In the Big Middle

We set the alarm now to go to the grocery store.  Being in the older more vulnerable group, it's easier when the store first opens.  Still, there are days when there are no bananas.  Forget about paper products and hand sanitizer.  Maybe someday.  Some day when the pandemic is over.
In Oregon, we are among the last few states where someone pumps gas for you.  No longer; any attempt to social distance will not be overlooked.

Some folks are hyper concerned, while others could step up their game and get with the program.  Still, others are simply confused.  It's not uncommon now to push your grocery cart down an aisle only to find someone heading in your direction and turned around and suddenly felt the need not to pass.

On days when the weather permits, I walk around the long block where I live just to get some exercise.  It takes about 7 minutes for a brisk walk.  It totals 608 steps.  Occasionally I walk around twice.  Often, I see nothing but an occasional dog walker.
We're in the big middle of the Covid-19 pandemic and life as we came to depend on is in limbo.  There is some hope today that our favorite pizza place might re-open for take-out only service.  That's wonderful news in light of the fact that everything else in the neighborhood is closed.  Closed until...nobody knows.  No more sushi, no bagels or Matzo ball soup; no tacos or bowls with chips or tortillas.  The grass-fed beef burgers and brunch specials have disappeared for now.
In the last 20 or years or so I have a birthday ritual.  Coming in early April, my birthday always triggered some much-anticipated activities.  I will not watch the Giants and Dodgers play for keeps.  I will not buy my 2020 fishing license...yet.  I will not have only 3 weeks to wait for the Kentucky Derby.
My music jam group will not meet on Friday afternoons until further notice.  My harmonicas will sit the next few months out.  But the blues will go on and I will survive.