The View from the Hermitage, Day 217

Yesterday and today I listened to music while walking, and one line of one song really stuck with me. From "Broken Crown" by Mumford and Sons:

But in this twilight, our choices seal our fate.

That's a damn good way to sum up 2020 so far, at least the pandemic part of it. The choice to wear a mask or not, to stay a social distance away from someone or not, to avoid bars and other crowded places or not. So many little things, any one of which could be a choice between life and death. That simplifies it greatly, but any one choice could seal our fate these days, really and for true. I will remember this line the next time I find myself thinking that my six months plus of hermitting have been over-reacting, that I can go do something, I won't catch the covid. Is this a chance I'm willing to take? No, not now and hopefully not until there's a reliable vaccine and treatment. In this twilight, my choice can seal my fate.

I woke up to a text message sent last night after I'd gone to bed from my mother's assisted living facility. They had sent a resident to the hospital on a non-covid matter and the person tested positive for covid when checked in. The resident was asymptomatic as far as covid-19 went. They're working on contact tracing and trying to determine how the resident might have been exposed. They've stepped back all the reopening things they were doing. Residents are back to eating every meal alone in their rooms. They had been eating breakfast and lunch in the dining room two days each week, socially distanced and with fewer people at each table. The hairdresser was coming back and taking appointments. Families who desired to could set up "patio visits" outside again socially distanced and masked. All those are off for now. They'll be doing point prevalent testing the next two Wednesdays. If all the results are negative, they'll restart the reopening. If they don't find any resident or staffer with a positive test, that might mean something got transferred in a patio visit. No one but staff members can go inside. If a resident leaves for any reason, they must isolate for two weeks on returning. They're being very careful, in other words, but shit does happen. 

I did get the boxes off the bed last night. Two went back into Son #2's room. They hold yarn that can't be unpacked until some bookshelves have been reassembled. I found a few sentimental things worth the time it was taking to go through everything in detail. I've decided to treat it as if inspired by The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning: How to Free Yourself and Your Family from a Lifetime of Clutter. I could be getting rid of more, but it's hard enough at times to get rid of what I am. A few things I'm giving now to Son #1; I don't see Son #2 often enough to hand him anything now. I have boxes going for each son to go through at their convenience and a third box with things that belonged to both of them or whose ownership I simply don't recall. 

And so this isn't the longest of blog posts. I haven't even mentioned the week count of 31. (There, I've mentioned it.) I've been doing a lot of thinking. The music actually seems to make it easier to think while I'm walking. There's a lot to think about these days for all of us. Too much at times. Writing this blog helps me sort out some of those thoughts. I do that better some days than others. I appreciate that there are people who actually read it. I may be a hermit, but I don't feel alone.