‘Before,’ my anthem of wishing

I took a day off. You might well ask, off from what? Aren’t you retired?

And the answer would be, yes, I am retired, have been for 10 years. But there is now this social distancing thing that makes retirement problematic or, in another parlance, “ a pain in the neck … only a lot lower.”

Before I hunkered down and started watching out for invading viruses, I could leave the house without a thought to whether the stairs needed vacuuming or whether there were crumbs on the kitchen counters. Now, the stairs are there, staring at me, telling me in their not-so-subtle way, “I am filthy and it’s your job to clean me.”

In fact, there is now a chorus of demands that I hear from the usual suspects – the floors, the dusty furniture, etc., augmented by voices that I haven’t really listened too, like the screens on the windows and the outside window sashes and the lightbulbs. The song they sing is one of those repetitive ear worms … “Me, me, me, pay attention. Now!”

Before, I could get out of the house. Now, these voices have gotten loud enough to get my attention.

I vacuum most every day because no one takes their shoes off when they come in the house. I dust because I need to breathe and I cook – oh, do I cook. I am sick and tired of cooking. Before my spouse had to stay home and put things away in places they don’t belong, I made dinner. My spouse is old enough to make his own breakfast and I know that he stops somewhere to get coffee and something to eat. He bought his lunch downtown. So all I had to really think about is dinner. Even that gets tiresome after 50-plus years.

So, on this self-declared day off, I decided I should not cook anything; self-foraging was in order.

Nowadays, there is nowhere to hide. Before, which is becoming an anthem of wishing, I could just stop what I was doing and go outside, wander around the garden and say mentally, “I’ve got to get to those weeds soon, or the grass needs cutting.” Now? If I go out, I have to weed and cut the grass. No excuses. If I stay inside and try to sneak in a nap, I find my spouse asking me if I am OK or other questions like, “Where is the butter?” Gee, can’t I take a nap?

So, I took a day off. I did nothing redeeming. Nothing. No vacuuming, dusting, washing, organizing, plumping up. I didn’t cook. I picked at what was in the fridge, stared at the pantry for immediate satisfaction and got rid of some loose salted chocolate-covered caramels. I read a little in one magazine and found, glory be, reruns of St. Elsewhere on Roku. All in all, a marvelous day.

OK, I made the bed. There are limits to this.