I’m supposed to be at a party right now. A small party, I imagine around 25-30 people. It was to take place in a popular downtown restaurant. But instead, I’m sitting at home with my dog, writing you. Not because I decided not to go. Not because I don’t feel well. But because of panic and “guidelines”. Guidelines being a nice way of saying restrictions.

One week ago, last Tuesday, America was aware of this “flubug” called Coronavirus. We felt bad for China, and we were really examining our spring break plans. We had enough sense to know we didn’t want to go to big cities with international airports. We weren’t too keen about getting on airplanes or cruise ships. But we’re not China. So we laughed and joked and shared memes about beer and face masks made from bras.

Wednesday. I look back on this day now and wonder how long it will be before I’ll have another day like it. Because that was the last time I had dinner out with friends. We laughed and teased our friend who stayed glued to her phone. She travels a lot, and her panic rose substantially as the night wore on, no matter how much wine she drank. She was in communication with a coworker in California, who said she was praying. In case you’re new to America, let me tell you…California is different. I understand they pray to the Sun God. At any rate, maybe this will lead some of them to Jesus. I’ll drink to that. So, now it’s like seeing that night as a movie. All of us at Aubrey’s, like any other weeknight, having a good time, sports on, but the news running along a bar at the bottom. We’re all huddled up and sharing secrets and food. There were hugs around the neck goodbye. This is how the movies always begin. With a normal day. One last one before the end of the world and the crippling of civilization.

That was the night the NBA announced they would not be playing to live crowds. It felt ridiculous, but not ominous.

At first the CDC recommended limited gatherings to less than 250 people. As a suggestion, they said.

Concerts began to be cancelled or rescheduled. People were ready to riot. Don’t take away our fun! If you don’t want to catch it, stay home, we told each other.

Friday came. Schools closed. Parents really started looking at this then. This could be an issue. Better buy plenty of toilet paper. Statements from every retailer and restaurant were being issued via email about how Covid-19 (as it was now being called) was being addressed. Restaurants were stepping up cleaning procedures and removing non-essential items off tables (like Cracker Barrel’s peg game). What was most distressing is that you may not even exhibit symptoms. And when and if you did, it was probable that you had carried the virus for as long as two weeks. I hadn’t been in the grocery store in weeks, and wouldn’t be going then except that I was out of tomatoes, and tomatoes are a driving force in my life. And I was also out of chili, but I had hot dogs and buns. I needed chili, beer, tomatoes, chicken, and cheese. I knew that the stores were experiencing a much higher volume of shoppers than usual, so I went early, with a list of other errands to run.

The post office was mercifully peaceful. Our post office is many things, but peaceful is not an adjective I would EVER use to describe it. On to Food City. The store was busy, people in every aisle, but again, this is not unusual. Especially for a Friday. I went down the TP aisle just to say I did. Signs up to notify shoppers only two packs at a time were allowed. There was some left, small packs of off-brands. So, hopeful. But I was rattled. I kept envisioning all the apocalyptic movies I’d seen….just like this. This doesn’t happen in my small town. This was for Los Angeles, New York, Chicago. This was for books about the end of time. This wasn’t for reality. I was not amused. I thought that it would be a good time to get out. I’d come back later, maybe early next week, and get the things I was missing. I found a line that seemed to be moving. It reminded me of their midnight madness sales. The people in front of me had two huge packs of TP, six pounds of hamburger meat, several cases of water, I don’t know what all. I looked at my buggy a little forlorn. Surely it was an overreaction. These people were baby boomers. A lady got in line behind me. We made eyes. We began to hash it out. It was her regular shopping day. She had normal stuff in normal amounts. We talked to a guy in a county uniform the next lane over. He had a whole bunch of boxes of Little Debbies and two cases of Dr. Pepper. Here were my people. We talked about books. We laughed. It felt routine.

Later, I reflected that what if I had taken off Facebook for Lent like I normally do? I can’t bear to watch the news, and I’m not known for checking my email regularly. Is it possible I could have walked into that mayhem unaware? Possibly.

By the weekend, they were saying the number 50 was safer. Within three days, that number has dropped to ten and we all know they’d be most comfortable if we just isolated ourselves individually. One family member per room, with private bath, completely stocked with Clorox. They called it social distancing. Six feet, people. Pretend you’re all wearing hoopskirts.

Disney World closed.

Libraries closed. Museums and parks followed.

Churches suspended services and programs, opting instead for Facebook Live videos.

Theatres, gyms, and bars shut down, including many planned events.

Hospitals patients are limited to one family member to stay with them. People in jails and nursing homes are off limits to visitors.

Grocery stores and Walmart began to limit their hours to allow for restocking and cleaning measures.

