Celebratory Hummus Plate.

I’m watching our across the street neighbors make out. Person 1 put their hood on and paced. Then person two appeared with a high messy bun and glasses. She put her arms around person 1 and they kissed. They are still kissing. A plant is slightly obstructing my view. I wonder if they can see me staring.

Lately I’ve really been loving salted black licorice. My father adores BL, so maybe it's generic. But I like mine salted. The REALLY salty ones. Fr has said they are not an easy candy, and when I eat them, I feel masochistic. (This reminds me of the first time I order a salted Lassi with Fr. I asked if he wanted to try it. "Sure." 

Salted lassis resemble vanilla milkshakes and taste like salted yogurt. He made the same face children make when they realize those aren’t chocolate chips, they are raisins.)

The couple is gone. 

This morning I found half a bag of salted licorice in one of my purses. I purchased this bag two weekends ago in Port Townsend and the contents are slightly stale, which makes me like it more. Two weeks ago was another life. We went somewhere and we ate at restaurants and there were people touching things and hand sanitizer was widely available. This bag represents all of that.

It’s going to be a great day I think as I pull the difficult candy out of my purse.

Two minutes later Fr asked me to go for a walk with him. He held my hand and we walked up 41st avenue. 

I fantasize about the future as we walk, 

"Think about the day when everything reopens. . . Everything will be packed." 

"That will be a celebration," Fr posited, "We’ll get the hummus plate, and that will be a two beer night for me. OR," he continued, "we could be looking back saying, 'remember when we thought restaurants were coming back?’  And they just never do." 

"Sure." 

I'm not sure how hummus plate = celebration, but I'm open to it. I like hummus. I like plates. 

We went to Starbucks. It was 8:30 am on a weekday in Seattle and there were 3 people there who were not us and were not employees. I looked at Fr's back. 

You’re the only one I dare stand close to.

I resented the customer who was standing close to the mobile pick up area breathing all over “Seth”’s grande beverage. 

We walked home. I pondered whether parking enforcement is actually in place since no one is really going anywhere and none of it matters. Fr has a phone meeting at 9. I went to move my car down the street. 

I wonder how long it will take me to get downtown. 

In traffic it takes about 20 minutes. On a good day it’s like 12. Today I did it in 6. Curiosity led me to Pike Place Market. Local tip: parking in Pike Place is free, but non existent unless you get there before the market opens and wait. Parking is also available if you go during a pandemic. 

Like today, I drove down and parked right across from the original Starbucks. It was about 10 am on a weekday and no one was there. The Starbucks that usually has a line around the corner was empty. As was Piroshky, Piroshky. As was every place. Open and empty. I bought a piroshky and chatted with the people working there. They said “you’re local.” I said yes. I promised to come back tomorrow and bring Fr. I also bought an orange and a sweet waffle. I didn’t want to eat any of it. The market was closed all weekend being cleaned because it had at least one confirmed case of the Covid. Which means it probably had many. But I don’t consider it wasted money to support the market and feed the pigeons. 

I became emotional walking through the empty streets and missing the crowds that typically annoy me. Even the moms with the sparkle pocket jeans who stop in the middle of the sidewalk for no discernible reason. 

I miss you, sparkle-pocket-lady. 

Today I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, too. Just me and two market birds. Market birds are not like regular birds. 

I noticed the pillars throughout the market have ornate white tops. My whole life I never noticed that. It was an intimate experience. Like seeing someone naked and vulnerable or ill. Or dying. 

I went home. I made banana bread from bananas that have been in the freezer for about a month. ("Over a month," Fr corrects me.) I stopped for gas on my way to work. I often pay inside because of the cash discount. A guy was ordering 7-11 wings. The attendant had gloves on, rang him up with his gloves on, took his money with his gloves on, and then proceeded to pick up the hot wings with the same gloves. I did not notice any of this because I was standing 6 feet away from him, waiting my turn and being self involved. 

"YOU DIDN”T CHANGE YOUR GLOVES. YOU TOUCHED THE MONEY AND THEN YOU TOUCHED THE FOOD AND YOU TOUCHED THE REGISTER AND THE BUTTONS AND YOU TOUCHED MY FOOD DON’T GIVE ME THAT FOOD!” 

The attendant looked at his colleague, confused. The college explained the problem to him. The attendant said, “I wear the gloves to keep my hands clean.” This makes me think he didn’t understand the purpose of gloves at this moment in time. The man who was yelling was wearing noticeably dirty clothing. He was not someone one would think to be so fastidious.  

I went to work. 

I’m lucky I still have employment. Five hours of behavior therapy; 4 in person, 1 over Zoom. I typically work 8.5 hours at the school and 2 hours after. It’s a 10.5 hour day and I do love it. I love feeling beat and falling into bed exhausted. I know it’s not sustainable. I know I do it because sitting still means being with a barrage of thoughts that are not ever compartmentalized. I approach the door for my first client I hear a child yelling, "Camilla do you have Coronavirus?!!"

...
The world is collectively having a traumatic experience, which means we are all in it RIGHT NOW trying to navigate and calibrate with a bunch of other traumatized people. It’s kind of poetic. As is the spread of a virus.

I came home. 

Fr made his stir fry that I love. I ate it. We watched Step by Step. We do this during dinner because it is a fantastic show. The one where Frank fell through the ceiling at church had me screaming at the TV.  We alternate between SBS and the news, but lately I’m all done with the news by the end of the day.

"Whoever cast JT did a poor job."

"He was on Baywatch." 

"Ah."

"He attends a gas station now."

"Why do you know this." 

…