My mood vacillates like the weather. Believe me, I’m not thinking I am the only one experiencing mood changes during this period. In my 66 years on this earth, I have never been through something like a quarantine that lasts weeks upon weeks. I think the longest I’d ever been quarantined prior to this was a week when I had the measles as a kid.
Monday night, Arizonans received the “joyful” news that we are joining much of the rest of the United States in an mandated quarantine. Upon hearing the news, I went into immediate panic mode. I was ready to go out and buy some toilet paper. Two things stopped me: 1) There still isn’t a square of toilet paper to be found in the grocery stores as of yet; and 2) I realized that absolutely nothing was really changing in my day-to-day life. The only place I ever go that is beyond these four walls is the grocery store. And I’m still allowed to go to the grocery store under the rules.
I’m also allowed to get my hair cut, have my toenails painted, play golf, and order food to be delivered to my house when I am sick of cooking. So the mandated order seems kind of silly, but what do I know? It’s all about flattening the curve.
I wasn’t particularly worried about having access to wine or beer, or even whiskey. In Arizona, all of these things are sold in grocery stores. But I thought Bill might have a hard time finding cigars, as I assumed his cigar store would be closed. So yesterday morning, we drove over to the cigar store, and he went into buy a handful of cigars. He came out with the news that the cigar store was going to continue to be open. They, my friends, apparently provide an essential service.
Now, Bill and my brother would both agree with that premise. I, however, am asking myself, did the governor call for a mandatory quarantine just to make himself feel better? Just sayin’.
I’m sick of talking about the coronavirus. I spent the last few days checking on almost everyone I know and love, and they are all doing fine. And they are all sick of talking about the coronavirus. So, I’m going to change the subject.
Our grandson Alastair will turn 15 on April 5. I don’t know how that happened. He was just born. Anyhoo, he is not shy about asking for what he wants. I got a text message from him a week or so ago. In it, he said that instead of a gift, he would like cold hard cashola, which he intends to put towards his Purchase-A-Car Fund. Boom. I love when boys have plans and things are easy.
So I found out at which bank he keeps his Purchase-A-Car funds, and used Zelle to send the money to him. Within a few minutes, I got a thank-you text from him. It even included not one, but TWO, hearts.
I will tell you that technology almost always surprises me. But Zelle is more than technology. It is magic. Because it turns out that I don’t even have to know WHERE he banks. I only have to know his telephone number. Hit SEND, and within minutes you get a thank-you text from your grandson with two hearts.
I don’t want to think too much about how that happens and what could seemingly go wrong, but it’s better than thinking about the coronavirus.