Drive thru only or takeout from restaurants, and they’re delivering it curbside.

And finally, the Casinos.

The Kentucky Derby will not be run until September. It’s normally scheduled for the first Saturday in May. I’m not sure why we’re already postponing events that are that far away.

And that was it. Suddenly, you couldn’t buy things in stores. The meat department was woefully barren, the toilet paper aisle was picked over, hand sanitizer long gone, and the bread was ravaged. Fortunately, in my part of the world, while the stores were busy at checkout, people were still friendly and helpful and we smiled ruefully from a distance that we always maintained. I went by the Co-op and gave and returned hugs with a dozen of my old friends. We laughed and scoffed and shook our heads. We’re farmers. We’re feeding America. We know how to hunt and fish. It’s fine. Luckily I know how to cook dry beans over a fire, and I can make cornbread with little trouble and few ingredients. I shan’t starve. But I want to scream “I’m NOT FOLDING!!! And don’t try to tell me this isn’t political!!!”

I have read too many books on this type of situation. But I’m still not scared, because I check the numbers every day. I still trade texts with other friends who are taking this in stride. I can hear the eye rolling as we discuss the chaos we have witnessed, the arguments on Facebook, what our employers protocol is for this situation. We’re still working. We’re still maintaining our relationships. We’re still eating out and not cooking. We’re planting gardens…but we’ve always done that.

Many retail stores have closed through the end of the month. While I understand it’s being labeled as a precautionary measure, it has come after they reduced their hours….and now there’s very little business. Some are paying their employees during the time off, which is WONDERFUL…I think the rest are hoping for a bailout when all this comes down. After all, it’s cheaper to have a store making zero dollars than it is to have a store going in the hole, while they’re paying employees to disinfect when there’s not been anyone there to spread germs in the first place. And paying for arriving products that won’t sell for a month or more. The effects of this virus reach much further than our lungs. This will impact every industry out there. Truckers, mechanics, servers, small business owners, everybody. Thank God for those who still work, and those in leadership roles dealing with the fallout and the tough decisions as the community leans on them for answers and direction.

If I had children, I would probably eventually have grandchildren. And this is what I would tell them about. I would tell them about the Space Program, NASA, and the Shuttle Challenger- where I was when it exploded. How I was a little girl, myself, and how the nation mourned for decades. I would tell them about 9/11, and how I was scared, how we were all scared, and how we bunkered in, because we wanted to, but also because we had to. I would tell them how we grieved and solidified and prayed for each other. And how in twenty years it seems like we’ve forgotten. And I would tell them about this. How a whole nation panicked and splintered instead of holding hands (figuratively) and forgot that there is always something out there trying to kill us, and eventually something will. But it more than likely won’t be this virus.

So now it’s a new normal. Now, when we come into work, we don’t put the coffee on first thing. Now we disinfect everything that could have been touched overnight. Now we check the news before we look at our email, if we weren’t watching it at home. They warned us that it was going to get worse before it gets better. They warned us that the numbers would rise significantly as the tests became more available. They told us not to panic.

So yesterday, when the updated number of cases came out and the number had doubled since Friday night, what did everybody do? Did they shrug and approach it analytically, as we were told to expect this increase?

Of course not.

They freaked out and went and bought more toilet paper.

For me, life goes on. It hasn’t changed much. I work alone, I live alone. I’m just not meeting friends after work anymore. I’m washing my hands more frequently. I’m reading more books and thinking about how this will all be over as soon as we have some sustained warm weather, and how even then the Doomsday Population will claim it’s because of all our precautions to “flatten the curve”. No, you sheep. It’s because it’s a respiratory illness and with warmer weather, those all but disappear. If you want some funny memes about socialism, come see me. I’ll even HUG you!!!! I know it’s not about me. I know that the risk is almost non-existent to me. But I know that for my uncle, for my best friend’s dad, for many others I love, it IS serious. I’m not trying to diminish that. I’m not saying it isn’t contagious. I’m not saying we shouldn’t try to avoid getting it and be diligent about keeping surfaces disinfected and our hands washed. What I AM saying is the flu is deadly too. As are diabetes and heart disease and lung cancer. And I’m saying the media has caused this circus and it’s blown completely out of proportion. There are not even 10,000 cases in the country yet. That’s of a total of 327.2 million in our total population. By comparison, last year’s flu season wiped out 80,000 in the US alone. You can Google at your leisure the numbers on diagnosis. That should boggle your brain.

Oh, and my friend whose party was cancelled? I stopped by to give him his present (liquor, multi-functional) and we exchanged two hugs.

It’s my second favorite holiday, and here I sit. Slainte.

***At the time of this post, the death toll is still under 100 for America