Earlier this week, I read an article Teju Cole published in the New York Times featuring excerpts from his pandemic journal. J and I have been sheltering at home for seventy days now, and I’ve written in my journal every single day, but I’d be hard pressed to glean much in the way of profundity there.
When you are in the middle of a surging wave, all you feel is wet. You have no understanding of how far or high the water looms; all you know is your own specific swirl. I can’t speak to a global pandemic, so my journal pages describe the mundane details of my own experience: the particular deck chairs I am busy arranging as the Titanic sinks.
Last week, I skimmed a BBC article featuring the “last normal photo” people had on their phones: reminders of the Before-Time. The last time I went shopping–the last time I touched a grocery cart, walked down aisles thronged with other shoppers, and stood in line before interacting with a cashier–was Friday, March 13, when I took a photo of empty grocery shelves where paper towels and toilet paper had once been. It isn’t exactly a “normal” photo, but it is one that takes me back to that strange and surreal time.
The day before that Final Shopping Trip–Thursday, March 12–J and I walked to our favorite pub for lunch. I don’t remember what we ordered, but it was unusual for us to walk to lunch on a Thursday, since I usually teach then. But I’d cancelled my Thursday classes because I thought I’d be flying to Ohio to visit my Mom the next day, and I ended up canceling my flight after the governor declared a State of Emergency in Massachusetts.
That leisurely Thursday lunch–the last time J and I went to our favorite pub or any other restaurant–seemed like an odd but not yet apocalyptic time. The TV at the bar was tuned to the news, which was a litany of cancellations: first the NBA, then other professional sports leagues and major events in succession. On our way home, I snapped a picture of a dog tied outside a bakery, waiting for his owner inside, and J and I admired a sporty black Subaru parked along the curb, just as we’d do any other day.
That last time J and I walked to lunch at our favorite pub, we didn’t know it would be the last time. It was clear things were starting to get serious and weird: the weekend before, grocery shoppers were starting to stockpile supplies as if against an upcoming storm. We knew then a storm was coming, but we didn’t fully realize how long and devastating that storm would be.
Looking back on the last seventy days, I’m ashamed to admit how much ink I’ve spent in my journal pages fretting over groceries. People are losing their lives and livelihoods, and I’ve spent page upon page obsessed with delivery windows and weird rolling shortages: one week I can’t find paper towels or dishwasher detergent, and the next week there are no corn tortillas, dry pasta, or fresh produce. Groceries are something I once managed: I enjoyed making a list, going to the store, and stocking our refrigerator and pantry. Now, I realize the seemingly simple task of buying groceries is–like everything else–largely outside my control.
Seventy days after suddenly sheltering-in-place, I’m realizing it was never about the toilet paper, disinfectant wipes, or hand sanitizer. All the items that disappeared from store shelves were merely metaphors for the Before-Time, when we fancied ourselves in control of our lives.
May 23, 2020 at 5:40 am
Yes. My “before” was mid-March as well. I went into town on the bus, with a sense that this would be the last time that I’d be doing this for quite a while. After a bit of shopping I had a cup of tea at the local coffee shop and went and sat outside by the river to drink it (the weather was beautiful). I made sure that I was seated at a safe distance from anyone else though, so I was aware to some degree of what was coming down the line.
And oh yes, the angst over getting groceries. I’m 70+, don’t have a car, and have been shielding myself very strictly, so everything has had to be delivered and I’ve been so thankful for it, even though delivery slots have been like gold dust due to demand and many items were out of stock. The plus side in all this is that the local greengrocers have now set up a delivery service, so I will be sticking with them in the future and buying fruit and vegetables locally where I can. I totally take the point about realising what little control we have and, further, how dependent on each other we all are, every one of us, something that previously I took for granted.
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May 23, 2020 at 8:37 am
I wonder how many of us who have established “new normal” routines involving grocery delivery will go back to shopping the “old way” when we can.
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May 23, 2020 at 8:43 am
WellI hope I don’t, at least for the bulk of the fruit/veg though I’m sure I’ll continue to need other things from the supermarket. But for people who are still working and/or with a family then convenience is so important and I don’t see the supermarkets going out of business any time soon …..
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May 23, 2020 at 8:52 am
Indeed. But I wonder whether the way we shop at grocery stores will change. Pre-pandemic, my usual grocery store debuted curbside delivery, where you could order groceries online, then they’d bring your groceries to your car. Pre-pandemic, I would have never thought to do this, but now, I’m less firmly attached to the idea that I myself have to go into a store to pick out my own items.
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May 23, 2020 at 9:35 am
Ah, I see. Yes, just from anecdotal evidence I think this may well be the case. Certainly in my own family two people, who hitherto have always gone into the store, have been online shopping for deliveries since March They have now rather taken to having their purchases delivered!
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May 24, 2020 at 12:46 pm
I hear you. The last time I spoke to my mother was by phone on March 13, and of course I didn’t know it would be the last time. I spent the weeks before closure (here March 16 officially, and as you know the day she died), apprehensive about what was coming. So in a way, the pandemic started for me in late January, when my body was a constant state of anticipating threat and preparing. I could not get away from what I sensed and intuited, so I took steps to prepare. I ordered hand sanitizer, masks, soap, more cleaning supplies, and bought food to stock, and a little extra toilet paper (not much, but just right). I began social distancing in early March. And now, months later, the new norm feels comfortable.
There is an article making the rounds that I found particularly heartening. I don’t know if you’ve seen it: I Was In Charge of the Deck Chairs On the Titanic, and They Absolutely Did Need Rearranging
https://www.mcsweeneys.net/articles/i-was-in-charge-of-the-deck-chairs-on-the-titanic-and-they-absolutely-did-need-rearranging
I appreciate your presence in this world.
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May 24, 2020 at 6:22 pm
I can’t imagine how difficult it is to experience loss during this era of social distancing. I’m sorry you’re going through both losses simultaneously.
I’d seen the link to that McSweeney’s article but hadn’t read it yet. Thank you for the nudge to read it: it’s a great reminder.
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May 29, 2020 at 11:24 am
My last day at the office was Friday March 13, but it was not normal anymore. I had a business trip earlier that week, and we were all so nervous, unwilling to shake hands or hug or do anything normal, and I cleaned my train seat with disinfectant wipes. On March 7 my son went to a birthday party at a small amusement park and we didn’t think to cancel. So it was my “before”.
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May 26, 2020 at 8:15 pm
My “last days before” were a haircut on the 11th and hikes on the 19th and 21st. After that, the rope that had tethered me to the meaningful adventure in my life, went slack. Now I am stumbling around it as I fill my days. As you fret over groceries, I am starting to become a bit overwhelmed at all that I am missing. I fret over the calendar and all the days I’ll never get back. I’m guessing that we are both shaking our heads now, throwing our heads back in laughter that we ever really thought there was a day called tomorrow.
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