Hunkered Down in Roscommon

Hunkered Down in Roscommon

Like many people across the country, Marjorie and I are pretty much staying home because of the corona virus that is sweeping the country. Our progressive, smart lady governor has implemented strict guidelines to keep Michigan people separated and safe from the bug by shutting down restaurants and bars. My own theory was that alcohol helped kill bugs, but I have to assume the governor knows best so we have been trying to follow all the rules and advice that we hear on our glowing rectangles. (I did, however, stock up on booze just to hedge my bets.)

 Since we have fewer things to keep us occupied, we have been watching a lot of TV. The national news seems to have a new story every day about how the disease is getting worse by the hour. They also offer tips on what to do to avoid getting dead. I’m not sure the advice is any good. Everything I learn about the virus makes it seem that the nasty little bug is out to get me. For example, the corona bug is hardest on seniors and is also guilty of sexual discrimination since it strikes down men at twice the mortality rate as women. Besides, I am having a hard time following all the rules about avoiding the bug. They said don’t touch your face so I gave up shaving. That only lasted one day since my unshaven beard itched, and I touched my face over a hundred times that day. I also was unable to give up my morning walk to the coffee klatch attended by two or three other old codgers like me.

Obeying the advice about social distancing is also hard for me. Staying six feet away from people during conversation is hard since my hearing aids seem to have a conversational range of just under five feet.
The prohibition against touching someone or, God forbid, breathing the same air as someone else, is also tough after a lifetime of hand shaking and breathing.

Although our state officials are trying to help, the Federal government offers no help at all and our poor President is completely out of his league when he tries discussing anything more scientific than bubble gum. Fortunately, the infectious disease medicine specialist Dr. Fausi is on hand for all of the President’s news briefings to contradict him at each of his misstatements. Fausi is unable, however, to assist with any reporter’s questions as the President is quick to jump in with his stock answer: “You are a bad reporter!”

Even my doctor didn’t offer any help for me. “You seem well enough to me,” he said, “let’s just skip your next appointment.”

I lasted almost two weeks in trying to adhere to the rules. But today, I had enough. For the first time in two weeks, I suggested to the wife that we drive to town and enjoy ourselves with a few of the diversions that our village of Roscommon offers, topped off by a nice brunch at a local restaurant. She agreed with a surplus of energy suggesting she too, had enough of corona virus isolation.

We left in late morning and drove the six miles to town in hot anticipation of our first day away from home in (it seemed like) several months. Our first stop was a surprise that the wife sprang on me. She insisted that we stop at the Rite Aid store in downtown Roscommon. “Whatever for?” I asked.

“Wait till we go inside and then I’ll surprise you,” she said coyly. It sounded exciting, so I followed her in.

The surprise was something we had been waiting for, but not something I really wanted. It was time for our second shot to finish the vaccination process for shingles. The first shot was several weeks earlier, but I still had the memory of a sore arm. Only the chance to shop for some badly needed provisions made the surprise shot in the arm a little more bearable. Jim, the pharmacist who administered today’s shot remembered me. “Oh yes, you’re the fellow who screamed at the first shot I administered. We lost a number of sales that day when several customers left the store.” He paused for my response. I couldn’t think of a thing to say, but I did look about to see if any other customers were nearby. Since no one was listening, I thought silence was my best defense and the pharmacist went ahead with the business of plunging the needle deep into my arm without a trace of compassion.

After our shots, we had a pleasant interlude of shopping for supplies for the continuing sentence of home isolation. More about that later. “Let’s go to the car wash and get the truck washed,” I offered since I wanted to continue basking in the glow of purposeful activity outside on my own four walls. We did the carwash and wonder of wonder, I still had the coupon for the lower-priced multiple car wash, having not lost it in the jumble of a man’s truck stuff. It was like hitting the lottery on your birthday.

Since the shop that had my broken chainsaw was closed, I suggested to Marjorie we skip that adventure and that it was time for the main event of our outing, our purchased brunch that needed neither preparation nor clean-up. We were both hungry and both excited for our first store-bought meal in some time. Further, since we had no reason to debate our brunch site selection, I pulled the truck across the street and into MacDonald’s carryout line. Another treat; no one else was in line. We ordered our Big Mac’s and fries and cokes. The former 45 cent meal had escalated in price; the change from a twenty-dollar bill was a few singles and some nearly worthless coins. We took our brunch from the drive-thru lady and drove the two blocks to park alongside the river in the warm, sunny day that had managed to almost reach 32 degrees. We lowered the windows on the truck until the snow began to creep in like dust in a neglected closet.

The Big Mac’s hit the spot. We gulped them down before beginning the drive home to finish the best part of our outing- the shelving of our carefully considered and purchased essentials that would help see us through the next phase of our confinement. I had the honor of carrying the purchases from our truck to the house and therefore the pleasure of enumerating and storing each of the several dozen candy bars, the gallon of ice cream, the blow-pop suckers and, not the least, the mustard flavored pretzels that would go wonderfully with the homemade beer. Since we already had popcorn stored away and I had purchased wine and liquor earlier, we agreed we were well-provisioned for another stint of hunkering down in Roscommon.

Stay healthy.