My Corona Diary (Take VII): Weekend Notes #1 (5/23-24)

<Just Another Day...
On the Zombie Apocalypse Movie Set:
"Downtown (Where We Live)"
Photo: The Squawker.

<i.>

Last weekend, The Squawker and I attempted to curb our cabin fever by riding around our humble little town, and spending some time (however brief) outside. For a change of pace, we parked downtown, which looked eerily like a zombie apocalypse movie set (see above). As in, totally empty, before the zombie army sets upon the lone victim -- or lucky outsider -- before they can react. That's how all those opening sequences start, right?

So that's what we did Saturday night. We parked at the end of one block, and walked in a square, stopping here or there to sit down on some bench or other. Finding a parking space downtown is usually a hassle, especially since our town has grown ever more gentrified.

Not since the COVID crisis hit, though. With so many businesses closed, or operating on an abbreviated schedule, or sticking to curbside pickup, finding a parking spot has never been easier. Squawker and I did this on purpose, because lately, whenever we hit the beach -- or the bluff -- for recreational R&R, we've found ourselves playing human dodge ball with too many people who have the same idea. 

Some wear masks, but  great many don't. Not all of them adhere to that six feet away social distancing bit. You'll end up dealing with these things, even at the relatively late hour that we chose (8:30 p.m.) to slip out.

So on this particular night, we chose to change our tack, and it paid off. We felt a bit more relaxed than usual. As the saying goes, "You can't put a price on piece of mind."

We stopped at Dollar General on our way home, where I bought a few items that we needed (loaf of enriched white bread, package of fudge graham crackers, three-roll pack of paper towels, four-pack of toilet paper). We felt especially glad to see the last two items, as they're still incredibly scarce, so you snap up what you can, when you can.

We didn't get home till 9:30 p.m. When your sleepier town feels sleepier than normal, for reasons beyond your control, it makes sense to drag out the last errand, the last left turn or two, the last circle around the oval path that rings the apartment complex we've spent so much of our time these last two months, now going on three months.

Flicking on the TV, Squawker and I voiced amusement at arriving in time for the final scene of "Death In Paradise," -- where the fourth (and latest) inspector, Neville Parker (Ralf Little), claps his forehead, realizing that he finally has solved the mystery, after all...so now it's time to gather the suspects for the final solution/confrontation. It's one of our favorite shows.

Now, if only we could turn Parker loose on the COVID-19 crisis! Imagine the questions we'd raise: How'd our democracy get so f#cked up? How did the US get caught out so badly this time? Who are the biggest profiteers, and why are letting them carrying on, doing business as usual?

"He'd solve it in a heartbeat," I suggest.

<These were just two of the 

dozen-odd or so people 

we encountered that weekend...
"On The Beach (Take I)"
Photo: The Squawker

<ii.>

Sunday proved a totally different story, as it happened. At first, we weren't going anywhere. Life felt too hot today. The forecast that called for highs in the upper 70s/early 80s had proven right on the money.

Just then, however, I noticed that my weekend pop supply was running low. "Would you care if I went to the gas station?" I asked Squawker.

"If we're going to go anywhere, it might as well be now," Squawker responded. "I was going to lay down for a little bit, so let's go while I'm still dressed."

"Okay, then."

We head down to the Pri-Mart, which is only five minutes or so away from our apartment, and I plunk down my last tenner for three Diet Pepsi two liters, plus a King Size Kit Kat, and a bottle of unsweetened tea, for Squawker.

I almost head straight home, but then I change my mind. "Hey, why don't we take a quick drive?" 

"Sure, why not? I need to get out, even for a little bit."

"Yeah, we didn't really have a spring, did we?" 

So we head back downtown, past the ice cream store, where we see roughly half a dozen people in line. None are wearing masks, and they're standing right on top of each other. Six feet apart? More like six inches, if that.

"That seems like a big risk to take, not wearing a mask, just to get an ice cream cone," Squawker ventures.

"Yeah, I know," I sigh. "They act like we're done with the virus. But it's not done with us."

We hang a left from Main Street, past City Hall, and I suggest taking a rightward loop through downtown, which will plonk us back onto Main Street. 

But Squawker isn't having any of it. "It's hotter out here than I thought, and I'm having a hard time breathing in it. Let's go home."

"Fair enough."

So I follow my left, through two stop signs, and turn left again at the bluff, where I'll follow the long main road that takes us home. This time, we notice a lot more cars, and a lot more parking spaces filling up.

Summer has arrived, and so have the tourists, apparently, in spite of the COVID sword that seems poised so scarily close to each and every person's head. We notice license plates from Georgia and New York, as well as the usual suspects from Indiana and Illinois.

"I thought people weren't traveling during the pandemic." Squawker frowns. "Or even if they could, that they wouldn't feel like it."

"So much for that idea, I guess," I shrug.

Squawker's face clouds with anxiety. "Look at them. Hardly a mask on any one of them. They're sitting right next to each other, or walking right to next each other. I guess they're not feeling the fear."

"Seems like a fair statement to me," I shrug. But, well, I think that's part of the problem. See, between all the power hungry red state officials rushing to reopen, and our own homegrown menaces -- specifically the newly-revived militia movement, the Proud Boys, and so on -- all agitating likewise in so-called blue states, like Michigan, I've learned one thing.

Fear is in the eye of the beholder. How that helps us in our worst, longest sustained period of crisis -- COVID-19, the implosion of our economy, the shedding of jobs that accompanied it, George Floyd's death by cop, and so on -- remains to be seen. -- The Reckoner

<Sand barrier put up
to slow that lakefront erosion,

as it creeps up

ever so closer:

"On The Beach (Take II)":
Photo: The Squawker