Foreboding

Last Thursday, I went grocery shopping. No big deal. I go to Roche Bros. at least once a week. This time, I only had a few things to pick up, but I added a couple of eye-to-the-future items - e.g., a 5 lb. bag of flour - to my cart.

What if? What if? What if? I kept asking myself. What if the stores close? What if there's nothing on the shelves? Last spring there was a flour shortage...

I probably have enough in my larder to last 2-3 months without stepping toe in a grocery store. Sure, it would get pretty boring - yet another lunch of canned soup and peanut butter crackers; yet another dinner of pasta with whatever. And how many batches of brownies - and, yes, I do have a package of egg replacer, if it comes to that, so I'll be able to bake - do I want to bake and consume all by my lonesome? Talk about the COVID-19! 

I know I won't starve. On the contrary, I could probably live of the fat of my muffin top for a good week if it came to that.

I'm good for TP and paper towels, too, but if I happen to be walking by a CVS in the next day or so, and they have Bounty, I won't pass up the opportunity to do a bit more stocking up. Same for TP, even though I believe I have a year's worth in my inventory.

I nabbed another quart of isopropyl alcohol the other day, and I may grab some bleach next time I look in at the hardware store. (I have no expectation that I'll find Clorox wipes or Lysol spray before I'm vaccinated.) But disinfectant-wise, I'm good. 

So, yeah, if some super lockdown is put in place, I can survive quite nicely. 

I even have my new rowing machine, in case the hypothetical looming lockdown forbids solo, masked walks with no one in sight. 

My backlog of books is large. And there's always Kindle. 

Still, I have an intense sense of foreboding about what's coming.

Despite all the isolation, the social distancing, the mask-wearing, the hand-washing, the hand-wringing, it sure does sound like it's going to get a lot worse before it gets a little better. 

Last spring, in the early days of the lockdown, things were pretty grim around here. No, Boston was never as bad as NYC, but we were hit early and hard. Many days when I took my walk, I seemed to be the only person out and about. It was creepy. 

But then spring - though plenty dreary and rainy this year - sprung, and brought with it more life to the city. Nothing equal to the before times, but not terrible-terrible. Everyone (or pretty much 99% of everyone) had a mask on, but there were people on the streets, in the parks, and it felt good. And there was that blessed light at the end of the day (if not the tunnel) that made it all more livable. 

There is no light yet at the end of the COVID tunnel, and that blessed light at the end of the day was truncated over the weekend when Daylight Savings Time ended. My least favorite day of the year is the one that involves "falling back" one hour. That mythic one-day extra hour of sleep doesn't make up at all for the fact that it will be dark by 4:30 p.m.-ish

It might not seem so awful for those who live further into the time zone. Sure, it's darker in the morning for them, but they get that evening light. Sunset in Boston yesterday was 4:37 p.m. Not that I'd want to live in Cleveland, but the sun set at 5:21 p.m. there. 

When it's still light in the evening, I'm apt to take a little spin around before it gets dark. In the before times, I'd go out occasionally after dark. Sometimes to actually do something social-lifey. (Remember that?) And sometimes just to take a little stroll on Charles Street, where there would be people heading in and out of shops and restaurants. Or to walk over to the Frog Pond skating rink on the Common to watch folks skate. Don't think that'll be happening this year. (To me, one of the great urban sights is seeing people skating after dark.)

Now I'll be pretty much in for the day, in for the night by late afternoon. Grim.

What usually makes the dark more tolerable is having the holidays to look forward to. 

I'm by no means a live-and-die-for-Christmas type of gal, but I like the lights on the Boston Common. I like the lights on my tree. I enjoy the bustle, even if I'm not a crazy participant in it. (I'm a shop early person.) 

I'm hoping that the city still turns the Common lights on. But they probably won't have the caroling ceremony the night they're turned on. 

I'll get a wreathe and a couple of poinsettias. Will I get a big tree this year? Maybe, maybe not. Will I host Christmas Eve for my family this year? Maybe, maybe not.

First Night is off, so there won't be a million people pouring into Boston for the parade, the entertainment, and the fireworks. (I never took much part in it, but I enjoyed the early kiddy fireworks that I could watch from my front steps.)

That night, we'll be ringing out a rotten year. I'm hoping that the rottenness is somewhat alleviated by the election outcome, which, as it's still unknown as of this writing, only adds more foreboding into my personal foreboding mix.

But by the end of January, we'll be seeing a bit more late at the end of the day. Sunset at 5! Wow!

And if there is a God, Joe Biden will be president, and Donald Trump will have left the stage peacefully. (I'm not optimistic.)

But if the forecasts for COVID are correct, we'll be looking at thousands upon thousands of additional deaths. Hundreds of thousands sick, many with lasting health problems. Millions upon millions experiencing economic difficulty, if not outright ruin. 

Yes, if Biden wins, and the Democrats take the Senate, there'll be some forward movement on a co-ordinated, science-based response to the pandemic. And some economic relief in sight. (God forbid - if there is a God to forbid - that Mitch McConnell continues to rule the Senate roost.) Even if Trump somehow manages to hang on, there'll be better treatment for COVID and some forward movement on a vaccine. 

Overall, though, I feel a profound sense of foreboding about the coming winter. 

I am fortunately not someone given to depression. But I am so not looking forward to what I fear is coming our way. 

There's a word for it: foreboding.