Isaac ventured out to the grocery store for the first time in a while, and he wore his suit to do it. It was an event. I've been going the opposite route, hair scraped into a ponytail for maximum mask ease. Gray mask. For a while I was carefully applying mascara before I went into the world, because we're all 100% eyeballs now, but the last few times I didn't even do that. It's all about comfort, and pockets for keeping my debit card handy. Last time I went to Hannaford, I got carded for my tiny box of cooking wine, and I had to scrabble around in search of my wallet and then rifle through it for my driver's license (these masks, they hamper downward peripheral vision, have you noticed?). The whole time I was thinking Really? Do you see these eyeballs? I'm fifty-two goddamn years old and I'm buying 12 ounces of bad white wine.
We've had some days warm enough to open the windows, and it's made this whole situation feel a little easier, although from the look of things it's also made people feel like it's probably fine if they meet up with friends and stand close together, and in the case of my cigar-smoking neighbor, smoke stinky cigars en masse, defiantly. Even Isaac and Edna can't stay away from Christian, who comes by in his sharp outfits (brightly colored jackets and crazy shoes, velvet and suede and satin) so they can take long, socially-distanced walks together and sit, spaced apart, in the back yard.
Gus has stayed with us long enough to celebrate his eighth birthday! He naps so deeply these days, buried deep enough in sleep that I have to put a hand on his side to make sure he's breathing. At night, he snores more loudly than ever. He's taken to eating dirt sometimes, seeming a tiny bit confused at others, but mostly he's still 100% Gus.
I took little Clover to the beach this morning. I like to think that we both looked at this cottage and dreamed of living there, a step away from the sand, with the constant sound of wind and waves.
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