There is no question COVID-19 is taking it's toll on all of us.
However, in the midst of quarantine, isolation, and social distancing, it is important to also take care of:
Mind Body Soul
Each day, we make it a point to walk. It’s a long beautiful lane fronted by the lake and back-ended by trees and forest. In all about 5 K. Peaceful and tranquil in a time where we need it most.
Respectful of social distancing, we've removed ourselves from the city. There’s not a lot of people here during the winter, as many cabins are not winterized. Not a lot of opportunity to encounter others and when we do, we are mindful and chat from the across the width of the road.
This day reminded us that sometimes there is an over-reaction that comes along as the side-effect to a pandemic. That highly contagious agent called "panic".
We’re at the end of the lane, where the road to town intersects, and are about to approach the community notice board to see if there are any posted updates. We halt as a half-ton truck pulls up fast and stops.
A troll-like man emerges with his his palm facing us. "Stop," he says gruffly.
We've already stopped well away from the truck, to give him room, so we've time to take in his complete appearance. He's the very embodiment to a character I would love to create, complete with dark bushy brows, wild hair, and beard. Dark glasses reflect our image back on us. His half-burned cigarette hangs out of the corner of his mouth, barely adhered on to his thin lip. Still he manages to talk and not lose a puff. Smoke encircles his head holding him in a something like a spotlight under the morning sun.
“You healthy?” he barks.
We nod and say "Yes". Even our dog is mesmerized by this guys appearance.
“Okay," he says, still holding up his hand. "Stay there ’til I’m done.”
Has he watched the entire series of the "Walking Dead"?
A million retorts surface, but are swallowed back. The first being, "Don't worry. I can smell you from here." The second, a bit of a "mom" reminder that soap is your friend to combat the virus. But I say none of those things as neither of us are interested in getting close.
He turns and grabs his mail, still managing to smoke, and jumps back into his truck.
Imagining he feels safe now, we start forward. We are about to wave the friendly neighbourly, "have a good day" wave when we hear the truck door locks engage and he slams the truck into gear and races away, onto the highway and into town.
I wonder if he knows that the Coronavirus doesn't abide by the mechanics of locked doors.