For a long time, I had someone in my life who was born in each decade from 1920 to 1960.
They were my mother, 1920; a colleague, 1930; a friend, 1940; my husband, Paul, 1950; and my sister, 1960.
The oldest three have passed away, but I have added a colleague born in 1980. I would be happy if I discovered I had a connection to someone born in 1970, but so far, no luck.
As my friends and family members marked their milestone birthdays this year, as I remembered my mother on her 100th anniversary, I felt sad. Milestone birthdays are a time for celebration, and that’s hard to do in the middle of a pandemic. We can make the best of it, but it’s just not the same.
I don’t have any doubts that safety comes first. Paul and I usually go to a local restaurant for Thanksgiving. Its sumptuous holiday buffet is one of the highlights of our year. But, of course, this year we planned a quiet dinner at home. Just the two of us.
My own birthday is on the first day of summer, and usually (but not always), my celebration involves being outdoors. This year, that was a necessity. We kept it simple. I really wanted a bagel and coffee. At that point, I’d only had coffee from a restaurant once since March. It was quite a production to fulfill this wish, due to what I think of as pandemic logistics. I mean, the primary reason I’ve been making my own coffee for months is that every time I go by a Dunkin’s, the line stretches around the building.
But Paul and I finally got our bagels and enjoyed them in a riverside park. Later we watched what I think of as my birthday movie, “Sideways.”
Our options for Paul’s November birthday are always limited, but in the past they have included a theatrical movie, a museum visit and/or eating out. This year we went for a cold walk, then I gave him his cards and presents and made a special meal for supper.
Paul was excited that one of his gifts was a Chunky bar for dessert at lunch.
I am grateful for all that I have, and have tried for many years to live a simple life. It doesn’t get more simple than this. At the same time, I would really like to go to a restaurant and have a nice meal.
Now the holiday season is upon us. I look at the bright side. Since we’re home more, I should have the time to get more decorations up and cards out in a timely manner. Paul and I have had quiet Christmases since our parents passed away, so that is nothing new for us. I primarily shop online for presents already.
But I am dreading any shopping I have to do in person, because I sense that even with a pandemic, people are going to be shopping more in December.
Grocery shopping is still difficult for me. There are two Hannafords in my town. One is on the small side, but it is convenient to my house. The other is quite large, with wide aisles, but it’s on the other side of town. Before March, I usually shopped at my neighborhood store. But I have been freaked out there on occasion, because the aisles are narrow.
The other day I was trying to get down the condiments aisle of the nearby Hannaford. There were at least five carts, and a couple of the carriages were accompanied by two people. There was also an associate with a carriage, stocking. So, eight people. Four too many.
I carefully maneuvered my way through and then—somebody coughed. Not a single ahem, but a deep, phlegmy rattle.
I literally ran past this person. I could feel my heart pounding. Later, Paul asked me if the cougher was masked. I said, “I was moving too fast to look!”
The person was, I believe, facing away from me. That was some consolation. I was also relieved that the other aisles were not congested at all.
The market is my primary shopping venue, and at my two locales, the great majority of people are wearing masks. I know from what friends tell me that’s not the case in all communities. And that’s scary.
I had to plan my Thanksgiving shopping strategically because I didn’t want to be in the store on Wednesday afternoon. I will do the same for Christmas.
I even started buying the ingredients for Thanksgiving dinner at the beginning of the month, one item at a time. I was afraid there might be shortages of certain items.
Paul had suggested that we stock up on paper goods, also one item at a time, when the virus case numbers began climbing. He thought he’d help out when he went to the market to buy the Sunday newspapers recently.
But he returned home aghast. “There was no tp,” he said. “Only paper towels.”
I was surprised. I was even able to find my favorite brand, Cottonelle, this month. For weeks after the pandemic first struck, we had to suffer through no-name, one-ply brands that I’d bought when there was nothing else to be had.
I had to stop in at CVS after Paul’s supermarket visit, so I checked there. They had plenty, including Cottonelle. I bought the biggest package they had.
The next day, at the market, I realized that in the small Hannaford, the tp and paper towels are in different aisles. There was plenty of tp—Paul just didn’t see it.
Well, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in this pandemic, it’s be prepared. We may not be able to spend birthdays and holidays the way we want, but we celebrate the little things—like a well-stocked bathroom.
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