chest as he stayed crouched by the milk display to reload the shelves. My question was not welcome.
I thanked the woman at the checkout who was wearing gloves as I punched in my PIN on my card without taking off my enormous winter mittens. Keypads are notoriously germ-y, I’d heard. “Merci d’être là. Je l’apprécie,” I said in my horribly anglicized French. She gave me a blank stare. Was I allowed to smile? I wasn’t sure. Maybe she would have appreciated me more if I had. These were the least human interactions I’ve had in the past week, but two of the only human interactions I’ve had face-to-face in that time.
When I tried to bite my nails that night, I got up and put hand cream on so I wouldn’t be tempted.
My fingers are cracking, but it doesn’t matter since I can’t rock climb now anyway. the gyms are closed. I wouldn’t go anyway.
Over the course of the next few days I did my taxes then accidentally deleted the file. My heart fell into my stomach. I downloaded a program to try to salvage them. It didn’t work. (It’s ironically a write-off for my next year’s taxes.)
I did my taxes again.
I’ve been doing a little yoga, but still forgetting my physio exercises sometimes.
I’ve been sitting too much.
I’ve been eating a lot of lentils. Like a lot of lentils.
I finished two large article assignments that might never make it to print. One’s on campfire cooking and should be out in July. But will people be having campfires by then? The other is a travel article about Montreal for September. “Check out this new restaurant, this new food hall, this cool park, bar, speakeasy, hotel.” I’ll probably have to do some more re-writes. Better the articles than my taxes again. At least I get a cheque for a kill fee if they’re not published. The restaurants might go bankrupt in the interim.
I decided to give up alcohol for two weeks, to keep my immune system up, in case I already have the virus, which I doubt but can’t be sure, asymptomatic as we all are. It’s Day 7.
I spent a lot of time thinking about whether that fever I had before Christmas could have been COVID-19.
I spent more time wondering if that fever my dad couldn’t kick last fall could have been it. That would be the best case scenario. He fought it off. It reassures me that he could do it again if he had to. It doesn’t reassure me that the hospital didn’t know what was wrong with him, even after admitting him, and that he already has an auto-immune disease.
I’ve been walking and running with friends. We toe-tap good-bye. Two weeks ago we were laughing about cute it was that in China they toe-tapped instead of touching hands or arms to say hello. It was adorable. It’s still adorable. Just less so.
Yesterday I went into the television studio for a food segment and brought a stack of plastic gloves and spoons. I asked the camera guy not to help me with my lapel mic when he offered. I turned my head away from him and held my breath when he fixed the cord attached to my shirt. It was the first human touch I’d had in over a week.
I worried about keeping my hands on the table during the segment, not knowing when it was last cleaned. But the camera guy sprayed it down immediately upon me removing the items I’d brought.
I did the segment running on three hours of sleep. I’d tossed and turned all night, worried about taking the metro into the studio and then being around so many people who are around so many different people every day. I wouldn’t have to touch anything in the metro, but it was still enough to freak me out after hearing that someone who was later diagnosed with COVID-19 had been on that line a few days before and everyone who’d been on there at the same time was potentially at risk.
At 2 a.m. I took a melatonin. I might have gotten a fourth hour of sleep. I’m not really sure. I know I lay in bed until five, though, practicing breathing exercises that lasted about 2 seconds until I had to remind myself to relax my forehead and start again. At 5 a.m., I got up (wired, not drowsy) and got ready for my segment. I was so early, I decided to push my granny grocery cart full of samples for the segment up the Peel St. hill from Point Ste-Charles to the studio’s location on Ste-Catherine St. W. It took 50 minutes in the cold. At least the sun had risen. A car nearly ran me over when it didn’t see a crosswalk, but I saw it flying straight through and stopped well before. I waved my arm high above my head like the “Olé Olé” opening of “Hot Hot Hot” at the car behind it to make sure that one saw me. It did. I don’t think either the driver smiled. We were both tired.
My friend told me that the city would go on lockdown starting last night or today. It was just a rumour. He told me to go get groceries. I said no. Then I debated with myself. I don’t need anything now, but will food be any fresher and the selection any better (or worse) when the lockdown ends? How long could it be for if it’s not forewarned? How long could it be for if it is? Wouldn’t it be better to avoid the crowds?
I’m writing an e-book of recipes for quarantine cooking with a friend. It’s a great distraction. Check back for updates on homemade pasta, rice bowls, pantry soups and zabaglione.
I have enough lentils and beans for a few weeks, I think. And I have blueberry juice and great miso from my segment. Plus cans of home-canned cucumbers and carrots, tomatillo salsa, plum chutney, mango salsa. The last man who spent any amount of time in my kitchen thought my shelves were a mess. I don’t harbour any resentment. Really, they were just full. I was preparing – subconsciously, I think now – for this.
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