Fireworks in the pan means Reid is cooking at the edge

Carol has been handling the stay-at-home quarantine quite well. She’s fidgety, bored, misses people and increasingly restless to run errands. In other words, she’s behaving like a normal human being. The other day she excitedly and repeatedly offered to drive to Target for a curbside delivery of a bottle of sherry, the only ingredient we lacked for a veal marsala recipe. The thing is, Carol’s trying to avoid my calorie-rich recipes during this period of physical inactivity, so picking up the sherry would be a double-edged sword. I finally calmed her down by adding the sherry to my biweekly wine delivery, but agreeing to a pickup of grocery items at the local Mother’s food store on Monday. She’s counting down the days till Monday.

“Since stay-at-home is a default lifestyle for me, pandemics are proving to be akin to those all-inclusive luxury vacations, where you never leave the resort and there are tiki bars in the middle of the swimming pools.”

Tatu was right on time

Since stay-at-home is a default lifestyle for me, pandemics are proving to be akin to those all-inclusive luxury vacations, where you never leave the resort and there are tiki bars in the middle of the swimming pools. I leisurely awake each morning serenely aware there’s nothing on my schedule. I imagine our kitchen to be a pleasant breakfast cafe, and our living room alternately serves as a base for an array of water sports, such as snorkeling, jets skis and paddle boats courtesy of a variety of YouTube videos. Our couch can approximate a poolside lounge for an afternoon nap.

The outdoor ottoman adds comfort to the luxury of our resort

I’ve begun referring to the delivery chap from the wine store as Tatu the cabin boy, as he keeps the room bar well stocked. The patio outside has been the site for delightful evening barbecues, luaus and native dance rituals. Any offsite tours and attractions are enjoyed via my ebook library. I’m not saying I don’t want the pandemic to end; I’m just saying that for anyone worried about my health and welfare, I simply say, “having a wonderful time, wish you were here.”

Our cheerful and professional staff welcomes you to either luxuriate or recuperate.

It doesn’t appear though my virtual Club Med works for Carol. Instead of the gentle rush of a Caribbean surf, there’s been nearly rhythmic beat of the washing machine (she’s begun asking for the clothes I’m still wearing to make up a load), vacuum cleaner, dishwasher, along with the swoosh of a mop and scent of disinfectant everywhere, as Carol tries to burn nervous energy by preparing our mobile home for possible use as an emergency ICU unit. While taking a break from all these endeavors, Carol will online shop for just about anything to help pass the time. Recent searches have included non-stick coasters for our wine glasses, a closet-fitted wine rack and an outdoor patio ottoman, all of which I’ve cheerfully used to outfit the Club Med resort aspect of our abode. To return the favor, I’ll help make the bed, fold clothes or empty the dishwasher, which Carol thanks me for, but in a rueful tone that tells me I’ve eliminated an activity which she was counting to do herself to help pass the time.

Our different approaches appear to be meshing nicely together, as Carol awaits calls from health officials and I from tour operators. I’m happy to report that Tatu delivered the sherry, and Carol and I were able to enjoy veal marsala as part of the Italian Nite festivities at the resort. Carol insisted on cleaning up, and shortly we were also ready for our first transfer patient, if necessary.