“Remoted” –Day 82 (Saturday)

The Rose bush is really
producing this year.

Saturday dawned like most other mornings of the past 80-plus days (and the preceding decade). Moose, aka “Big Ben,” the most accurate time-keeping device in the land, was yapping to go out at 6:00, just like every other day for the past 10-plus years. Twice a year, when we change the clocks, he barely misses a beat, and we are up at 6:00, whether it’s an hour ahead or an hour back. Amazing, really. 

Because it's nearly summer, each day the yard has more flowers than the previous day. It's been a treat witnessing all the details missed over the past four years due to the "normal" hustle and bustle. As much as COVID-19 and social distancing suck, there are some real benefits to sticking close to home and taking time to breathe and take notice of the immediate surroundings.

With no dress code during the workweek at the work-from-home office, attire is no longer different for the weekend. It's the same as Monday through Friday – temperature appropriate whatever-wear, with only minor variations for department video meetings (i.e sleeves versus a spaghetti strap cami). Coffee today was just like every day, because there is no functioning without it and the day of the week has never been a factor there. There was reading on the porch with the coffee, which, though not as active and health fulfilling as physical activity like yoga or biking, is the current preferred start to every day. And who am I kidding? Yoga has never been the start to my day. Like ever. And I haven’t started my day with biking since 2000 when I was living in Worcester and training for the Boston to New York AIDS ride, but if someone could send over a tire pump it could happen again. So yeah, for now, it's morning coffee with a book to start the day.

The porch book nook.

The recent repositioning of the glider to the narrow wall on the porch has made a huge difference, as it opened up the space and provided room for the glass top bistro set previously located in the kitchen nook, which, once relocated, allowed space for the new desk/office (dominoes, baby!). There is another table on the porch for re-potting plants and Mummu’s old telephone table, aka “the gossip bench,”  a relic of the landline days, for which there is no room anywhere inside the house. (Someday it will live in the guest room as a laptop perch, but that is way down on the growing list of house stuff.) The enclosed porch is an eclectic space, but for now, it works. It has taken a while, but I now fully understand my Mom's love of her screened-in deck area. The summer bonus room rocks. It's got the benefits of camping (fresh air, change of perspective) plus the conveniences of home (indoor plumbing, coffee maker).

The official deck farming staging area. 

Nearly every space of the porch was used today. There were several instances of reading on the glider, a dog on each side, first with coffee, later with ice water. I cannot accurately convey my love of books with short chapters and their ability to accommodate brief reading breaks. There was the re-potting of basil and the planting of mint, cilantro, and basil to various deck planters that in earlier years contained flowers. No biggie, just a minor shift in keeping with this year's theme of change.

Late in the day, the bistro table was relocated to the deck for a social distanced pizza, wine, and chocolate chip cookie supper with two friends. Oh, man. What a beautiful evening. The weather was sunny with a breeze and we had a most welcomed and needed visit and social interaction. We talked in person just like the pre-COVID days, even though the topic of much of our conversation was COVID-related. The large deck table and the smaller bistro table provided plenty of space for the three of us to safely spread out, relax, eat, and talk. My friends are the best.

I tend to think I’m doing fine on my own until I spend time with my friends and realize how much I miss them when we don’t see each other. This has been my story for, well, forever. I’m not the island I often like to think I am. My friends  are my anchor, my touchstone, and often, my salvation and link to sanity. And thank goodness for them.