Working the night shift during a pandemic, I sometimes feel like all I do is stock shelves, eat and try to sleep.
But as temperatures have risen (temporarily, at least), I’ve grown increasingly fond of my front porch.
I’ve always enjoyed the porch as a place for reading, having coffee in the morning or a glass of wine before sunset.
In recent days, the porch has become my social center. It’s where I get deliveries, where I’ve positioned my teddy bear, where friends drop off face masks.
Best of all, it’s where I get to talk – at a safe distance – with neighbors and friends. Earlier this week, friends came by pushing a double stroller with their two little girls. Yesterday, neighbors from next door and across the street saw me on my porch and wandered over.
It felt almost normal. Face to face, even at a 10 feet apart, will always beat Zoom, Skype, text messages and phone calls.
Yes, it turns out, my neighbors have ants invading their houses, too. One neighbor talked of a bad fall down the stairs. Another said her young daughter was doing well, despite no school.
I told them about the endless annoyance of a smoke alarm chirping in the basement as its batteries die. I’ve searched for the damned thing dozens of times, but have been unable to find it. The soundtrack of shelter in place, for me, is a constant beep.
They wished they could help, which gave me a good feeling, one I hope lasts through the next snowstorm.