Thirty days and counting

Thirty days ago while traveling the southern states, we were in Tumacacori, Arizona and the coronavirus situation finally got fixed on our radar. 

Forgot what I was looking for.

We were staying with our friend Leo and had a strong internet signal for the first time. We spent hours poring over news from around the world.  In Phoenix we shopped for masks, gloves, hand sanitizer, and zinc lozenges finding next to nothing.  Such was the same as we made our way west, staying in Joshua Tree then the central valley of California.  It was pretty easy to maintain our distance from people as we were staying in remote campgrounds in our own little space and we limited our visits to the facilities to one per day. 

North over the Oregon state line we landed in Medford, Oregon and bought dry goods, toilet paper, and 16 bottles of wine. Driving through the snow and sleet to Olympia, we checked into our boat at the marina.  Our house had tenants until April 1^st so we opted to stay on Traveler for the remainder of March.  14 days later our wine supply was dwindling as was our fresh fruits and vegetables. We still have plenty of TP.  It was time to resupply.

We got ourselves organized and set off for Grocery Outlet and the COOP to replenish our fresh veggie and dry goods supply.  Got the list, got our bags, got a plan. 

At Grocery Outlet there was not much of a crowd and we found what we needed and some things we didn’t.  In the cookie aisle we both fought the urge to rub our eyes or touch our face. I’ve got this one wild eyebrow hair that likes to curve into my vision and that has proved to be my biggest challenge to leave alone.

The author writes in his mobile office / navigation station aboard the escape pod, Traveler.

At the front of the store was a stand with spray bottles of bleach and hydrogen peroxide and some towels to use to wipe off your cart.  At the checkout, there were no lines on the floor to mark where we should stand apart in line and the checker didn’t seem to be taking the distancing thing too seriously… but we did. We got our case of wine and other sundries then drove to the COOP.

I loved how seriously the COOP was taking all this.  One of the board members met us in the parking lot where we waited in a short marked line - six feet apart - for our turn in the store.  He explained how we would shop while he was sanitizing the shopping cart for us.  Be organized, move quickly.  People are waiting. Then we were required to wash our hands in an outdoor sink singing Happy Birthday so as to get the required time with soap to kill bacteria and viruses.  When the next person exited the store, it was our turn.  Only seven customers were allowed in the store at one time.

Blood red storm clouds overhead at the marina

Remember those little clipboards with paper and pencils at the front?  Nada. Grab and Go. Nope. We made our way through the fruit and vegetable line, Connie finding produce and telling me the bin numbers and PLUs.  As we were buying a lot of food, a woman needed to get by us but she asked permission before moving swiftly by, her head ducked to the side.  The produce stocker patiently waited until we were gone before she resumed her work.  Usually we would bring our own plastic bags for produce and bulk.  Not now.  We felt like environmental sinners using fresh plastic bags. 

At the checkout we piled our food onto the conveyor belt then had to stand three feet away so the checker could scan everything.  When I needed to scan my membership card, she stepped back to allow me to come in.  We self-bagged and used a credit card so as to avoid handling cash.  As we left, the store locked its doors to take an hour to restock without having customers in the way.  Our parking lot buddy took our cart and started wiping it down. 

We loaded our groceries into the back of the pickup truck then used a spray hand sanitizer before getting inside for the drive home.  At the marina, we got a dock cart and loaded our groceries to take to the boat. At the boat, I handed each bag to Connie down below who set them on one counter.  Then we took about an hour to wipe every single item down with a bleach solution.  My last job was to stow the case of wine in our deep dark wine storage locker.  Twelve more bottles… twelve more days till our next shopping adventure.  Less days if we “lose track” of our wine bottle count. 

When hearing about the spiraling number of cases in New York, I’m glad Governor Inslee has put in place strict distancing measures.  I’m glad the COOP is going above and beyond to protect us and their employees.  And I’m glad that after fifteen days social distancing in Olympia, we are still symptom free.  It seems that the  world is burning down around us.

Looking up out of the abyss, there appears to be a blue sky.