Sheltering in Place at the Beach

I just got back from the grocery store. It’s 9:30 a.m.  I saw maybe a total of fifteen people, and that includes workers.

I was the youngest shopper in there, and I’m two months away from Medicare.  Everyone had on masks. I wore my gloves and took them off only to open up the produce bag for my potatoes.

My regular house is in a county with 1.15 million people. My beach house is in a county with 434,000 people. Where would you rather shelter in place?

Yes, it can get foggy or overcast here. It’s damp. It’s cold. But today is glorious with blue skies, blue ocean, and lots of sunshine. It’s a weed-pulling day, which is good, since I’ve been doing way too much reading and not enough physical stuff.

The dog walks are physical, the first one pulling me down the block and up the rec trail with all her might.  I don’t have to say, “Mush.” She just does it. I attribute it to her being given back twice before I got her. Did she never get walked? A Jack Russell is bursting with energy. All of the time.

The other dog, mine since puppyhood, only pulls for the first hundred yards or so. Then she settles into a nice pace, and considering that she weighs twice as much as the other one, I am glad about that. After the two walks, I feel as though I have done some exercise.

The dogs aren’t done, though. They spend the rest of the day running from back yard to fenced front yard. Today is garbage day, so they have some extra barking to do.

The elderly neighbors don’t love me or my dogs. But you know what? They will appreciate me all the more when I leave.  It might be in a day or two. The mail and packages are piling at home. Now that I have internet down here, the need to go back has lessened.

I can’t visit my sister in her care home.  Everything I do is canceled. I can write anywhere. I’m good here until the bills are due.

I just heard word last night about a friend — that members of her family have the virus. This shit is real, even though the ex bf thinks it’s all a hoax.

I’ve been through an ex-husband, two ex-boyfriends, and a dog (now in canine heaven) down here.  One street evokes memories of the girl who ran in front of my truck as I hit her. She’s okay. It was five years ago. But I will never forget.

The beach near my house has memories of walks with girlfriends, two of whom are gone, walks with  boyfriends, and Pepper as a puppy when she pulled me over on the sandy boardwalk, a young man running to help me up. These days, it would be too risky for him to get involved.

Some things never change, and other things have changed so radically, I feel as though I am in a movie.

But then I am snapped back to reality when the bagger dude tried to put a bag on top of my bag with bananas.

“But this bag has the eggs,” he said.

“This bag has the bananas,” I said.

I am a grumpy old lady to him. At least I still have that going on.

I am back at my computer. I should work on the fractured fairy tale that my youngest adult child has never even heard of.  That is sad.  The story from my childhood will be no more in the minds of youngsters unless I can get it published.

I think I can, I think I can.

None of the editors is acquiring these days. Manhattan is a mess. They have all fled the city until the worst of it is over. The virus, I mean.

I have plenty of time for rewrites.

Time to get the leash. The Jack Russell always has to be first.

Let the Iditarod begin!



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