INVASION OF THE ANTS

I declared today to be a COVID-free zone.  The sun is shining, it's Sunday so there are no provincial updates to watch, and spring is well on the way.  So it was off to the garden to fill up my bucket with some weeds, iTunes playing, thoughts firmly admonished to stay away from anything Corona unless it was served with a lime.   I was happily emptying my bucket into the wilderness next door when lo and behold, I found this teeming, seething, African-sized anthill!   What a beauty it was and there were so many ants that I could literally hear their little feet as they marched around and smashed up and over each other.  Which did creep me out a bit. Zero social distancing there.  All I could think about was to shoot some video and make a little ant movie to share with my grandsons, so, being as careful as I could, I took a couple of videos from different angles.  I mean really, what kid isn't interested in anthills.   And it was kind of thrilling to see an organized society that for sure was not worried about a pandemic.

I was happily replaying the movies and trying to decide which was the best of the lot when I felt a funny little tickle on my neck.  I absentmindedly flicked at it and sure enough... one of the ant SWAT team that had been dispatched to ask me while I was hovering over their country shooting illegal footage.   And then, I felt another tickle on my ankle.  Eww.  Not nice.  Squashed it.  And then, OMG, OMG OMG there was something moving in a place that it shouldn't be.   I had, undeniably, ANTS IN MY PANTS.

Thank God Rick wasn't home to witness the frenetic jerking, slapping and pig-like squeals as I rushed to the shower.  An ant strip dance unlike any other.   I did not find any more of them - perhaps they abandoned ship as soon as they sensed they were hanging onto a deadly missile.  All clothes went into the wash immediately, and a post-shower tentative examination of the smoking pathway I left behind only revealed a couple of casualties.  I could feel my cortisol level dropping as my pulse slowed to under 100.

And I did not, for a single moment, think about Covid.

Revelation

I really hate being wrong, and I especially hate it when I find out I've been wrong for about five decades.   That's half a century.   I've always been pretty good with my housecleaning but apparently I've spent hundreds of thousands of dollars over the years simply to perfume the air with the pungent smell of Lysol, Mr. Clean or any one of their other pals.   Turns out cleaning is a two stage process - first clean with soap & water and then saturate your surface with whatever disinfectant floats your boat - and LEAVE it in place for at least five minutes so it can go on its seek and destroy mission.  Then wipe it up and either launder the cloth or throw out the paper towel.  I envision a Pac-Man like army importantly swarming around, bumping into each other and barking orders as they track down and annihilate all the germs.

We've ramped up our procedures with Rick too.   He continues to work really hard and has, typically, perfected an excellent sanitization system right in his car.  Precautions have been put into place preventing him from entering past the front door in some of the care homes, and for that I am really grateful.  He still has to deal with his own shut-in clients at home and I wish it could be like the paperboy, just whiz by and toss the prescription out the window and hope it hits the porch.   Maybe it will come to that.  When he finishes at day's end he endures pretty much a cattle-dip procedure that begins with his shoes being left outside the condo.   He enters through the lock-down antechamber (front hall).  He then goes to the laundry room strips off, throws his clothes into the washer, and then sprints pretty much naked through the living room to his shower.   This is my favorite part of the decontamination process and I usually favor a glass of wine to supervise this.  He emerges steam-cleaned in fresh clothes and only then settles to relax, another day behind him.

So, cleaning has joined the aerobic line up and it's pretty good exercise, both physically and mentally because you have to remember what is soaking and what is pre-soaked and what just needs a splat of cleaning spray.  I am pretty sure some doorknobs around here are getting more attention than others but it's a learning process.  And when I am done, the windows and doors are left wide open (sorry, Calgary!) for a massive dose of sweet, fresh air.  I am hugely lucky to live in a place where I simply open my patio door and step onto a deserted golf course that is surrounded by equally deserted trails.  It's duck courting time here on the Island and it never fails to make me laugh watching the desperate antics of the male mallards as they waggle along hopefully behind their girls.  "Now?" they quack, "No?  Well how about now?"  I'll bet the hens have a wicked gossip session when the drakes aren't around.  And Mickey is getting more than his share of exercise on these long days.  In payment, he provides endless comedy relief and welcome distraction.  There's a new jigsaw puzzle under the bed and a Yahtzee tournament brewing.  All my loved ones are well and for today, and every day, that is all that matters in this crazy time.

Keep watching, keep waiting

It's hard to keep a measured heart in the face of a daily barrage of dark news, so I'm trying to portion media updates wisely.  And then I turn to the comfort of the mundane chores of household, peppered by the joy of turning the soil in Lisa's garden.  Already the lilies and peonies are tentatively peeking out, promising fragrant beauty in the weeks to come.  Beyond these bucolic scenes though, my throat aches at the stories of the heroes that seem to increase with the same velocity as this virus.  I watched Adrian Dix today announce that 22 nurses volunteered  to work at the stricken Lynn Valley Care Centre, after so many of their staff fell ill with Covid.  And the bravery of those nurses brought tears to my eyes and hope to my heart.

I hope no one minds a shout-out to my son (especially him).   The exhaustive provisioning of the shelves at Loblaws, Superstore and Shoppers in Western Canada, among many other stores, are under his direct control.   He is at home, working his heart out troubleshooting, rerouting, and creatively dealing with situations that no one has ever imagined before.   He is my hero.  He is a vital link in the chain that will see us through to the end.   And in the past week, the demands of my husband's medical courier company doubled in size every single day, and he is run ragged making sure every client has the medication they need.  Today over 30 new people required medication delivery at home, all able-bodied, but avoiding going out.  His hands are raw from sanitizer and bleach wipes, and we have yet to find a proper mask for him.

My son, my husband, and my son-in-law, a doc.  They are just some of the thousands fighting for themselves, their loved ones, and all of the rest of us, an example that should blaze the path ahead for us all to stand shoulder to shoulder (with a six foot buffer), and support them with every fiber of our being.  I'm staying home to support my loved ones.  They have a face, a family, and a future.