For the past month I have been sheltering in place, wearing masks and gloves, and threatening to spray Lysol on anyone daring to enter my personal space (which is now 6 feet in radius). I've left the house only a few times, and I do consider those times "essential."
I've been wearing the same yoga pants, shirt and robe for a few days now. I felt like "the dude" in The Big Lebowski when I went to the drive-through yesterday for dinner. Since I wore a mask, I figured nobody would know it's me, anyway.
One thing I've learned during these weeks is that very few people can spell quarantine. Hence, the "Corn-Teen" in the headline. I've actually seen that spelling several times, and it's my favorite.
I spent the first week of official isolation at my son's house in Atlanta, Texas. His wife is an essential bank employee, so I got to help with the kids. We did a lot of primary-school homework and watched a lot of TV.
Alas, a week was all we could take of one another in such close quarters. My son would never tell me to leave, but when I said I would be going home the next day, he couldn't hide the sparkle in his eyes. Yeah, kiddo, I feel the same way.
Now, as far as second-grade and pre-K homework go - I'm so glad I'm not a teacher. My 8-year old granddaughter, Jemma, informed me that I was "too old-fashioned" to do her math. Excuse me? "One plus one still equals two," I said.
When I was young I had trouble with math, so my dad taught me some tricks to make it easier. Those tricks have worked all my life - even when I was a bid specialist for a food distributor and my life was numbers. Yet a second-grader tells me I don't know what I'm talking about. Geez.
My 5-year old granddaughter, Jaci, was a lot easier to help. I'm real good at coloring within the lines and holding up flash cards. We had fun, and she never once told me I was inadequate.
Each day, without fail, the lunch ladies from the Atlanta school district showed up with breakfast, lunch and clear baggies full of milk and juice cartons. These people are working their hiney's off! They deserve trophies.
Several of my friends are teachers, and they are working harder right now than ever before. I have so much respect for these people. They should all get major bonuses for what they are going through.
At night when the girls went to bed, we grown-ups would settle in to watch "Tiger King." Yes, I drank that Kool-Aid, and I'm totally convinced that Carole Baskin fed her husband to the tigers.
I don't remember Joe Exotic running for president in 2016, but - by golly - if he runs again I'll vote for him. Imagine having a bleach-blond, mullet-wearing, tattooed-and-pierced gay man with two husbands - a zoo owner with more than 200 tigers - as the president of the United States! It can't be any crazier than what we have now - as far as the hair and big mouth go.
After "Tiger King," I decided to look up other weird documentaries before rinsing my eyeballs with bleach. So I found "The Wild and Wonderful Whites of West Virginia." Now, I had kind of seen this film about the White family before, when my now ex-husband had turned it on. I think I stared at my phone through the entire show because I had no recollection of the sights I saw on the screen this time.
If I even attempt to describe this show, I'm afraid my editor will be inundated with hate-mail, so I'll just tell you to Google it. Seriously. Google it.
Then, a friend told me I HAD to watch "Abducted in Plain Sight," so I did. Good grief! I ended up on the phone with my therapist at 11 p.m. to discuss this show. (OK, so the friend who suggested I watch this was the therapist. But I swear I needed her professionally halfway through the show.) All I can say about this show is this: A 12-year-old girl is kidnapped twice by a neighbor and friend of her parents, who were clueless, and I found myself shouting at them on the screen just 15 minutes into this debacle.
Besides watching mind-numbing documentaries, I've spent a lot of time looking at my phone. I've gained a few hundred new Facebook friends and several new followers on Twitter. I've downloaded five coloring apps, and I switch back-and-forth when the ads pop up.
I found a public group on Facebook titled "View From My Window" that everyone needs to check out. The group was formed by a woman in Amsterdam who had a wonderful idea: Get as many people in the world to post photos of the view from their door or window during this pandemic.
After the site went live on March 22, in the first three weeks it accumulated 943,740 members. A week after that? Two million. The photos are wonderful to look at - mountain ranges, ocean sunsets, empty city streets, famous landmarks with no tourists, high-rise buildings with all the lights out except those in a heart-shape.
This group page has possibly taken up more of my time than anything else. Even better than the photos are the short stories that people are including (thank goodness for Facebook translate).
I feel like I have taken an extended trip around the world and have seen everything I ever wanted to see. I've learned so much on this page. Some of it sad. All of it fascinating. Many people have written about losing a loved one to this vicious virus. Many are suffering from it right now; and many have recovered.
Until this page popped up, I did not realize the extent of COVID-19 or its effect on the entire planet. Now I realize we really are all in this together. There is no rhyme or reason to it. You could be the one in your circle to catch it, or the one to die from it.
While we are stuck at home, we should be doing those things we never have time for. Read more, cook more, talk to each other more, call out-of-town family, work some jigsaw puzzles, clean out closets and take that pile you make to one of the homeless missions, go through cabinets and drawers - and discard those things you really don't need. Heck, now is the time to practice the KonMari method of cleaning. Hold everything and ask if it sparks joy. If the answer is no, then toss it. List the leftovers on Facebook Marketplace.
And, by all means, watch "Tiger King."