While I was cycling to Rainbow over the weekend, I heard a loud shattering glass sound and turned my head, along with a few others in the vicinity, to see that the source was a second-story residential window. Accident? Boiling over of frustration? Domestic violence? A mystery.
At Rainbow, the wait outside, in the rain, was probably 45 minutes, noticeably longer than the week before, no doubt because there was a second line going off in another direction for Instacart shoppers, and they were alternating between the lines, trying to balance the needs of those who make a living from shopping (maybe) and those who make dinner from shopping.
I had brought an item to return, which was an unopened bottle of hand sanitizer which had cost $18, but they are not taking returns at the moment. I had used this product outside the store the previous week, then bought some, and later realized it was absolutely going to cause itching.
On my way home, I asked a homeless woman if she would like some hand sanitizer. She would not. I stopped at a collection of tents and said, “Does anyone want some hand sanitizer?” No one answered. The only sign of life I could see was the top of someone’s head; I think he was asleep. I tried again at another collection of tents—I was freely zigzagging back and forth across all lanes of Folsom St. on my bike, as there wasn’t much car traffic—and this time a voice said, “Yes!” and a fellow emerged and took the hand sanitizer.
I had brought empty containers to Rainbow to fill in the bulk section, as always. There are still many bulk items, but you have to use their containers, ranging from a biodegradable bag to a plastic container with a lid to a new glass bottle or jar.
One bright spot was running into a friend of mine, shopping with his partner.
Also, when I asked a worker a question about the bulk containers, she answered very pleasantly, and added, “There are also no returns right now—but you’re not a big returner.” How lovely to shop where a worker whose name I don’t know knows I don’t often return items (though I would have liked to return one that day). That was a nice feeling.
There was still no toilet paper. Everything desired in the produce section was easily had. As for the bulk olives they had packaged up, my first- and second-favorite kinds were not present, but my third-favorite was, so I got some of those, and also a small container of some olives I don’t like much at all, thinking that maybe it’s time to develop a taste for them. When I got home, I discovered that they actually were my very favorite olives, mislabeled. I will look more carefully next time. I’m glad to have any of them, and if I’d noticed they were my favorites, I would have gotten more.
My panic buying impulse expressed itself this time in the realm of small jars (about four and a half ounces) of artichoke spread from Italy. I had two unopened ones at home, plus half a jar in the refrigerator. I had planned to buy three, just in case, but I bought six. Serving suggestion: Toast a piece of Vital Vittles Real Bread, put a tablespoon of EVOO on it, sprinkle on some garlic granules, and finish with this artichoke spread. Yummy.
Trump has now made a federal disaster declaration in Michigan and is sending money. I guess the one company having been ordered by Trump not to sell supplies to Michigan was a blip. I got a text from a someone saying she is worried about my work in the hospital and that she is praying for me. If she were really concerned about my welfare or that of anyone else, she would have voted for Hillary Clinton in 2016, so that we’d have adult leadership right now rather than this grotesque game show: “The Michigan governor hurt my feelings! No medical supplies for Michigan! Fine with me if everyone in Michigan dies.” A bit later: “Now I like Michigan again! Lucky Michigan! Sending more money to Michigan than anyone ever sent in the entire history of the universe!” People ill and dying, people dying alone, funerals with no attendees, children not in school, college students going home, financial catastrophe, destroyed businesses—all this is as nothing compared to what Trump likes or doesn’t like moment to moment.
My entire immediate family is in one or the other of what are the top three hot spots at the moment.
Today I reached a significant milestone in my quest for board certification as a chaplain: I sent in all the materials to apply for an MDiv equivalency. Tom and I strolled to the Castro and I went to the post office—few people there; lines on the ground to keep customers six feet apart—and then we went to Walgreens and to Cliff’s. It was a beautiful afternoon and great to be outside.
At home, I talked to a co-worker who said that there seems to be a pattern where people get COVID-19, get better, and then six to nine days after becoming ill, get pneumonia and die. My plan, if I get the virus and become short of breath, which is a symptom I rather dread, is to boil water, put a few drops of eucalyptus oil in it, turn off the heat, put my head over the steam, and put a towel over my head and the pot to keep the steam in for a bit. Pursed-lip breathing may also help in this case. As for avoiding pneumonia later on, FWIW, my co-worker said that drinking lots of fluids while recuperating from the first wave is important, including hot fluids, like herbal tea. He said going outside and getting some fresh air is good, and he claimed that lying flat on one’s back is the worst position for the lungs.
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