Chronicles of the Plague Year #8

A few months ago we got a new dishwasher.  Last week it stopped working.  Normally, the landlord’s plumber/electrician guy would come by and fix it the next day. However, because it is new and therefore under warranty, we had to call the supplier’s repair agent. “It will be in a week,” they said.  “Can’t you come sooner?” I asked.  “No, there’s a medical crisis going on you know. By the way, have you or anyone close to you got covid-19 symptoms?”

So, for the first time in perhaps 25 years, we have been washing up in the old-fashioned way. To be honest, I find it quite pleasant, messing about in a sink full of warm soapy water. The Everloving not so much. Oh well, it should be fixed on Tuesday — maybe.

I went shopping on the Drive today, and looked in to show support for the People’s Co-op Bookstore that is opening on weekends. I also took some time to notice that something less than 20% of folks were wearing masks in grocery stores. It’s bloody selfish, ignoring the needs of those working there and other shoppers.

On the way home, I rested for a while in Salsbury Park and was entranced as usual by the blossoms that seem to have engulfed the trees almost overnight. The park is covered in dandelions which make a wonderful counterpoint to the trees. I hope the Parks folks with their grass-grazing machines stay away for a while.

As I sat there, a guy in shorts and T-shirt started doing sprints up Adanac Hill, from the Park to Victoria. He would run hard up the hill, walk back down, and run again. He kept at it for quite a while.  I imagined a thick sweaty miasma surrounding him, following him up and down the hill, hanging around for others to breathe.  Healthy for him, maybe, but for the rest of us?

Another week almost done. How many more, I wonder?

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