Happenings

I realized the other day that the reason I never write any more, or even feel like writing (seasonal affective disorder aside), is that little to nothing ever happens to me anymore. I am a wholly mobile worker which differs from the situation I had when I was in Hawaii. There, I was mostly at home but still managed to come into the office a couple of times a week. I would chat and see people. Get work done too, but there is something to be said for that interaction. I didn’t really take much stock in it until I moved to rural NY. Here I am alone, in the house, every day of the week. Thankfully, we do have a cat. And as crazy as it sounds, I don’t know what I would do without her. She is a sweet, little high maintenance thing.

My son comes home from school and he is happy to be home because he has been out all day. I am the opposite. I would like to maybe go somewhere and do something. Unfortunately, in the winter, it seems to always be dark. And cold. Which makes me just want to crawl into bed. And again, we are rural. There is not much open in the evenings. If you need a gallon of milk past eight, you are going to 7-11.

So, as much as I totally and kind of ashamedly engaged in panic buying two weeks ago due to the coronavirus, I do have a story to tell. Something actually happened. Well, sort of. Everyone and their dog (unless you watch Fox News) is tracking the numbers of infections. Where it has popped up. And, ironically, the first case positively identified out here in the sticks was in a guy who worked at one of the local breweries. Apparently his last day at work was 2/24. And do you know where I was on 2/23. With two friends? And my son? Yes, it’s true. At the brewery, at a crawfish boil. The kind where they dump the pot of boiled crawfish, potatoes and corn on the table and everyone eats with their hands. So while I don’t go out so much, there I was, somehow interacting with Suffolk County’s patient zero. Of course, he really wasn’t, he caught it from someone else in the community.

The good thing is that it’s been a while and no one I know has contracted the virus, including myself. I am happy that legions of people did not get sick after the boil, that is the kind of thing that will kill a business (think Genki). The brewery is closed for a deep cleaning and I would like to visit it once it opens. So that was something.

And then yesterday, I was working. I heard sirens. They sounded close. But then my ten second attention span forgot. Until I went back to the bedroom and saw fire trucks. On the edge of the property. My son and I went out. A woman who rides horses where we live works for the dispatcher and told us that there was fire in the woods and that the fire department was having a problem getting water to the site. It turns out they were on the road on the opposite side of the woods as well. The giant tanker truck that they had parked on the road off property was too large to make it to where it needed to be. Apparently they brought in a special truck to power its way through the woods and bring water. The guys who were riding in the open back were wearing yellow jumpsuits and red motorcycle helmets. It felt like they could jump off the back at any moment and perform a song. Maybe something by Brittney Spears. But they didn’t.

My son, being the teen that he is, kept telling me to stay close to the house. Asking me why I was taking pictures. Telling me to stay back. Because, it’s all about him. And what people think about him. I did take a picture. The woods busting tanker truck seemed to do the trick and put the fire out. We heard a rumor that a couple of kids had started the fire. And while it is easy to be super judgey, being the mom of a teenaged boy, I know how things can go off the rails. It is a delicate dance between reining them in and letting them fail. So, I withhold the judgment.

These are the things that happened. Just yesterday. All of it. It is the most that has happened in a very long time. And here I am, writing about it. And I don’t know what to say about that.

About nematomorph

Living like the rich and famous, splitting time between Hawaii and New York.
This entry was posted in fear, New York, patience, Relationships, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s