This rock is larger than it might look, about a mile and a half from my home. The sand has been coming onshore earlier than usual, but it is still about twenty feet high. I used to walk here with my boys when they were little. They climbed the rock and often wanted to be carried home. They took turns. I could not carry them both together very far, but I recall when I was young enough to try.

I wake most often in the middle of the night these days. I know before I look at my watch what time it is, usually within a few minutes. I wish it were near dawn, but it’s not. It’s not even 4:30am, when I would not mind so much being awake. I turn and look for a more comfortable position in bed. I know it’s 2:15am or 1:30. Get up and go to the bathroom? Sometimes. Sometimes I will read a few pages and that settles me. Usually I lie looking up into darkness, then close my eyes and go back to sleep. It doesn’t always happen that way. I’ve noticed after our weekly trip to pick up our mail and groceries, I might lie awake until dawn. “Going out” is stressful.

Yesterday, after our walk, we drove to Costco and the health food store. The Washington Post reports that most new cases are probably people who cannot afford to call in sick—grocery store cashiers, the people at the door of restaurant take-out, care workers. The last time we went to Costco, only about half the workers and a few customers were masked. All the employees were masked yesterday and on Monday all customers must be masked too. Ordinary masks might protect the person wearing them, but they make a big difference for everyone else by containing infected droplets. We went in masked and used hand sanitizer, had a list and hurried, buying toilet paper and vegetables and nuts and cheese. I wove in the afternoon and we went to bed at the usual time. I woke at a quarter past one in the morning. I tried breathing slowly, reading, but by half past three I gave up, turned on my reading light again, and Gary asked if I wanted coffee. He went downstairs to make it and I mourned the loss of sleep.

Our tenant is awake too.

I wonder how many people will find they struggle to return to “normal” when (if) that becomes possible? Will social distancing become such a habit that being close will cause discomfort. Agoraphobia? We were watching a movie the other day and two characters met and touched and then ate without washing their hands. Both of us noticed that.

Today is May Day, a traditional celebration of spring and of working people. Not everyone has to work at all, some work from home, some have savings, but at least 25-30% of Americans are likely to be unemployed before the end of this pandemic. Millions are out of work already. But many other people must work in contact with the public, have no choice but to work. It is not merely healthcare workers and fire and police, but the people stocking shelves and delivering packages. A lot of people are at risk because their work is essential and often because they cannot afford to protect themselves by staying home or wearing the protective clothing and masks that filter out the virus. I remember years of scrambling from paycheck to paycheck. It is hard times for most people in many ways.

Not everyone is bothered by this. They carry on undisturbed. I feel a peculiar combination of resentment and envy toward those who can ignore it and soldier on as always.

There is light in the east, burnished bronze clouds underlaid with pink dawn in an azure sky. The tide is coming in, but maybe we will go out anyway.

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