Before I could switch stations or turn the television off, a news reporter for the local 10 p.m. news flashed onto the screen. As I grabbed the remote control, I heard him announce, “Another person in Marathon Country has tested positive for COVID-19.”
Hitting the power-off button, the screen went black. Turning to my daughter Tammie, who is sheltering in place with me, I complained, “I can’t listen to the news right before bedtime. I won’t be able to go to sleep if I do. Sleep is important for us to feel well.”
Tammie nodded in agreement as she pointed out, “We’ve been keeping up with what’s been going on throughout the day. I don’t want to listen to the news at this time of the day, either.”
The reality of what sheltering in place really meant, took two weeks to totally sink in. My life, a sense of what my world was, my place in it and the end of old carefree routines crumbled and disappeared. I felt scared. The change was so sudden and drastic. We saw no end to this disruption, either. How frustrating!
As I prepared for bed, I thought about what I knew about the Spanish Flu in 1918. My mother had been 12 years-old at the time. People were told to stay home, then too. Many farmers in the Stratford area, like my mother and father’s families, didn’t alter their lives much. They already stayed home most of the time. Continue reading