This happened last Sunday:

So we're pretty much under full quarantine. We were waiting for the nurse to test negative, but COVID-19 seems unlikely in her case. But now my wife's lymph nodes are swollen and she's feeling off. I got a week's worth of groceries bought, and we could probably limp by for three more days on leftovers, peanut butter and Trader Joe's frozen veggie samosas.

We have things to keep us occupied in our pest tent. Games, books, a 3D puzzle of the Weasley house. My daughter and her stuffed dog and I made friendship necklaces. Screen time rules are suspended. While my kids watched some Disney zombie thing, I made and stained laptop riser for my home office setup, depicted here:

Not bad. I'll start work on the keyboard/mouse tray once the sliders have shipped. And of course there's my new job, which started Monday. Bit of a bumpy start, what with no work laptop, but it'll be delivered, and I have things to learn while I wait.

Meantime, we're doing as we have been instructed. Handwashing, minimal touching, nuts and chips go in bowls. I should probably stop kissing the dog. I'm gonna feel that one.

My wife's dad may be dying soon, though not from the virus. She's dealing with that, plus her sister's mounting anxiety, plus going from working at home alone to having a full house 'round the clock. It's a lot, and it's only the first few turns of a Tilt-A-Whirl that shows no sign of stopping. The vertigo of that is still fresh and harder to navigate with everyone constantly sliding around and bumping into one another.

I'm providing plenty of challenges, despite my best intentions. I have what could be termed a robust voice, and so when I'm on conference calls, she's using noise canceling headphones. At one point she wandered in to my office asking why I was playing the fuck out of some castanets, only to realize that it was my mechanical keyboard. I did warn her about the keyboard.

Our coping mechanism is Dammit Rodney. Dammit Rodney is our invisible coworker. He's the one that's screwing it all up, far as we're concered. Just yesterday, Dammit Rodney made too much noise, forgot to close the storage room door, and microwaved a melamine plate, which stunk up the house and probably gave us all cancer. Dammit, Rodney.

So there are going to be adjustments, probably for a long time. But mostly I'm getting a deep sense of how lucky we are. There is no better yardstick for your social and economic standing than seeing what would happen if your entire house gets infected with a pandemic. We're pretty damn wealthy by that measure, both in resources and friends. I can't imagine how many are completely isolated right now, or wondering how they're going to survive.

It's people like them, those who can't work from home, who don't have a backup, who get laid off. Who are self-employed and watching their livelihoods teeter on the edge of ruin. Who have to live in crowded spaces where a virus can spread like a brush fire. Who can't not care for the sick. Those are the people I'm worried for today. Not us. And certainly not those who are intentionally congregating and putting people at risk to make their precious, precious point.

This pandemic is showing us the best and worst of ourselves. My greatest fear is that we'll watch that unfold for weeks and learn nothing from it. I know the worst will. I hope the best get loud.

Today is the last day of my job, and everything seems like it went sideways in a big damn hurry. This was the plan:

Finish work today.
Spend the weekend with my family, including going to the dojo's anniversary potluck.
Iron five collared shirts and a pair or two of khakis early Sunday.
Drive up to northwest Arkansas for a week on-site at my new job.
Drive home that Friday, do laundry and pack again.
Take a chartered bus with our church's youth group to Disney World.
Pretend to fly the dang Millennium Falcon.

All of those things are either canceled or altered. To wit:

Still finishing work today. They were going to have a cookie party. Canceled.
Still spending the weekend with my family and probably going to the dojo, but it isn't a potluck.
No need to iron anything, because
My on-site at the new job is canceled.
I'll already be home, and no need to pack because
Disney World is closed.
Instead I'll walk around the house saying "You came in that thing? You're braver than I thought."

A bunch of disappointments. My trip to NWA potentially would have involved reconnecting with a friend, and I was really eager to meet my team and get my shiny new development MacBook. And then there's the big stuff. My wife's father is nearing the end of his life, and my own father is healthy but has a compromised immune system. Our kids are of course our kids.

Those are real dangers, and I'm worried about them. But I'm surprised to find that I'm actually fairly chill and here for it all. I'm curious about what's going to happen next. I'm looking for places to be of use. I'm okay with the uncertainty instead of pointedly not grumbling about expectations. That's relatively new for me.

There are creature comforts to look forward to, which helps. New eyeglasses are coming next week, as well as a new pillow. I'm drawing a weird amount of comfort from the backpacking water filtration system that should come today, though this whole thing hardly feels like Fury Road. I'm feeling REALLY smug about the bidet seat I put on the downstairs toilet, a purchase for which I was roundly mocked. And there will be many opportunities to read, to write, to sit and think and maybe sleep in a hammock.

Everything's happening so quickly. Even without a crisis, spring in the southern US doesn't seem to last a month. You reach out and let it brush over your fingertips as it rushes by. You welcome the frogs but not the mosquitoes, the rain but not the funnel clouds. Then you sneeze and it's summer, which is six months of compromises. And who knows how many will have their lives upended (or just plain ended) along the way. In the same breath, I'm eager to see it all and worried for those who will suffer.

I learned last night that a member of my very, very large recovery group has tested positive. I hope he's okay and hasn't infected anyone. I missed the Wednesday night men's meeting and may skip my customary Saturday morning one. I can go two weeks without a meeting before I'm climbing the walls. But I wonder how many people will need a meeting and not go.

I have a friend there named Curtis. One of his oft-used prayers is "Thank you again, you motherfucker, for yet another opportunity to practice patience, tolerance and acceptance." It's a good prayer, and appropriate, but today I'm going to try to keep the focus on what I can do rather than what's being done to me. I like this one:

May I be a guard for those who need protection,
A guide for those on the path,
A boat, a raft, a bridge for those who wish to cross the flood.
May I be a lamp in the darkness,
A resting place for the weary,
A healing medicine for all who are sick
A vase of plenty, a tree of miracles.
And for the boundless multitudes of living beings
May I bring sustenance and awakening,
Enduring like the earth and sky
Until all beings are freed from sorrow
And all are awakened.

—Shantideva