The cheery blossoms outside the bedroom window are distinctly white in the vague, grey light. It is daylight, but the sun has not come over the Cascades to the east yet. I have my coffee, a good mystery, and a fever.

I’ve just finished a breakfast of ham, scrambled eggs and fresh cornbread. Lyd is still in bed, but I was hungry, so decided to go ahead and eat.

We’ve been eating well lately. Simply, but well. Our groceries deliveries are set on the porch once a week, as is our produce order. We see the drivers through the front window and wave, but do not approach them. Once they’ve gone back down the street, we bring the bags in to unpack. I can’t do random shopping now, so I plan meals carefully, trying to be creative with what we’ve received, not wanting to waste anything. Last week, some oranges were starting to get old, so I made two pints of marmalade from them, rather than letting them go bad. Our usual foods have given way. Breads are always fresh now, either yeast (while we still can get it), or sourdough. Vegetables out populate meat in our meals. I make dishes we’ve not had before (and what am I going to do with that eggplant I inadvertently ordered?)

Our meals have become the objective correlative of our life. We seem to pay more particular attention to what we do and what we do has more meaning, more importance. I suppose that the combination of our isolation and the uncertainty of the present brings a focus to everyday activity. Making bread has become an important and informative activity.

Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.”

Blessings

Unwanted Travels