Everyone has a defining moment in life. I'm pretty sure March 31, 2020 was mine.
I wrote and vented hard that day. Earlier that month Carolyn and I had moved from our main residence in Westchester County, NY, just north of NY City, to our second home in Washington County upstate. The morning of March 31 our downstate county registered 1% of the county infected (9326 people) and there was no sign of any improvement on the horizon. Basically, we had fled. We were safe while thousands died. As far as the lockdown goes, I was in pretty good shape at first. I had my fields and my forest with plenty of outside work to do. I installed bad satellite so Carolyn could work remotely, albeit pixelated on marginal video conferences. We were... okay.
As the lockdown continued on, we were far better off than most, but even surrounded by nature the constant, always dire pandemic news finally got to me. On March 31, 2020, I succumbed to what I perceived to be impending doom and a very possible end to life as we know it. I remember driving my tractor on the mountain that morning... a simple firewood run... At one point I just stopped the machine and cried in my forest. As I often do in times of crisis, I sat down and vented on "paper" when I got back to the house. It mostly works well for me... though only to a degree that day.
What I DID find that day was just how important my cooking and my kitchen are to me. They define me in more ways than I had known until I found myself escaping to my kitchen and my tools for comfort and mental safety.
The piece came up Friday as a Facebook memory... again. I will hang on to it for as long as I'm alive because I now know that March 31, 2020 was a day that has defined me for the rest of my life.
Pandemic Lockdown - March 31, 2020
Quarantine. It's necessary. Yes. Definitely necessary. It's working. I know because I'm not sick. Yet. I'm scared shitless watching the numbers rise around me. 1% of my county has now been tested positive. That may not sound like a lot but it's 9326 neighbors as of this morning. I want to cry. I want to scream. I want to run away. I can't run away. I have to stay inside. I have social media... a curse as well as a blessing. I watch people sing. I watch them clap. I see people coming up with ways to not go insane with fear for themselves as well as others. People being supportive with song, poetry, art etc. People telling each other it'll be okay....... And then I think.... what if it's not going to be okay? What if this pandemic wipes out every person I know. What if the virus kills half of the people in my life? The number of infected people is now creeping closer to my small circle of friends and relatives, and it scares me. It scares me like nothing has ever scared me before. I don't have song... or poetry... I don't do video games... I rarely read... I found myself slipping deeper and darker the last few days. And then I realized something. My kitchen is my safe zone. In my kitchen I am in control. It is immaculate and virus free and shiny and everything in it is a treasure that will sustain me going forward. It is organized to be completely ergonomic. The tools I use are of quality, and they are well maintained.
In my kitchen I am in control. That's something to hold on
to, because everything outside my bubble is beyond any reality I have ever
known. I'm still scared when I cook, but at least here I know what to do. And I
make myself and the people around me a little brighter.
Stay safe, people.
Have a great week, everyone... and go hug somebody.
Michael
