social distancing | RJThesman.net

Eleven days into lockdown. The silence was becoming oppressive, even for an ambivert such as I. Even the characters in my novel no longer spoke to me.

So I took a break from my at-home work, dared to drive my car to the local Dairy Queen for a Mini-Blizzard.

Then away from the no-longer-heavily-trafficked highway to a quiet park in the suburb.

It was an exceptionally beautiful day without the usual Kansas wind. A robin sang his spring song, probably jubilant because he wasn’t worried about Covid-19.

Somewhere down another street, a child laughed in his back yard, safe and away from germs.

I finished the Blizzard — triple chocolate brownie, in case you wondered — threw away the cup and locked my car. Then headed into the park for a walk.

Exercise is nothing new to me. As a former athlete, I walk almost every day. But this walk was in a different location than the usual stroll in my neighborhood. It felt fresh, unencumbered by any reminders of the pandemic that was changing our lives.

First I walked around the baseball diamond, remembered my years as a shortstop, pacing between bases. What fun it was all those years ago, especially the spring day when I hit a grand slam home run.

How quickly life passes — a mere breath, scripture reminds us.

As I took another lap, a group of young men pulled into the kiddie area. They looked to be in their twenties, maybe thirties — obviously taking a break from work at home or recently unemployed.

Unconcerned about social distancing, they played on the equipment. Swung from the monkey bars, slid down the slide, joked with each other as carefree spirits.

I smiled at their antics, glad they could be out in the fresh air, that none of us were confined in an ICU, struggling to breathe.

After a while, I left the park to return to my work with words. The guys remained at the playground.

I promised myself to return more often to that park, to renew my hope as I marched around the ball diamond. Maybe even to slide or swing in the kiddie area.

Hope uncovers itself in the simplest places and reminds us not only of a sweet past, but a foreshadowing for our tomorrows.

For more writings about hope, check out my Amazon Author Page. All my books have some sort of theme regarding hope.

The volume of her voice increased as the intercom crackled, “Shoppers, we have great news. A new pallet of toilet paper is available on Aisle 10.”

The lady ahead of me wheeled a 180 with her cart and hurried toward Aisle 10. Other shoppers joined her in line. Thankfully, everyone grabbed only one package and no one turned violent.

In spite of my determination to not give in to the panic, I thought What the heck? We can always use more TP. It’s never going to rot.

So I joined the other shoppers and bought one more package of this daily necessity, then stored it in our basement for just-in-case.

Growing up on the farm, we always stocked extra supplies. We spent summer days canning veggies and fruits, wiping sweat off our faces in the not-air-conditioned kitchen, watching Mom mentor the pressure cooker.

The freezer was filled with meat before winter, and the pantry stocked with extra cereals and canned goods. An Oklahoma blizzard or an electrical outage could always surprise us, so we were prepared.

Plus, my parents lived through the Great Depression and the rationings of World War Two. They wanted to make sure their children were never hungry.

So I grew up with the mentality of saving, preserving and preparing for a possible crisis. But I never imagined long lines desperate for toilet paper.

On the other hand, what options do we have if we run out of the stuff? Kleenex or paper towels would clog up sewer systems. Sears catalogues no longer exist, and we don’t use outdoor facilities anymore. Not enough greenery in the yard for an organic option.

Maybe we need to stock up on TP because it represents something tangible we can do to fight our fears. It’s a visual reminder of the one thing we CAN control.

If we are quarantined, at least we can wipe.

I will admit some anxiety about this Coronavirus, probably because I’m in the demographic of greatest risk. And my mother lives in a facility similar to the one in Washington state that counted so many of the initial deaths.

But fear leads us to impulsive actions. It keeps us from a focus on hope and destroys the peaceful sleep we all need.

I believe the current panic is a crowd response, but also a result of miscommunication and lack of credible information. Once again — as in September of 2001 — we were not prepared.

The good news is that the virus has proven to have a shelf life. China no longer needs its specialty hospitals built to house Coronavirus patients.

We’re all doing what we can to increase personal hygiene and stay away from crowds. Some of those social distancing rules have been decided for us.

Although unfortunately, more people WILL die, this nasty thing will eventually leave us — hopefully a bit wiser and more prepared for the next crisis.

So I’m choosing to focus on the positives:

School closings mean more family time
Neighbors helping each other, staying alert for those who need assistance and building community
Basic human kindness is underscored as our motivation
A peaceful response by even one person can cancel some of the panic
Government agencies will learn more of what to do next time
All of us should spend more time in the sun and open windows for fresh air

At the very least — we’re all prepared with plenty of TP for the rest of 2020.

Need to find some extra hope? Hope Shines is available on Amazon. You can have it delivered and avoid contact with crowds.