Items in Stock and Plumb-Lined by God

Thursday, March 19, 2020

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He absently ran his fingers through my hair as we stared at the ceiling.

Coffee time, he asked gently? Okay, I sighed.

What world is this? Such calm in the hills. The trees wearing their new pretty white dresses. Puffy white clouds and a baby blue sky. Perfect for skiing. But of course the ski resorts are closed now. They gave all their food to employees last night. They washed hands, stood six feet apart, put on gloves, and selected various carrots and lettuces and hot peppers. Melons and salad mixes and a thing of half-n-half.

Look at all the food! he said when he came home last night. We put it all in the fridge. Shiny and happy food. Little berries in tiny single-serving containers, waiting for breakfast time.

We stared at it for a while.

A mafia-looking guy got out of a mid-sized SUV at the gas station. With stock in Dapper Dan, shiny shoes, and a grey suit jacket with the square shoulder pads. His wife must’ve been an elementary school teacher. Blue sweater with butterflies and white Keds. She wandered into the 7-11. He handed the car-washing guy a $20 and lit a cigar. Leaned against the building, all mafia style.

Gas is $2.81. I must’ve been 25 last time it was this low. Mom said Cindy paid $2.41 in Carson. I hear it could go as low as $0.99 soon.

It was cold and windy but Sofiia wanted to go on a walk so we met up at the meeting spot and Sherlock covered her with kisses and we stayed 6 feet apart and walked for hours. Talking. Not talking. Saying too much or suddenly forgetting entirely what our point might have been. The kind of comfortable walk with a good friend we all need to have right now.

I picked up Aidan and we went to Costco to get meds for Nelson. A big sign board out front stating, in green: ITEMS IN STOCK, each item on it’s own sheet of paper so it could be quickly removed: Dog Food. Rice. Bread. Milk. Ground beef. Diapers. Water. Butter. Kleenex.

The other side in red: ITEMS OUT OF STOCK: Paper Towels. Toilet Tissue. Vinegar. Clorox Wipes. Lysol Spray. Hydrogen Proxide (spelled incorrectly). Rubbing Alcohol. Bleach. Baby Wipes. Eggs. Beans. Fresh Chicken (Limited Frozen Chicken Still Available). Soft Soap Anti-Bacterial.

Of course, the Costco pharmacy “didn’t get the prescription” just like every other time so we bought some trellises and a beach hat and some cheese, because that was obviously an important thing to do. The vibe was awful and we were hungry and starting to get snippy about whether we needed one box of tofu or two, considering the food we scored last night. So it was time to go.

But the chill in the air ran away and it was a beautiful day and we drove down the strip to see all the closed casinos. The homeless were still sitting outside, hoping any human would walk by to give them change. And the lights were off but there were plenty of cars on the streets and it didn’t look all that different than any other day. Not A Fantastic Photo Op. The marijuana dispensaries were hopping and the Mormon bookstore had cars out front and people were in drive thrus and we decided it wasn’t that interesting so we went home.

So what kind of world is this? How is it that people are dying while it’s snowing and there are earthquakes in Utah and Northern California that rattle awake the folks in their beds who are already scared enough? And people trapped overseas desperate to get home, or desperate to stay away. And people stranded in Utah after the earthquake shut down the airport. And people stranded everywhere. And all the while, people are waiting in line to buy weed?

We picked at our food and opened our paint-by-number canvases that I’d special-ordered from some of our favorite photos long before the virus was a thing. We set up easels on the kitchen table and painted until we went a little cross-eyed.

And then it hailed. Straight down from the skies it came. Plumb-Lined by God. And the sky above was dark grey but the clouds had no shape and the sun singed the mountaintop as it fell over the side, red beams right through the hail, bouncing light softly until it settled in the canyon.

What kind of world is this? I asked him.

We stepped into the golden light and stretched open our arms. Hail gathered lightly in our hands. On our hair. We tipped back our heads, glasses on, and watched it fall into our mouths.

I don’t know, he said.

But the dolphins and the swans are coming back to the Canals of Venice. And the water is clear for the first time ever. And there’s fish. And kelp.

And global air quality is noticeably improved. The difference can be seen from space. And there’s probably less food waste.

And hail now falls despite the sun.