Isolating at Ground Zero

When I saw my son Michael, I was hit with a wave of emotion that had the intensity of a punch to the center of my chest. I wanted to cry. Instead, I hugged him and Delilah. I had to force myself to pull away. 

Later, Jeff noted that he was shocked that I hugged my kid.  It had been more than a year since I saw them. I drove across the country for that hug. 

In January, only a few weeks from now, Mike and Delilah had been scheduled to get married at our little newly completed resort - PurUvita - in Costa Rica. The plan had been for a small destination wedding on the beach. But then, Covid shut down everything and the world changed. For months, we debated pushing back the wedding until the edge of rainy season in April - hoping it would be safe to travel by then. But we all know how that's going. Finally, they decided to put the wedding on suspended hiatus. Who knows when it will happen.

Jeff and I made it to Pasadena Tuesday afternoon. We have driven across the country to stay in Los Angeles County - which, as we pulled up, had the highest infection rate in the country.  I saw Sean Penn say on the news that a person was dying here of Covid every three minutes. (Can this be true?) 

I felt like we had done an insane thing. Driving to Ground Zero of the Covid Crisis? What responsible person does that? But on Saturday, I read reports from back home that Pennsylvania briefly held the title for highest infection rate over the past seven days. There is no safe place anymore.

But our Airbnb is comfy and spacious for isolating. We have beautiful pool, but highs are in the mid-60s and it is too cold for swimming. (Spoiled by my winters spent in Costa Rica, I had failed to account for the fact that winter temperatures in the American south are not typically in the 80s and 90s.)

But just like I noticed when we drove around New York state in August, traveling isn't an escape from the drudgery of being stuck at home. Every interaction comes with it a complicated series of cost-benefit analyses with so many potential exposures to consider that it just becomes easier to give up and stay in.

We took a hike at Echo Mountain. But the trail is narrow and crowded with fellow hikers. Although unlike back home, almost everyone wore a mask while hiking. A refreshing change. But still, the hike posed a significant risk of exposure - masks or no masks. 

Mostly, we drove across the country to hang out in a house, watch movies on Netflix and Amazon Prime, and stuff ourselves with takeout. With Mike and Delilah. Which, all in all, isn't such a bad thing.

After lengthy discussions about what movies to watch, we decided on a theme of survival movies to provide the needed selection structure - and to keep Jeff from subjecting us to Mr. Pickles and other Adult Swim shows that are simply weird for weird's sake and that absolutely no one else who has been forced to watch them by Jeff has found them the least bit amusing - even one 12-year old boy. (Ed. Note: Rick and Morty, the sole exception, is hilarious. Oddly, Jeff does not find Rick and Morty to be engaging. Go figure.)

We watched Backcountry, Everest, The Perfect Storm and Castaway.  We fought over the characters and who was brave and who was lame. We ate Thai, sushi and pizza. We played with the tiny puppy "Apple" that Mike and Delilah are fostering and got our faces repeatedly licked and covered in puppy kisses. 

One Sunday, our last day before leaving, we tried to come up with something to do other than watch movies and eat leftovers. After going over our options - I suggested driving to Venice Beach, but which Jeff felt was too risky to be driving distances with everyone in the same car. So, we decided, once again, on movies and eating leftovers.

I'm happy. This isn't a movie. I didn't come here for some grand adventure. My son and Delilah are doing well. They are safe. This is why I came. 

We are surviving. 

Right now, this is all that matters.

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