In that way that things happen, I came across an article that posed the question familiar to anyone who has interviewed for a job: Where do you see yourself in five years? 

If someone who was thinking of hiring me asked me that question 30 years ago, I would have said something like I hope to be working for this very company where I will have progressively moved up the ladder, and probably have won an award for my successful sales efforts. 

If someone had asked me that question after I retired in November 2007, I would likely have said I will be a role model for all of my grandchildren, I will have traveled the world, and I will have become a remarkable home cook and baker with a home featured in last month’s issue of House Beautiful. 

However, if someone had asked me back in 2015 where I see myself in five years, I would undoubtedly NOT have said I see myself hunkered down inside my house, unable to see my grandkids for fear of me infecting them or them infecting me with a deadly virus. I see myself (in those rare instances when I leave the safety of my house to venture to the grocery store where I will be unable to find such necessities as toilet paper and antibacterial soap) wearing a mask, surrounded by others also wearing masks. I will be unable to attend Mass, go to the gym, eat at a restaurant, get my hair cut, enjoy a manicure, or attend a movie. My children will be working from home, and my grandchildren will be taught by talking heads on a computer screen.

Seriously. Whoever would have imagined? And though things are starting to open up, I would absolutely never, ever venture to guess what my life will be like in five years. The truth is, I don’t even try to venture to guess what my life will be like in August. Hell, I’m not too sure about this weekend.

I read this morning that Colorado’s coronavirus numbers went up a tad these past two weeks. Thus far, not alarmingly as have Arizona’s, Texas’, and California’s. Still, I’m holding my breath, waiting for our governor to tell us that we are once again confined to our home and garden, forbidden from seeing those we love.

It’s enough to make me want to run and get a pedi before they lock their doors. It’s what I did in March. I just might have been the very last person who’s toenails were clipped before they shut off the OPEN sign. Even little girls like Jen’s granddaughter Lilly — who is visiting her Grammie for a bit, along with her family — need to wear a mask to get pampered…..

Arizona’s governor has thrown in the towel and sent people back to their homes, at least on a limited basis. No more movies, treadmills, or bellying up to the bar. Gatherings are once again restricted to 50 people. The 50-person limitation never bothered me because unless all of my cousins, second cousins, nieces, nephews, kids, grandkids, children, and in-laws decide to pay me a visit, I don’t know 50 people to gather.

In the meantime, I will continue to wear my mask when I’m outside my confines, wash my hands diligently (now that we can buy soap), give people wide berth in the grocery stores, and hope and pray that we are no longer seriously sheltering-in-place.

These two tourists were taking proper precautions.

Five years, indeed.